Title: Rituals
Author: Dea Brynhild Ensomhet
Pairing: Willow/Tara (Sheesh. Canon. Thatís a first)
Rating: UmÖR? PG-13? Thereís only a little naughty naked touching...
Email: BrynSpikess@hotmail.com
Timeline: *hysterical laughter*
Archival: Just ask and ye shall recieve.
Disclaimer: I donít own Willow or Tara or Miss Kitty Fantastico. I do own a black cat named Roswella who inspired this fic and helpfully slept on my arms while I was typing this at 4am.
Author's Notes: Wow. I wrote fem slash. Go me! Never done this before, so any feedback, even constructive criticism, is actively desired (I'm not above begging). Enjoy!
Last edited: 1/24/04


Tara has grown used to it, the routine that the evening falls into. She lies on her stomach, stretched out on the bed, pillows stacked under her chest for support. The room darkens quickly as the sun goes down, but Tara can see the keyboard easily in the glow from the laptop's screen. The computer was an indulgence, something that she both shares with Willow and keeps secret from her. She logs in, and opens up the journal she's been keeping. She harbors no fantasies that are not detailed in the files on her computer, including that hacker Willow wouldn't easily be able to get through any password protection Tara has on her journal. The fact that she hasn't hacked in, that she respects Tara's privacy, means a lot. Every evening while Willow is away, Tara props herself on her elbows, arranges the pillows, and types her thoughts and feelings into her journal.

Sometimes during the evening - never predictable, for it would be against every law of Goddess and Woman for that species to be like clockwork - the bed shakes slightly, and a small furry body strolls up the bed and nudges her arm. With a small sigh, Tara pushes the laptop back a few inches until it rubs against the headboard, so she can still reach the keyboard and type, but the circle that forms between the computer and her body and which is bordered by her arms grows slightly larger. Miss Kitty Fantastico steps into the circle and curls up, her front two paws braced against Tara's right upper arm. With admirable fixation, Fanny kneads Tara's arm, paws pistoning in a movement that is somewhere in between fast and slow, but always unwaveringly hard and steady. Tara tries to concentrate on her journal, but the rhythmic pressure pulls her attention until it is consumed by the maddening throb. She stays still for as long as she can manage, her thoughts gravitating around the pain in her arm until that is all that exists to her senses. The scent of cat food and cat hair fill her nostrils, the vaguely acidic taste of her own saliva pools in her mouth as she suppresses allergic reaction, the low rumbling purr resonates in her ears, the sight of the pushreleasepushrelease on her flesh occupies her vision, the uncomfortable weight of the feline head on her wrist and the pain blossoming in her arm spirals through her body. Finally it gets to the point where she can't take it any longer, and she shifts her arms, causing a lapse in the kneading. Fanny rolls over and relaxes for a little while, soft kitty snores absorbed into the silence of the room, and she is relieved by the absence of pawing and can focus once again on her journal.

A cold wet nose pushes hard against her hand, and she obediently pauses typing, caressing the feline's head. Tara runs fingertips along her forehead, scratching behind her ears. Fanny tilts her chin up, a silent demand for more. Tara has learned to read Fanny's wordless language - the angle of the triangular head and the ripple of skin tell her exactly where to rub and scratch, a steady purring, low engine rumbling rewards her for a job well done. She pets and caresses, kneads and strokes, until Fanny turns her head and bites down gently on Tara's hand. In the beginning Tara hadn't been so compliant; she'd push the cat off the bed so she could finish her writing, but within minutes Fanny would come right back, whining and nudging her shoulder until Tara made a gap between her arms for the cat to settle down in. It didn't matter how many times Tara pushed her away, she had the Energizer Bunny's persistence and a magnet's pull to that specific spot in Tara's loose embrace. Gradually Tara grew weary of fighting and just made the space for Fanny to curl up in, and ignored the perpetual soreness in her right upper arm.

Pointy ears perk up, angled towards the door, and Tara strains to hear the creak of footsteps in the hallway. Fanny rises to her feet and jumps down off the bed, striding over to the door in time for it to open and Willow to walk in. Tara logs off and sets her computer aside, out of the way as she too rises and approaches Willow. No words are said, none are needed. She circles behind Willow and slips her arms around her lover's waist as Willow pulls her blouse over her head. Tara's fingers trace patterns over Willow's bare stomach, and Willow arches and tilts her head to the side. Tara obliges and runs her tongue up the side of Willow's neck, before retracing the path with kisses. One of Willow's hands comes up to tangle in Tara's hair and massage her scalp. Tara doesn't wince when the action pulls a few strands from her head. Tara unhooks Willow's bra and slides it off, letting it fall abandoned to the floor as the intertwined bodies slowly shuffle towards the bed. Tara's nails scrape lightly against the sensitive underside of Willow's breasts, coaxing the nipples into full hardness as she draws her fingertips in spirals around the areola. Tara cups her breasts in her palms, testing the weight, and Willow moans in appreciation of the sensation.

Tara is sprawled naked on her back and Willow, clad only in a naughty smile, slides down her body. A nudge between her thighs and Tara automatically acquiesces, spreading her legs and allowing Willow easy access. Fingers and a tongue tease and torment her, plunging in and out of her, circling her clit, building a steady rhythm until Tara thinks she'll go crazy from the sweet torture and bucks against Willow. The rhythm increases.

Later, Tara lies awake and listens to Willow's quiet snores. Willow is curled against her side with Tara's arm pinned underneath her. Tara knows tomorrow her arm will be prickling with pins and needles from the cut-off circulation, but she doesn't want to disturb Willow so she doesn't move. Just closes her eyes and goes to sleep.



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