Not Necessarily Narcissism
Fandom: Buffy
Canon Compliancy: Set shortly after “Doppelgangland”
Character: Wilow
Genre: Drama
Rating: R
Word Count: ~350
Disclaimer: Not mine; no money.
Warning: Non-graphic autoeroticism
Summary: Meeting her Wishverse counterpart causes Willow to react ... unexpectedly.
Written for
still_grrr's free-for all-prompt, for which I chose: Dark Mirror, and posted there.
Lying in bed - her childhood bed, or at least the one she’s had since she turned ten and got a ‘big girl’ bed - Willow feels anything but childlike. It's not that she hasn't done this before - it’s that this is the first time she's longed to do so all day.
The first time occurred about two months ago. She spent a good half hour kissing Oz in his van parked just down the street from her house. Upon reaching the sanctity of her bedroom afterwards, she felt unable to resist the anxious hum of her body. Due to the rather graphic, if dry, lecture her mother had given her the previous year - done in an attempt to make sure Willow understood the beauty and power of female sexuality - she actually held an idea of what to do. Oz’s face swimming in her mind’s eye, she touched herself until she came, whimpering softly.
But today isn’t like that - today she hasn’t even seen Oz, let alone kissed him. Today she hasn’t even thought of Oz.
Today her mind spins with images of brilliant red hair that hangs to shoulders, of black leather clad legs rising to a curve of buttocks, of burgundy covered breasts pressed high and full. Today she burns.
Sliding one hand under the waistband of her sexiest pajamas - or at least she hopes they’re sexy, being a solid dark purple, chosen because they’re the only thing she owns that she can see the other in - she bites her lip as the pleasure comes, fingers moving ever more quickly to build to her peak, which coils through her center in tingling warmth.
As her head tips back, neck arched, mouth opening in an O, cries echoing in the openness of an empty house, it is her own face she sees - yet transformed from anything she’s ever observed in her bathroom mirror. A wanton smile curves lust-red lips, tongue emerging playfully from between sharp, white teeth, a knowing glint of eye that appears simultaneously alluring and mocking.
It is this vision of herself, seen as if in a dark mirror, that shatters her into the most intense orgasm she will have for a year.