It's hard to explain. Well, no, it's really not. But that's a pretty good excuse. Actually it was quite simple. It started with this feeling. Not an emotion, thank God. Lately, emotions were these sweaty, tear-blurred exclamations, if they were there at all. Full of sobs and choked promises, and vague revelations that seemed momentarily dire. Or maybe emotions had always been like that.
Things seemed different now that she was back. She was sick of that excuse too, she was sicker that it was true. But now, since she was back, she seemed to be experiencing things for the first time. Like those emotions. And sex too. Spike pushing into her. The startling pain that broke into the immense pleasure as he had entered her. Not pain enough to make a slayer wince. But it was a surprising pinch. An unfamiliar tightness. It was almost a joke: The Virgin Buffy.
So about this feeling that started it all. This weightless feeling that drifted within her stomach. Like a burp or a yell. This pocket of air swimming in her belly, making her eyes rise and meet the blue ones across from her. And the balloon feeling began to travel to her throat, somehow squeezing through her narrow esophagus. And it came out as a kiss. Propelling her face forward to meet the one in front of her. A kiss. Of all things.
There was an awkward moment of half-rejection. A disbelieving glance. A mumble. A stutter.
But the plea, the tiny plea that followed, held that disbelieving body down. Buffy's weightless feeling anchored them in place. Forced them not to leave her. Pinned them to the couch more than any slayer arms could. No one could resist Buffy. It was one of her gifts, one of her non-death gifts. More of a talent really.
A series of tense moments entailed, interlaced with slayer fingers moving up thighs that wore only Buffy's tears. Buffy had to stop herself from digging her nails into her partner's legs. Mental note, no claws. Had to be a good kitty. Soft sex. She bit her lip, swallowing the sharp, dirty whispers that tickled the roof of her mouth. Damn, Spike had trained her well.
But she was stronger and capable of refraining from the ritual, habitual brutality. Soft sex had its rewards too. Gasps instead of growls. Sighs instead of snarls. Couch cushions instead of cold crypts. New, more comfortable venues – always a good.
Then came the actual removing of clothing. Where the touching becomes more necessary and practical thoughts can sneak into the mind of those who are being undressed by slayers. Practical thoughts that whisper "Go. Now. You should go."
Buffy knew these thoughts would get in the way. She felt the legs tense as she hastily moved her hand up the bare thigh. Under the dress.
"Tara – stay."
The legs relaxed. No one could resist a slayer. And if they tried, good luck resisting the preternaturally strengthened muscles. Not that Buffy had to keep Tara here against her will, or that she would. Tara's will was keeping her here just fine. But it was Tara's Will that cast the shadow of doubt and guilt over this. But guilt was for after sex. And Buffy was still trying to get to the sex part of the sex.
Buffy pushed any of her own doubts out of her mind, and out of Tara for that matter by maneuvering around cotton undergarments and pushing three fingers into her softness. Heat enveloped Buffy's now slick digits. Tara bucked forward at the pressure. A small whimpering noise escaped her closed lips, coming out more as a hum.
The Wiccan's eyes were closed, and Buffy took advantage of this. She studied the girl's face. Reveling in every change of expression. The way her nose wrinkled and her eyes squeezed tighter, and you would think she was almost in pain except for that delicious whimpering.
It wasn't cold and hard like Spike. It was warm and wet. Buffy slowly withdrew her fingers before jutting her hand forward again. The friction made Tara shiver. And it made the slayer blood pump faster, her arousal growing as she had this girl in her control. It was the same way she got off on conquering Spike's darkness, except it was exactly the opposite. It was taming the light.
What scared her most about her behavior was how she was being Spike. She wasn't wrong, huh? She couldn't be the victim? Then she would play the villain. Tara thought Buffy wasn't wrong? Tara didn't understand yet. Granted, she understood more than the rest of her friends, but she needed to see it. To believe it. To feel it.
Buffy had a lot over other people in the 'been there, done that' department. She had averted countless apocalypses. And she'd died a couple times in the process: yup, she was once, twice, three times a slayer. She had lost her virginity to a vampire – twice. But girls? Pussy. That was a first; *definitely* a new venue Buffy-wise. So far, it was also a good; because each time Tara moaned something leapt in Buffy's gut. It made her close the distance between them. She leaned over Tara and braced herself by gripping the back of the couch as the other hand moved rhythmically, pacing her fingers.
Cautiously pull out and *thrust.* Buffy's concentrated smile grew at each moan she produced. Now her tiny body was straddling the larger girl beneath her. Resting two knees on either side of Tara's bare legs. Another kiss. A tongue promising what it would do to the rest of her.
Buffy licked and kissed and breathed her way down Tara's body. First unbuttoning her shirt, a painfully slow process. She was so accustomed to ripping by now. But finally the shirt was discarded and her tongue moved down Tara's breasts. Tara moved her hands into Buffy's hair. And for a second, Buffy feared that she would be pushed away. So she captured a nipple in her mouth and suckled it lightly, twirling her tongue around the nub and nipping it before moving down towards the navel.
The smell. It was powerful, strong, somewhat alluring. But what could intimidate a slayer? Certainly not another woman's arousal. She was now kneeling on the floor, she lifted Tara's legs over her shoulders and moved in. A cautious lap at first. Good kitty, testing the milk. A slow run of the tongue over and up the hot flesh. Tara shivered again.
She stopped at the tiny nub, and closed her lips over it, sucking gingerly. Buffy had to take extreme care with every movement, this was a delicate situation and any unbidden bite or nip could ruin everything.
"Ohh, Buffy!" Tara raised her hips.
Buffy grinned into the wet curls but didn't pause in her calculated movements. She was almost a natural. No biting, no scratching. Just plump lips and slippery tongue. Sliding in and out. It was like a song, between Buffy's mouth keeping the beat and Tara's humming whimpers.
And Tara's soprano-like cry signaled the end of their music. Whispering gasps as the witch caught her breath. Buffy slowly pulled back, small hands sliding down the bare legs, over the black leather boots. Buffy rocked back on her heels and Tara stood. Frantically she re-buttoned her shirt and smoothed out her skirt.
"I, um, I should go," said Tara softly. Buffy stared blankly at the ground and nodded, as Tara brushed past her to the foyer.
"I'm sorry," Buffy whispered, but it was too late. Tara was already out the door. "Please don't forgive me..."
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