This was my first seriously written fanfic for something like 15 - 20 years; that was worth anything. There was an extremely long story that was clearly going nowhere; especially with the tendency of most people not to offer feedback (guilty of that myself a lot these days; mostly because I rarely read fanfics these days); as well as another fic that really needs to be radically re-written, and is quite obviously full of the rage I was feeling at Tara's death at the time.
This was also written back in the days when I still believed that WillTara was the only pairing for either character; before I started seeing beyond the romantic film that filled my vision at the time.
I still love it though; it was the first story I ever wrote that somebody messaged me and asked if they could archive it. Don't think people do that these days, sadly. I can tell you that after that I walked around for days with an expression not unlike I imagine Willow wearing the morning after 'Hush'.
TITLE: The Dance of the Happy Little Toaster
FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (S4)
CHARACTERS: Willow Rosenberg; Tara Maclay;
RATING: 15 (for sexual references & language)
SUMMARY: It's the morning after 'New Moon Rising' (BtVS S04 E19); Willow wakes up in the arms of Tara.
A/N: 1) I have decided to rate these, at least on my own journal, using the UK film ratings system as this seems much more sensible to me than the experientially homophobic and misogynistic MPAA ratings – others may disagree, and I shall adapt them where they are cross-posted to fic journals with different systems. Naturally there will be border disputes for which I shall defer to the lj's concerned; unless I feel the rating there unjustified.
2)There are references to a song by The Beatles; the 'Puppy' episode of Ellen DeGeneres' eponymously titles sitcom; a movie that, at the time I wrote this, I had not scene that was referenced in the S3 episode, 'Something Blue', and gave me the title, and finally the last line is shamelessly stolen from what I recall as the very first Lesbian movie I ever saw (not sure of the factual nature of that), but the line has definitely stuck with ever since, called 'Lianna'.
(nb.) shortly after I first posted this story, I think, on the now defunct (with much regret on my part for the loss of so much fan history; poetry; fics and comments) willtara yahoo group, which led to it being included on the largely moribund sites at http://mysticmuse.net/authors/rayharley/
So thank you very much to whoever got that line into the script for 'Something Blue'.
Also there was a reading on a web/radio/podcast site that, as I recall, was principally devoted to what they called 'wiffy'; then the name for Willow/Buffy shippers; though I never got the chance to hear it, and can no longer find anyone involved with the site who may have access to a recording I can download or listen to. If you have any information that could help I should be most appreciative.
Willow stirred from her slumber just as false dawn was creeping into the room. She opened her eyes carefully, not totally aware of where she was... until her nudity hit her.
She was naked! In Tara's bed!
The sudden enormity of her situation made her giggle, albeit quietly.
She gasped, hushing herself instantly.
And it had been wow!
They'd been intimate before; they'd been (half) naked before, but it had been nothing more than high-class, chocolate-frosted, necking.
Last night had been an entirely different matter.
Low-class, chocolate honey-filled, high-caffeine... lust-lovin'.
She glanced at the sleeping face of her lover...
Her lover. Tara was her lover.
Trying not to laugh out loud Willow wondered if she was now an official lesbian, if Tara would get an official Ellen, 'I turned a straight girl' toaster.
She giggled once more, then smirked as she noticed the tiniest hint of drool on Tara's cheek. If she hadn't been so frightened of waking her up she would have kissed it away.
Then, stroking hair away from Tara's face, she dared to kiss her anyway.
Ever so slightly; ever so carefully; ever so daintily, on the forehead.
Closing her eyes she breathed in the still sweaty scent of her lover.
Her lover. Tara was her lover.
It was an established fact now. No going back.
She snorted as she fought back a laugh. Hell, she wanted to shout. To cry out. She was too happy. She contented herself with another gentle kiss, this time on her lover's cheek, then held her breath as Tara stirred slightly.
For several minutes then, she took in the sight of Tara breathing... in, out, deep in sleep. O goddess, but she was beautiful.
Her lover. Tara was her lover.
“She loves you. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
She was drunk. She wanted to tell the world. She felt like dancing, and singing. Instead she had to content herself with continuing to watch Tara sleeping. For over half an hour she simply watched Tara breathing, occasionally gifting herself the slightest, most delicate of kisses. On the cheek; on the forehead once, daringly, on the lips. She even stroked Tara's shoulder at one point.
Finally she felt compelled to action. She could no longer keep her hands off her lover.
Her lover, she repeated yet again.
“Tara Maclay is my lover,” she whispered, breaking into a grin wider than the Grand Canyon.
Was it possible to be too happy?
Feeling compelled to laugh... to cry... to shout... to sing, Willow couldn't even begin to decide which impulse was the strongest. And she knew she couldn't bear to disturb the peaceful rest Tara was enjoying.
She wondered if Tara was dreaming about her.
Finally Willow carefully disengaged herself from the bedclothes; clambering, reluctantly, free of Tara's arm. Picking up a discarded; oversized t-shirt she grasped her overnight bathroon bag and, with one last look at Tara's peaceful features, she opened the door and slowly meandered down the hall to the showers.
There, despite the early hour, she showered.
Slowly, langorously, she ran her fingers over her body; touched her lips, brushed her nipples and stroked her belly, teased herself; hissing at just how ready she was, between her legs... everywhere, in fact, Tara had touched her the night before.
Not bothering with a towel she stepped dripping from the shower and went to stand in front of one of the long mirrors. She placed a finger on her tongue and tasted it, just to see if it felt any different. She finally let out the long-suppressed laughter.
It tasted like it had recently been in a shower.
She was almost disappointed.
For several minutes Willow stared at the face she saw in the mirror, studying the inanely stupid grin on the face of a woman she hardly recognised.
Yet seemed to know for the first time.
She seemed to be glowing. Was she glowing? Willow laughed again. Of course she was glowing! She was fresh from the shower.
Fresh from her lover. Her lover Tara Maclay.
She repeated it out loud and laughing, brushed wet hair from her face.
Then she stared defiantly at the face in the mirror and declared...
“Willow Rosenberg eats pussy!”
Goddess watch over us all,
Kerk(evik) TehKek Hiraeth