FIC; Sheherezade (2a/2)

[Jim_D_Means@xxxxxxxxxxx]

The conclusion of my little story ran on longer than I anticipated, so I'm splitting it into two parts. Bear with me.

Okay, for those who were wondering where the sex was, it starts here.

Disclaimer;
Buffy, Willow and anyone else that gets mention in this story is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox(which should change their name, really, it's the Twenty-first century already!).

Author's note;
This is in response to Tim's Mental Training challenge. I took a few liberties with his ground rules, but the main gist of his idea is still there. This will be a little weirder, and a lot more sensual than my usual work. Here's hoping it works out.

Rating; NC-17(to be on the safe side)

Spoilers; Fifth season. This story takes place just before Buffy's twenty-first birthday, almost a year after "The Body" and "Forever".

Summary;
Willow takes extreme measures to protect Buffy from the Council and prepare her for the next stage in her development as this generation's Slayer.



Scheherezade
By Kirayoshi

"Let's talk about sex, baby!
Let's talk about you and me,
Let's talk about all the good things and the bad things
That may be,
Let's talk about sex!"
--Salt 'N' Pepa
"Let's Talk About Sex"

For I don't know how long, I tried to sum up the situation. My house was somewhere outside of the physical world, outside of space and time. Willow was sitting with me, wearing a sleeping gown designed to accent her curves to their greatest advantage. And her intent was to seduce me.

It was a strange testing of my strength of will, she informed me. A variation on the Cruciamentum I suffered through three years ago, minus the vampire or the fear of death. No, this time instead of fearing death, I feared something far worse; losing my best friend.

I had my own issues regarding sexual preference for several years back now. Faith, man, she brought out something primal in me. Something neither Angel nor Riley ever could. Angel was the first love, the doomed love. Riley was the stable relationship, at least he was suppossed to be. But Faith, she was different. She was my walk on the wild side, my fantasy life. I never indulged that fantasy, fearing the consequences, then of course she killed Allen Finch, and the fantasy, the wild side, it all went sour.

Then there was Willow. Best friend. Bonding partner. According to my Classical Mythology class last quarter, the Greeks referred to Eros as the sexual desire, and Agape as the love of the soul, the purer love. Faith was Eros to me, while Willow was Agape. 

Now Willow was trying her damnedest to be Eros as well. And a secret part of me wanted that as well.

I had wrestled with my sexuality for years. At some point, I finally decided that I was probably bi, leaning toward a preference to male. Okay. No problem.

Until right now, when I was being faced with about five feet two inches, one hundred and five pounds of pure sensual desire in red hair, assuring me that I will not be allowed out of my own home until she fucks me.

Oh, and she slipped something in my wine, some chemical designed to lower inhibitions. I wasn't sure if it was working on me at first, until she started to walk around me, her robe opened. She wasn't wearing anything under her robe. Not a stitch. I tried to avert my eyes from her body, but she called my name, breathily, calmly. "Is something the matter, Buffy?"

I should have gotten off the couch, ran up to my room and locked the door behind me. But I just couldn't get that idea across to my legs. Besides, something told me that I'd have more success dealing with Willow if I had a clear view of her location. Great, now I'm thinking of my best friend like she's the enemy. My opponent in this battle of wills. She, determined to have me. Me, just as determined that she wouldn't get me.

Even if I was wondering whether her having me was such a bad thing.

I tried to look at my feet, but my eyes turned traitor, and started to scan her body. From the delicate turn of her ankle, up the long slender legs, smooth swaying hips, torso, breasts, arms -- good, stay on arms, arms are safe, hands are safe, hands -- she saw my eyes focus on her hands, and moved her hands to gently rest at the juncture between her legs. Whoa! No need to ask if she's a natural redhead! 

I never thought of Willow as being an exhibitioninst, certainly not to the extent that she was showing her body tonight. "Willow," I blurted out, "Please close your robe."

Willow looked at me with a strange mix of innocence and knowing desire. Oh God, she's not just doing this because she has to, she really wants me. Oh God! "What's the matter, Buffy? We're all girls here. We've undressed in front of each other before, when we were roommates. We know what we look like, no biggie."

"You never announced your intent to rape me before," I said under my breath. The sudden change in Willow's expression told me that she heard my poor choice of words. Her face hardened for only a second, then softened. 

"Oh, Buffy," Willow cooed, almost sympathetically, but with that ever-present undertone of desire, "is that what you think I'm doing? Raping you? I hate that word, rape. It means forcing you, taking you against your will. I will not rape you, Buffy. I could never do anything like that." She leaned in closer as she sat down next to me on the sofa, giving me a better view of her breasts. I could smell the perfume she dabbed in that gentle valley, floral with a suggestion of sandalwood. Did she know the effect she was having on me? Of course she did, that was the point.

She gently took my hand, stopping me from squirming away from her. I could hear a faint voice in my head, oh so slight, <<take her>>. But I knew that if I gave in, I ran the risk of losing Willow. I could never let that happen. Not so soon after losing Mom. Dear God, give me the strength to resist her.

"Buffy," she purred as she pulled me in closer, ever so closer, into her embrace, "this is me talking to you. Willow Rosenberg. I love you, Buffy. You are, and always will be, my best friend. I would do anything for you, and would never betray you. And you know that what I say is true." She stroked my hand so gently, so softly. I swallowed hard, and firmed my resolve. 

"Besides," she continued, "there's that Rule of Three to consider. You've heard of that, right? One of the prime rules for Wicca; whatsoever a witch does to another, either good or evil, comes back to them three times over. If I were to hurt you, I'd recieve that pain three times as bad." She stroked my hair with her hand, oh that felt so soft, so sweet. I couldn't tell her that, I had to fight her. That's what this test was about, right? Testing my will power?

"That is why I had to volunteer for this when Giles brought it up. He sees you as his daughter, not a potential lover. Xander is devoted to Anya. Angel, well, you know, happiness clause. And don't get me started on Riley. I ever see him again, I'm getting my shovel." We both chuckled at her promise. I slowly felt my anxiety fade, just the tiniest bit. "And I'd be damned before I let any of those bastards from the Council touch you, my sweet Buffy." She leaned in slightly, her fingers tracing from my hand, up my arm, featherlight touches. Powerful touches. Too powerful.

"Hoo-kay!" I jumped suddenly. "Hands where I can see them, Willow."

She pulled her hands away, but didn't back away from me. I was keenly aware of her presence, of the pressure of her arm against mine, of the scent of her perfume, now mingled with a sweet musky fragrance that could only be part of Willow. Resist, Buffy, resist. Think un-sexy thoughts. The Gentlemen. Rosie O'Donnell. Mr. Snyder in a green Speedo. Oh, yeah, that did it. Cooled down.

"Oh come on, Buffy," Willow was saying, her voice continuing on in that sultry coo she had been using on me. Snyder in a Speedo! Snyder in a Speedo! "Are you going to honestly tell me that you didn't enjoy my touching you?"

"Just keep them in sight," I answered quickly. No, I couldn't honestly say I didn't. But I wasn't gonna tell her that. "It's bad enough you've got your tits hanging out..."

"Tits," she muttered suddenly. "Another unpleasant word." She regarded me with a more reserved expression, but the mischief in her eyes was still there. Oh God. "Who came up with all these ugly words to describe something as beautiful as the female body? Tits. Ass. Cunt. Pussy."

"Actually," I admitted, "I like 'pussy'."

"You do?" she asked brightly, suddenly leering at me.

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" I shouted, which drew from her a cheerful laugh. "What is this anyway, really? You trying to convert me or something? You and Tara got a deal going? Convert ten girls to lesbianism and you get the toaster oven?"

I must have spoken in too loud a voice, because suddenly she shied away from me. Oh God, I blew it! I immediately leaned toward her, and took her hand in mine. "Oh, Wills, I'm sorry. I just -- I, I -- this is just a strange situation for me. If I start ranting, just ignore me."

Willow looked back at me, and though I could see a faint tear track mar her lovely face, she smiled for me, an honest, real smile. "I understand, Buffy," she assured me. "This is a weird scenario for both of us. And no, I'm not trying to convert you to anything. Not that I need to, do I?" Her eyes took on that knowing look again, and I knew that I fell into her trap. Clever red-haired minx. "I remember the way you and Faith would steal looks at each other. Something was there. No, I don't think you're a lesbian. But women are attractive to you, just as men are. That's the situation with me." She leaned in closely again, and started to blow softly into my ear. 

"And you're right," she whispered silkenly in my ear. "I like 'pussy' too. It's soft, sweet. Something cute, something you want to pet, to touch. It's just the ugly words I was talking about. Take 'fuck' for instance." She sat back up, but never let go of my hand. "An acronym for a nineteenth century term for soliciting a prostitute; 'to solicite a person For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge'. Nice. The word 'fuck' basically means a sex crime. Sure, I use it sometimes, in private, but I don't do it."

"You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" She leaned in close enough to kiss me on the mouth, but didn't. "I don't have 'tits', I have breasts. I don't have a 'cunt', I have a vagina. And I don't 'fuck', I make love."

<<She'll fuck you, Buffy, and you'll love it.>> That voice again. Oh God. I was on the tightrope here. I wanted her. As a friend, as a partner, as a lover, in all ways I wanted her. But if I took her, I'd lose. I'd prove that I was too weak, that my body could betray me easily. And what would happen to our friendship? I wasn't going to risk that. I couldn't. I've lost too much already in my life. I couldn't survive if I lost Willow.

But there was still that voice, that insessant lust growing within me, telling me what I want to hear, but refuse to hear. <<She wants you, Buffy! Let her have you!>> NO! I can't! Not Willow!

Even if I could easily become lost in the depths of those green eyes, or if that beautiful red hair just ached for my fingers to run through it, or if that sweet body of hers demanded my hands, my lips, my tongue--

"Come here, Buffy," she slowly crooked her finger, beckoning me to her. I resisted. I wasn't going to let her throw herself at me. "Not that way, Buffy," she smiled sweetly, but just a bit of mischief alight on her face. "You just looked tense. I wanted to give you a massage. See," she held up her hands, wiggling her fingers, "purely therapeutic."

"No funny stuff, Wills?"

"I won't lie to you," Willow answered sweetly. "I'll do anything I can to break down your defenses. But I told you the rules of the game. No penetration, no kissing or licking, only touches, breaths and words. Surely the big tough Slayer can take that, can't she?"

This was Willow. This was my best friend. The one who comforted me when Angel left me. The one who was there for me when Mom died. The one person in this world who I could trust with my life, my heart, my soul.

But could I trust myself with her?

"Okay," I told her, putting on the closest thing I had to her 'resolve face'. "Shoulders, back, upper body in general. Fingers, palms only. No breasts, nothing lower than the lower ribs, and all clothing remains in place. Okay?"

Willow shrugged her shoulders, playing the innocent. "Agreed." 

I leaned in toward her, twisting myself around slightly. "Okay, let's feel those magic fingers." She slowly positioned me so I was sitting in front of her, and pulled me back so I was leaning against her body. She started to touch my shoulders, gently but firmly. Her hands started to press down on my shoulders in firm small circles, kneading the tension out of my back. Oh God, she was good. This was something I could get used to. "You have talented fingers," I murmured. "Must have gotten some practice on Tara."

I thought I could feel her hesitating as she rubbed my back. I shook my head, saying, "Sorry, Wills."

"Don't be," she said gently. "She and I knew it wasn't meant to be. We're still friends and all that. It's just that we finally had to accept that we weren't going the same way." I heard her voice, a sweet whisper, a vocal carress, so close to my ear. She was so close. I gulped down, and fought the power she held over me. But I so wanted to surrender. 

I was falling hard for her. There was no other way to say it.

I don't recall how long she just kept at it, just massaging my shoulders and back. I was simply enjoying it too much. My body was indeed betraying my mind. And I didn't know how much longer I could fight her off.

"You have such soft skin, Buffy," she commented as her hands worked their way down my back. "And you smell so good." I could feel her nose press against my back. 

"Just remember," I said to her, keeping my voice to a whisper; I was becoming more aroused, and I didn't want her to hear my arousal in my voice. "Hands, breath and words."

"And I haven't broken those rules," she answered sweetly. "Yet. Actually, you have no idea how powerful the human voice is in terms of seduction. Words can reach a place in the heart that the hands can never carress." I wasn't even aware that she was still massaging my shoulders, as I grew lost in her gentle voice. She was right, I realized. She was seducing me, making love to me with her voice.

"You know the story of Sheherezade, don't you?" she cooed in my ears. "She was the latest wife of a caliph who wanted to be rid of her. He planned to have her killed on their wedding night, but she knew that her life was on the line. So she started to tell him stories. That's where the 1,001 Arabian Nights came from. Her stories. Each night, she would bring her story to a key part of the action, mesmerizing the caliph with her words. Then she would stop, and the caliph would want to know what happened next. And Sheherezade would promise to tell him the rest of the story the next night."

"So Sheherezade invented the cliffhanger," I whispered. My body continued to go against my will, responding to her gentlest touch.

"More than that," she smiled. "She won his interest, and finally his heart, with her words. Nothing more than her voice, telling him stories. She was the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, and in the end it was her voice that won him over."

Her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing, didn't she? Willow was winning. And she knew it.




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