[Reviews - 89]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2761 times

- Text Size +




chapter 6: leviticus – collections

It was frigid in the bedroom. Tara glanced over at the open window and thought about getting out of the bed to close it. She rolled her eyes at that prospect though and gazing down at her naked body, inspected the itsy-bitsy goosebumps pebbling the skin of her bare breasts. Shivering, she looked around the room and saw the blanket on the floor, the sheets knotted together at the foot of the bed and the body lying on top of her. She sighed. Her only cover was Willow. She stared intrigued by the mass of wavy red hair splayed across her chest and the cool moist lips suckling her left breast.

“I'm c-cold.” Tara twisted a fistful of Willow's hair in her hand and turned the witch's head so that she could see her wide round eyes.

“Let go…I'm busy.” Willow pulled away from Tara's grasp and returned her attention to Tara's nipples, licking, biting and drawing them into hard points.

Tara was still cold. “Make me, warm.”

Willow twisted her head, still resting it on Tara 's chest, and stared at her. “You sure, baby?”

Tara nodded slowly, reaffirming her request.

Willow adjusted her body, giving herself more room to maneuver. She began depositing wet kisses on Tara's chest, moving deliberately from one nipple to the other. Her lips and tongue, beginning at the groove between Tara's breasts, traveled down her torso to her abdomen. There Willow plunged her tongue into her navel.

Then Tara watched awestruck as Willow suddenly floated away from her to the ceiling. An unexpected shudder gripped Tara's body. Her stomach muscles clenched sharply. Her gaze locked in on Willow's darkening eyes as she hovered above her. Tara could feel the magic being drawn from her own body. She knew that Willow was the only one with power now.

Tara's fingertips curled and flexed in anticipation as a slow warm sensation began to pulse through her groin. Willow then dropped from the ceiling, her head immediately between Tara's legs, her tongue burrowing deep into her pussy. Writhing and squirming mindlessly, Tara gasped and cried out as Willow's fingers slammed into her, roughly jabbing into her swollen center. Two, then three fingers and then a fist was shoved slowly into Tara's soaked cunt. Raising her head, Willow leered, displaying an inhuman tongue that slid tauntingly past cracked lips before lapping greedily at the juices flowing from Tara's body.

“Open your legs, wide…” instructed Willow. “Yes…good…now wider.” Willow's tongue pressed against Tara's clit as her fist worked in and out of her.

Tara looked away from Willow and focused on the floral printed curtains that billowed and swayed against the windowpane. Things were so different now; she couldn't remember when they'd changed. She just knew they weren't the same.

Then slowly, she noticed the warmth leaving her body. Tara looked down at the edge of the bed where Willow was sitting cross-legged, her arms resting easily, one hand on each knee. Her eyes, still black, were glowing and clouds of dark energy swirled around her as the magic flowed. Tara's eyes fixed on Willow's open mouth. She had asked for this. She always wanted it this way, now. Therefore, fear was pointless.

Nostrils flared, Willow pursed her lips and blew.

Tara roared as the orgasm drenched her body.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Was it good?” Willow asked not really needing an answer.

“Always,” whispered Tara lying motionless on her back on the bed, legs still spread apart, arms at her side and her chest heaving.

Willow unfolded her legs, rose from the bed and walked over to the open window. She leaned forward, relishing the cool breeze against her hot skin. “I'm going to talk to Giles, today.” She turned to look at Tara. She chuckled as Tara's eyes grew wide and a look of wild panic soaked through them.

“Time to tell him about the spell, don't you think?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not?” Willow's voice was hollow as her head swayed from side to side bidding the air to caress her face. “Nothing's changed. Not really.” She glanced from one end of pre-dawn Revello Drive to the other. Then she pushed away from the open window to scan the floor until she spotted the pile of clothing she sought.

“Will you tell him…that you remember the thought?”

“No.” She strolled over to the heap of jeans and t-shirts, picked up the items she wanted and stood with the clothes in her arms. “I'll tell him the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That…” she paused. “I never forgot the thought.” She pulled the white t-shirt over her head, and walked over to the bed.

“You c-changed the rules,” said Tara.

Willow frowned as she watched Tara ease away from her as she sat next to her on the bed.

“What rules? Don't talk to be about rules,” scolded Willow. “For the past two months, power has come to us from every corner of the universe. That precious thought we eradicated with a simple spell was the best fucking thing ever to happen to me.” Willow smiled slowly and leaned forward, pinching Tara's still bare nipple. “The best thing to happen to us.”

Biting her lower lip, Tara sat up, and inched closer to Willow. “Honey, you've got to be careful.” She swallowed. “The book you took from Giles explained a lot about the Portal Jumper. Sure, with the thought, you've become more powerful. But Willow …can you really stop him?”

Willow held her breath and forced herself to relax the fist she'd formed so quickly with her right hand at Tara's words. “I'm the most powerful witch this universe has ever seen, and yes, I can stop him.”

“But we still don't understand the extent of the consequences of the thought spell?” Tara 's voice was so soft; it made nearly no sound whatsoever. However, it was enough for Willow to hear.

“Not without consequences,” murmured Willow, shaking her head. “Damn magic and its consequences.” Looking down for a moment, Willow was thoughtful. “We know most of the consequences so far, and they've been….well, minimal.”

“Wouldn't exactly call a chronically depressed drunken watcher, a practically suicidal thousand year-old vengeance demon and…Xander…God only knows what's up with him…minimal, Willow.” Tara's words were pointed, but her voice, gentle and careful.

“Damn,” Willow whispered leaning forward to rest her head on Tara's chest. “I almost forgot about Xander.”

“Okay, that's not good,” said Tara. “We can't afford to forget about him.”

“And what about Spike?”

“Giles is a fool for sending Spike to New York,” snapped Willow. She stood abruptly and marched over to the open window.

“S-sorry. Didn't mean to mention, Spike,” said Tara.

“You know, maybe Giles still has some of the old smarts left in him,” sighed Willow. “Spike is bait. If nothing else, he can't hurt and he can't really help. So maybe, he won't get in our way, baby.”

Willow turned and sidled back over to the bed. Caressing Tara's thigh, she bent forward and placed a kiss on her hip.

“Too early to talk to Giles, you know,” she grinned at Tara out of the corner of her eye. “Feel like some more…magic?”

Tara felt a chill and saw the goose bumps beginning to form on her stomach and breasts.

“Always,” she whispered.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Spike?” Buffy was drop-jawed, wide-eyed and okay, generally stunned beyond stunned. However, almost instantly, and of course all Buffy-like she thought proudly, she recovered from her shock, closed her mouth, and was now just plain angry.

“Spike! What the hell are you doing here?” She stood with her arms folded over her chest, eyes blazing, and feet set wide apart as she glared at the blond vampire she hadn't seen…well…hadn't seen in a damn long time. She huffed. “Spike, I asked you a question! What are you doing here?”

He just stood there staring at her as if she was some sort of Dali statue. All angles and wings, she recalled, instead of arms and legs. She'd seen her first Dali the week before at the Museum of Modern Art or MoMA as New Yorkers called it. She'd been more than a little freaked by the entire Dali mystique. What was up with that man's moustache anyway? Her lip curled in disgust, as she got lost in the memory before she reconnected to the sight in front of her.

Spike! What was he trying to do now? She nearly shuddered as her imagination began to run amuck. He couldn't still be all goo-goo eyes over her. Her shoulders slumped. Not after all this time.

“Jeez, don't you ever let anything get through that gin-soaked brain or yours?”

“Scotch…” he began slowly, his voice rich and low. “Jack Daniels, preferably, and on occasion a nice snifter of a good brandy. But Gin? Never Gin, pet.” He placed his hands on his hips, flaring his duster on either side, and tilted his head, his eyes slits as he stared at her.

Well, that was all too calm for the Spike she knew and abhorred. Buffy was itching to punch when suddenly she gulped.

“New York? I'm in New York City and how did you find me?”

“Wasn't as hard as you might expect, love,” he said.

“Oh my God!” cried Buffy, running to Spike and suddenly flinging her arms around him and pressing her body against his in an earnest embrace. “Giles sent you!” she exclaimed. “It's over! We can go home.”

Buffy released him and stepped back. Spike hadn't returned the hug. Fact was he was standing as still as that same damn Dali statue. Maybe the hug was a little much.

“Ah,” she started. “Sorry about that.” Still she was hoping against hope that Giles had sent him to tell her she could come home. She hadn't realized how much she missed Sunnydale until Spike dropped from the sky and landed on top of the dumpster next to her.

He had to be here because of Giles. Didn't he? She wondered. He hadn't just shown up for no reason. Of course, he could be in town because of something or someone else. Hadn't he left Sunnydale right after she'd been brought back to life? He'd stayed in town all of what? Two days. She could barely remember. Damn. When was the last time she'd seen Spike? For a few moments there, she'd forgotten she'd died for the second or was it the third time only a few months back. A year ago, Glory had been everywhere and Spike had had a crush on her. Then he'd almost died to save her and Dawn….

“Spike…seriously what are you doing here?” Her voice was softer than she'd planned.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommy Dugan sat slouched in the back corner seat of car number four on the Lexington Avenue subway heading toward the upper West Side from the Village. At least that's what he hoped. It had been a long, hard night. He'd had a gig at a club on Bleeker Street off Eighth Avenue. He'd gotten it down cold, though. Played his horn like nobody's business. How many seventeen year-old musicians got opportunities like that? Playing with the man. Damn, it was too sweet. He hugged his encased trumpet to his chest.

He then decided that the very next day, at Mom's Restaurant where he worked after school part-time, he was going to invite Dawn Summers to come hear him play. Yeah, he knew she was all caught up in Carlo, but shit, she was just the sweetest thing he'd ever seen in his whole life. He really liked her, and she was nice to him. Didn't matter that he was short and thick, and couldn't always remember to wash his stringy brown hair. Let alone get it cut on a regular basis. This girl just liked people for what they were. That shit was rare, man. He shrugged and settled lower in the seat, getting even more comfortable. Then he noticed the train was pulling into Grand Central Station. Not much further until he was at his stop, he thought.

Sleep was pestering him, though. Tommy sat up as the train pulled away from the station, hoping that sitting up straight and tall, or as tall as he could get, might help him stay awake. He only had about ten more stops to go before he got to where he needed to be. He usually was so geeked after a show that he managed to stay awake during the ride home. He just never liked falling asleep on the subway, especially with his horn on him. He didn't know what kind of creep might board the subway from the Village to the upper West Side.

"Okay, then," he said aloud. Maybe thinking about Dawn might help him stay awake, he decided. Let's dwell on some of her more exciting attributes; he smiled, gripping his case more tightly. Okay, great hair. She had the best long…silky. Shit, did dudes his age say silky? Naw...she had good hair. Great eyes and a kicking behind. Okay, did dudes say behind? Nope. She had a great ass. Okay, that was better.

Tommy looked around as the subway pulled into the next station. Odd, it was pretty damn empty. Just him and a guy seated near the front dressed in black.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His senses throbbed. This one had been near the gift. He'd touched it. He'd smelled its beauty. Oh, but so much more lovely was the fact that he himself was his own prize. Excellent, he exhaled. He coughed as he breathed in the stale air of the underground vessel.

Challenges, however. New York was a bestial city. All dirt, girt and arrogance. Too many seeking too little. All about satisfaction. Never mindful of the journey. If nothing else, he knew he was a patient man. How could he be anything else after all this time? A few moments in each dimension every seven hundred years built character.

Turning his head sharply, he sensed a sudden change. The veil was beginning to slip. Whatever sorcerer that had tried to cripple him had made a mistake. He laughed aloud. Silly, how these creatures' attempts never really got in his way. Nothing had touched him since 95BC. Nothing had diverted his attention from his beauties, except that one.

He tilted his head from left to right, encouraging the blood's flow into his brain and behind his eyes. This train was predictable. At around 2 a.m., it entered a tunnel after leaving Grand Central Station, heading toward the Bronx. The horn player had made a mistake. He hadn't gotten on his usual train. He'd gotten on the wrong train. No matter, though. It was the right train for him.

He took a deep breath. Soon, he'd have at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes. No one else was going to board. That was definite and an easy glamour for him.

He stood, and turned.

“Tommy,” he called him by name. The boy jumped up, holding a big box to his chest. “You are my gift.”

to be continued…





You must login (register) to review.