Loving this....they are gonna get it together, right? Please...with yummy willowy slayer goodness on top...
Silverna <silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Exit Today
by Silverna
(silvernawolfe@xxxxxxxxx)
This is an angsty fic dealing with Buffy's
resurrection. It is the fourth in a series starting
with 'Out of Nothing', then 'Into Everything', then
'Enter Tomorrow'. It will be followed by another:
’Dawn Breaks’.
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own Buffy and
Co. Grizzle, Argh!
RATING: NC17 (Sex scenes, Language)
SPOILERS: Set beginning of season 6. Departs from
canon. Read 'Out of Nothing', then 'Into Everything',
and then 'Enter Tomorrow' first.
* * *
Buffy's hands ached as she held Willow down. She was
sitting astride Willow. The witch was stretched out
beneath her, on the concrete alleyway between the
ruins of the old tower and a warehouse. Willow's red
hair was wild and mussed all about her head. Willow's
green eyes were almost bla
ck with
need. Willow's hands
were clutching the sides of Buffy's open pajama shirt
in a pointless attempt to gather the slayer in closer.
"Buffy," husked the witch, an entreaty.
"Willow," said Buffy, an acknowledgment that the witch
had spoken. The slayer gazed down at Willow's bared
breasts, just beneath her own. Willow's torn shirt was
pooled over by the tap. Willow's bra, jeans and
underpants were abandoned nearby. Naked Willow was
pale and slender, with small breasts crowned in pink.
Buffy moved her head to peer further down at the wiry
russet hair between Willow's legs. She felt her own
body flush hotly in response, a wash of something
indefinable rippling from her blond head to her
blistered toes. Buffy closed her eyes in response to
it. Oh, to feel...
"What do you want?" whispered Willow, still trying to
tug Buffy down to her. Buffy opened her eyes again.
Willow's eyes were pleading and her face was tinged
with
red from being looked at.
"You," said Buffy hoarsely, an admission that was torn
out of her. Willow's eyes flickered closed and a small
smile graced her lips. When she opened her eyes, they
had turned demanding.
"Show me then," the witch said, and it was a
challenge.
Buffy's lips curled up in a snarl. Then she lowered
herself onto her forearms and kissed Willow. The
slayer could feel her breasts pressing against the
witch's uncomfortably. Buffy's mouth was driving
against Willow's, which was opened invitingly. Willow
didn't exactly taste good. Buffy's tongue registered a
combination of blood from where she'd already nipped
Willow's lips, morning-breath, and warm, moist skin
and spit. But it tasted right.
Willow's arms wrapped around the slayer, under her
shirt. Buffy felt Willow's nails raking across the
welts the witch had already put there, even through
the kiss. The pain was good, so good. It hit th
e
nerve
endings sharply; it made her feel alive. She grinned
against Willow's lips with her teeth. The witch bucked
and moaned. Buffy felt Willow's pelvis move beneath
her own and groaned in the back of her throat. She
wanted that friction. She needed it. The slayer tore
her mouth away from Willow's desperate caress and
moved so that she was straddling Willow's left leg.
Better.
"Buffy?" said Willow.
The slayer answered by shuffling down the leg with
soft grunts, so good, before leaning down again to
lick long strokes around Willow's left breast. The
taste was skin, and salt, and a something else that
shouldn't be there, a slightly bitter potency.
'Magic', she guessed. Who knew you could taste it?
Willow was writhing, her breast coming up towards
Buffy's attentions as her back arched off the
concrete. Buffy found herself licking the side of the
areole, and heard Willow strangle a cry. It felt
crinkly and soft
. She
stretched out her tongue to
barely graze the center. Willow cried out again.
Buffy's left hand reached up to stroke along Willow's
neck without looking. She could feel the witch's head
moving from side to helpless side. She smiled
knowingly against the breast. Then leaned back
slightly and blew a soft gust of air on the nipple.
"Buffy, ooh!" Willow sounded delirious.
"I'm here, Will," said Buffy, softly, knowingly. She
sat up to watch intently as Willow's eyes snapped back
open at the nickname.
"Buffy?" said Willow disbelievingly. One of her hands
had come up in an attempt to hide her trembling bottom
lip.
"Fuck you," said Buffy, with a cold enjoyment. "Did
you really think that this is all it would take for us
to be back to that?" And she moved herself up and
against Willow's leg with devastating slowness, making
sure to drag her own left thigh against the apex of
Willow's legs. Tears welled in the w
itch's
eyes as she
wrapped her hands around Buffy's neck and successfully
pulled her forward so the slayer was leaning down over
her.
"Show me what it will take," Willow spat, and her
hands were squeezing. "Is this it? Does this do it for
you?" Buffy was still. She made no move to free
herself, no move to do anything except smirk down into
Willow's glazed eyes.
"That's all you've got?" the slayer taunted, her voice
scraping with effort. "I thought lesbians were
supposed to have beefed-up fingers."
Willow squeezed harder. Her own face was turning red
with effort. "Oh you're such a clown," she hissed.
"Always with the snappy comebacks. But you never
manage to say the right things when it really counts.
Why is that Buffy? Can you tell me now?"
Buffy was wheezing. Buffy was also controlling
herself. The slayer inside wanted to rip Willow's face
off for this but Buffy kept her arms resting lightly
on Willow's
shoulders, maintaining her own precarious
balance. She felt Willow's fingers (surprisingly
strong in this moment) bruising her windpipe, pressing
hard against it so that the breath was no longer
getting through, but she absolutely refused to gasp
for air. There was no way she could talk to answer.
"Tell me!" Willow screamed, and her fingers dropped
away. Then the witch started to shake, eyes wide and
staring, no doubt in realization of what she'd been in
the process of committing. Buffy breathed again, and
her throat felt like fire, and the pain was good. It
resonated through her bones. She watched Willow shake
beneath her, felt it through the crotch of her pants
and crooked her lips at her so-called friend.
"You're so unfair," the slayer rasped out. "You never
give me what I want."
"Same to you," gasped Willow, and she squirmed out
from under Buffy and rolled herself up in a ball, and
cried. She looked like
a lost
little girl. Buffy
crossed her own legs and sat there, watching. She
didn't feel anything as Willow sobbed heedlessly. Not
pleasure, not pain. Buffy just...was. Drifting in
space. In the back of her mind an ethereal memory
drifted by too: Heaven and the steady-rock knowledge
that Willow, her Willow, was warm and safe and happy.
Obviously a lie. Buffy shuddered. She didn't want the
memory. Memory hurt. The slayer looked at her aching
hands and saw they were red and inflamed. She pressed
them against her temples and closed her eyes. She just
wouldn't think. That was it. If she could stop
thinking...there. Nothing again. Better.
She folded her arms over her naked chest and looked
back over to Willow. Naked Willow. Something stirred
in her belly and she knew it at last to be desire.
What a joke! She could feel something finally and it
happened to be lust for her best friend, mixed in with
an unhealthy helping of hate and
rage.
Buffy wondered
if she should start hating herself now too. It seemed
appropriate (given the circumstances) and she almost
felt guilty for not doing so. She looked at Willow and
she felt like it was from far away. There was her best
friend, all small and childlike and needing the
slayer's love and protection. 'I have nothing to
give,' thought Buffy gloomily and knew it to be the
final truth. So there was no point in her feeling
guilt. But it might be smart to get Willow to put her
clothes back on.
"Willow," she said to the weeping fetal form. "We
should go to the house." The form stopped crying
abruptly and started sniffling instead. Buffy waited
until a tiny, devastated voice managed:
"Home?"
"Yeah," said Buffy. "Wanna get dressed?" She watched
as Willow sat up, still sniffling, and rubbed at her
eyes with the heels of her hands. When Willow risked a
glance her way, Buffy looked back blankly. She thoughtmaybe
Willow wanted a reaction on her part, but she
didn’t have one. Finally Willow got up, shuffled over
to her clothes and dressed. Buffy watched this,
without real interest. Willow was very slow, probably
because she was still shaking. Buffy watched the witch
pull up her panties, pull up and zip her jeans, and
re-hook her bra. Then Willow picked up the torn shirt
and considered it, obviously concluding that it was
past the point of wearing. She balled it up and
stuffed it partly in one jean pocket (why, Buffy
didn't know). Then she turned to the wreckage and
started climbing back up it.
Buffy didn't bother to shift and watch Willow now. She
figured the witch had left something in their
makeshift sleeping place, but she wasn't interested in
what that might be. Instead Buffy looked at a crack in
the concrete, and thought about how much her hands
were hurting. Feet too. It was always the little pains
that were the worst.
Time
passed on by. Eventually she
heard peripheral noise that meant Willow was a few
feet away and walking over to her. Then she saw
Willow, as the witch crouched down on her knees in
front of her, now respectably dressed in her buttoned
up long black furry coat.
"Buffy," said Willow, and her voice sounded carefully
blank. "Are you ready to go home?"
"Alright," said Buffy diffidently. She watched as
Willow reached out to her hesitantly, and was suddenly
unsure of what was going on. The witch was taking the
sides of Buffy's open pajama shirt and beginning to
button them up. Buffy merely watched this. Willow
started at the second top button, made clumsy by
trembling fingers. Buffy looked at Willow's chin. It
was quivering the way it always did when Willow was
really upset about something. Willow moved down to the
next button. Buffy regained the presence of mind to
wonder why she wasn't pushing Willow away and doing
t
his for
herself. On the fourth button Buffy felt
Willow's fingers brush against the sensitive skin
between her breasts. She breathed in strongly,
wondering at the tingle of desire left in the wake of
Willow's fingertips. It was a revelation to feel
something instead of nothing. Like an oasis in an
unending desert. She watched as Willow's fingers
hesitated in response, then Willow went on. Buffy let
her.
Finally Willow finished her task and spoke up. "There,
that's done. Alright, we're all ready. Can you get
up?"
Buffy started at that. Of course she could, couldn't
she? She nodded but found that she was still sitting
after Willow was standing up. Back to staring at that
crack in the concrete. How odd.
"Take my hand," instructed Willow in a voice that
cracked. Buffy looked up. The sun was behind Willow
and she was disheveled and...and...beautiful. Buffy
drank the vision in. When had Willow become
beautiful?
"Alright," said Buffy and took the proffered hand.
Willow levered her up into a standing position but
once she was up, the slayer's legs were all wonky and
she almost fell back down. She stumbled drunkenly and
Willow caught her, holding her around the waist with
some difficulty, then pulling Buffy's right arm over
her shoulder and holding it there.
"Are you hurt?" asked Willow, sounding breathless and
frightened.
"No," said Buffy, but her own weight sent her sagging
to the ground again, in spite of Willow's assistance.
The slayer sat heavily, legs bent in front of her,
arms lax by her sides. Buffy looked at her own knees
accusingly. She seemed to be broken. Willow was down
beside her again and was touching her neck hesitantly.
Her fingers trembled there like butterfly wings. Then
Willow felt her cheek.
"What is it?" the witch was asking. Her cool hand
pressed pleasingly against Buffy’s
forehead.
"Don't know," mumbled Buffy.
"Your skin's hot," said Willow. "You have a fever."
"Don't get sick," corrected the slayer. Willow didn't
answer. She was standing again, and looking around,
probably for a phone.
"I'm not sick," said Buffy, and tried to prove it by
clambering back up onto her feet. There she swayed and
blinked her eyes repeatedly to clear the new haze from
her vision. “But I seem to be broken,” she muttered.
The slayer felt Willow at her side again, made all
warm and comforting by the furry coat. Willow was
adjusting Buffy's right arm over her own shoulder
again, and making encouraging noises. Willow's left
arm was wrapped around Buffy's waist.
"This is nice," said Buffy, as they started walking.
She felt Willow start next to her, due to the pleasant
proximity of their bodies.
"What, being sick?" asked Willow incredulously. Buffy
wished she could see the witch's
face.
"No," the slayer slurred, "it's nice leaning on you."
Willow didn't answer, didn't seem to react this time.
Buffy heard her breathing heavily as they navigated
the corner of the warehouse into another ally. The
slayer was walking for herself, but each step felt
heavy and slow, like it was pulled from a muck-hole.
Buffy felt hot and tired. About halfway down the ally
she realized Willow was crying again, which was kind
of annoying, but Buffy was too tired to ask why it
was. She felt her eyes starting to grow heavy and
blinked once, twice. She was so tired. The need to go
to sleep again was strong, and growing steadily. She
stumbled and heard Willow curse beside her. Then she
was aware of the acrid stench she now associated with
magic filling the air around (her eyes were now mostly
closed) and that was Willow's voice, muttering some
incantation.
When she opened her eyes again, she looked up into
Will
ow's
resolve face at a weird angle and green eyes
too dark with power to be truly green, but not exactly
black.
"What are you doing?" Buffy said.
"Carrying you," answered the witch, just as Buffy
realized this for herself. That was Willow's arms
under her shoulder blades and knees and Willow's chest
against her arm. Willow seemed...stronger, she was
setting a fast pace, striding along the alleyway with
a clear destination in mind. She even looked strong.
"Why?" asked Buffy, feeling her own head start to loll
backwards. She pushed it back up with an effort.
"Seemed the thing to do," said Willow
matter-of-factly. "What with you keeling over in the
bad side of Sunnydale, and us having decided to go
home." She was chewing her lip, noted Buffy, never a
good sign with Willow. It meant she was upset, didn't
it? Along with that quivering chin thing she sometimes
did...or was it the tongue held between lips just so?Her
mind was cloudy and the knowledge was just out of
reach.
"Are you really so mad at me?" said Willow, and Buffy
could make out anxiety in her voice. The slayer felt
confused.
"Uh, about?"
"I didn't mean it," said Willow, and now her chin was
quivering. So, definitely upset then. Not good. "I
mean," went on the witch, "I did mean to raise you, I
couldn't go on without you, but I didn't mean...for
you to hate me. How can you?! And you’re messed up, I
can tell. You're hurt and I can't make it better. You
won't let me!"
Buffy's head ached as she tried to follow this. In the
end all she could come up with was a weak, "let you do
what?"
"Levitate!" said Willow out of the blue, and Buffy
stared around herself incredulously as they appeared
to be walking up a flight of invisible stairs to step
easily over the top of an eight foot barbed wire
fence. The fence was kind of familiar.
"You did that?"
asked
Buffy, feeling dizzy, as they
walked over and down through air. "Whoa, you're
powerful."
"Thanks," said Willow absently. "But c'mon, tell me.
Is what I did so hard for you to understand?"
"Everything's hard to understand," said Buffy. She
noted thoughtfully, "I think you're upset."
Willow's eyes met her own at that, noticeably more
green.
"You have pretty eyes," Buffy said.
"Oh Buffy," said Willow and her mouth was twisting
with what looked like pain. "Why can't you be like
this all the time?"
"I am," said Buffy, and she was certain it was true.
But she wasn't certain what it was.
"This sucks," said Willow to the world at large.
"What?" said Buffy.
Willow's arms tightened their hold on her, she could
feel that. "Everything," said Willow tremulously. "The
way you've been. What you've done. What I've done. The
way you're sick now so we can't deal with it properly.
The way stup
id things
are always happening in this
stupid, stupid town so that nothing every gets dealt
with. Stupid town."
"Stupid," agreed Buffy. They were walking down a
street now, and Buffy wondered why the mother with the
pram was staring at them funny. Her skin was hot and
clammy and she noticed suddenly how dry her mouth had
become.
"I feel sick," she moaned and Willow's eyebrows rose
in response.
"Not terribly surprised. I told you," the witch said.
"I hurt," said Buffy pitifully. "I want my bed."
"I'll get you your bed," said Willow, and Buffy's
blurring vision made out resolve face again. She
watched it trustingly. The witch continued. "I'll get
you your stuffed Gordo. I'll get you juice and I'll
make sure Dawn keeps the teenage drama down."
"Sounds good," slurred Buffy, blinking heavily.
"I'll get you home," said Willow and she sounded like
she was making some kind of solemn promise. "I'll take
ca
re of you
and I'll be there when you're better and
h...h...hating me." A stifled sob. "I will."
"Silly Will”, slurred Buffy, "I could never hate you."
And the tiredness swept her over a cliff into
oblivion. Her head lolled back.
The last thing she remembered was hearing Willow
crying.
* * *
Tara spilt the orange juice.
“You spilled it,” accused Dawn, only she wasn’t
accusing, she was just saying, and now she was going
over to the sink to get a cloth.
Tara’s head was pounding. They were having breakfast,
her and Dawnie, and the sun was streaming in the
window and everything looked bright and appallingly
normal. But it wasn’t. It never would be again. She
pressed the heel of her right hand to her eyebrow. A
migraine was beginning.
“Are you okay?” Dawn sounded scared and young. She was
young though. And Sunnydale was a scary place. So it
was only natural that the teen should sound…
“Tara?” as
ked Dawn
again. Tara looked up. Dawn was
standing three feet away with the cloth in one hand,
and her other resting lightly on Tara’s shoulder.
Dawn’s eyes were wide with concern.
“I’m okay, Dawnie,” lied the witch. “Just tired. And
worried.” She rubbed her eyebrow. “Willow should be
back by now.”
“Do you think she found Buffy?” asked Dawn, moving to
sit across from Tara, and mopping half-heartedly at
the juice.
“Yes,” said Tara, and her voice came out as a wretched
sob. Dawn looked up alarmed.
“Why are you…” she began but was cut off by a cloaked
and smoking figure in black barreling through the
kitchen door.
“Spike!” cried Dawn as the door slammed shut, and she
sounded relieved to see him.
“Nibblet,” he acknowledged, stopping in the shadows at
the kitchen’s far end. “Sabrina. Curtains, would
someone mind?”
“Oh right.” Dawn was up and tugging at them. “It’s not
really dark enough. Can I bo
rrow your
blanket?” She
gingerly picked up the smoking black thing that was
chucked near her and stood on a chair to pull it up
into position. “There, better.”
“Thanks a bunch,” said Spike, now sauntering over to
turn a chair around, and seating himself guy-style, at
the head of the table. “So…slayer made it home
alright?”
Tara looked at him, fighting back her tears. She
noticed the tired smudges beneath his piercing blue
eyes and the way he was concealing his nervous
anticipation of their answer. In that moment,
unnatural creature of darkness aside, he reminded her
of herself.
“She’s still gone,” said Dawn. “You didn’t see her
last night? She um, didn’t come to you?”
“Well, I saw her,” revealed Spike. He paused to reach
for his smokes and lighter, as the two women stared at
him.
“You did?” squeaked Dawn. “When? Where?”
Tara frowned. Spike was enjoying this.
“In the street,” said Spike, “we spo
ke a bit
and then
she too-doodled when you guys roared up in
watcher-man’s ride.”
Dawn folded her arms indignantly. “What?! You never
said!”
“Well, I didn’t realize things were so uh, serious,”
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