ficlet repost: "Lead You All The Way Home" Willow/Tara
Title: "Lead You All the Way Home"
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Willow/Tara
Rating: NC-17.
Spoilers/Timeline: Nada
Disclaimer: Like all beautiful things, they belong to Joss.
Notes: For the fifth porn battle. Originally posted here.
Summary: Flame (straight on till morning).
Wordcount: 577
Lead You All the Way Home
Tara's fingers cup the flame, yellowing into orange. A breath arches the flames, and they lick upward, escaping Tara's finger-cage, lapping, kittenish, at her cheeks. She shivers, like the flames are ice, and breathes more magic into them. They leap taller now, Superman strong, and escape entirely from Tara's hands, engulfing her face and making her shine more golden and foreign than is usual, even for Tara, who breathes spells. A crooked smile from behind the flames, an invitation from the woman beneath the fire to come inhale her -- it's enough, and Willow pounces.
She expects something more from the fire, something tense and alien and drugged, something that would drag her into Taraspace like overlapping fingers and brushing hair and even making love never do. She thought that mingling magic and sex would improve the tingle of sex and make it more like magic, overflowing, decadent, straight to her groin impossible power. But it doesn't. The flames are soft, recede to let her kiss Tara, who kisses up the same, full lips around Willow's, and in the overlap is the slight pucker and stickiness of saliva; Tara's tongue is just gentle when it touches Willow's lips, and the heat around them is just the same heat, when Willow opens her mouth, that there's always been between them, and Willow's skin is sensitive to Tara's touch; she can feel the hairs on her arms rise when Tara reaches for her, pulls her deeper, can sense the movement of Tara's fingers a moment before they slide, down her shoulders to her breasts, around her nipples and then the touch is soft is as soft as the flames, yellowing and homelike and surrounding them with protection, warmth, so that even when Willow unbuttons Tara's shirt, fumbling and eager, Tara's skin is glowy with almost-sweat, a thin sheen that Willow laps, licks, follows down Tara's tummy to the inner curve of her thigh, missing the place she loves best. Tongue-tickles make Tara smile, and Willow can feel it in the heat between her thighs, in the way her hips loosen and her legs widen and she's nothing but openness, slippery for Willow's tongue.
The flames lick too, now, hovering close and sliding between them, making Willow wince when they're too hot and jerk closer to Tara, lick nearer her center, when they start to cool. Her hands on Tara's hips, her mouth wide, and the scent of arousal twisting in her nostrils, driving her closer and away. Tease, tease, tickle, and pounce. Tara's skin is whitehot and the flame around them burns to blue, engulfing them in its center like a candle when they meditate, like Tara's eyes when they dilate, round and open and containing every word that she's too shy to say. Willow's tongue follows the heat, makes its way home, pressing into familiar folds in new patterns, slipping secretly inside Tara and greeting the long, shuddering sigh that means more with deep, strong licks that mean always.
And when she finds Tara's clitoris with her lips then tongue, the ecstasy of flame is deeper than blue, a sharp spike of perfect painful heat that swells the small of Willow's back. Willow jerks and squirms and almost flails against the flame and licks and kisses harder, clitoris then away, over labia and then back, hard, forgiving, and the flames won't burn themselves out as long as Willow knows the way to Tara's heart.
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Willow/Tara
Rating: NC-17.
Spoilers/Timeline: Nada
Disclaimer: Like all beautiful things, they belong to Joss.
Notes: For the fifth porn battle. Originally posted here.
Summary: Flame (straight on till morning).
Wordcount: 577
Lead You All the Way Home
Tara's fingers cup the flame, yellowing into orange. A breath arches the flames, and they lick upward, escaping Tara's finger-cage, lapping, kittenish, at her cheeks. She shivers, like the flames are ice, and breathes more magic into them. They leap taller now, Superman strong, and escape entirely from Tara's hands, engulfing her face and making her shine more golden and foreign than is usual, even for Tara, who breathes spells. A crooked smile from behind the flames, an invitation from the woman beneath the fire to come inhale her -- it's enough, and Willow pounces.
She expects something more from the fire, something tense and alien and drugged, something that would drag her into Taraspace like overlapping fingers and brushing hair and even making love never do. She thought that mingling magic and sex would improve the tingle of sex and make it more like magic, overflowing, decadent, straight to her groin impossible power. But it doesn't. The flames are soft, recede to let her kiss Tara, who kisses up the same, full lips around Willow's, and in the overlap is the slight pucker and stickiness of saliva; Tara's tongue is just gentle when it touches Willow's lips, and the heat around them is just the same heat, when Willow opens her mouth, that there's always been between them, and Willow's skin is sensitive to Tara's touch; she can feel the hairs on her arms rise when Tara reaches for her, pulls her deeper, can sense the movement of Tara's fingers a moment before they slide, down her shoulders to her breasts, around her nipples and then the touch is soft is as soft as the flames, yellowing and homelike and surrounding them with protection, warmth, so that even when Willow unbuttons Tara's shirt, fumbling and eager, Tara's skin is glowy with almost-sweat, a thin sheen that Willow laps, licks, follows down Tara's tummy to the inner curve of her thigh, missing the place she loves best. Tongue-tickles make Tara smile, and Willow can feel it in the heat between her thighs, in the way her hips loosen and her legs widen and she's nothing but openness, slippery for Willow's tongue.
The flames lick too, now, hovering close and sliding between them, making Willow wince when they're too hot and jerk closer to Tara, lick nearer her center, when they start to cool. Her hands on Tara's hips, her mouth wide, and the scent of arousal twisting in her nostrils, driving her closer and away. Tease, tease, tickle, and pounce. Tara's skin is whitehot and the flame around them burns to blue, engulfing them in its center like a candle when they meditate, like Tara's eyes when they dilate, round and open and containing every word that she's too shy to say. Willow's tongue follows the heat, makes its way home, pressing into familiar folds in new patterns, slipping secretly inside Tara and greeting the long, shuddering sigh that means more with deep, strong licks that mean always.
And when she finds Tara's clitoris with her lips then tongue, the ecstasy of flame is deeper than blue, a sharp spike of perfect painful heat that swells the small of Willow's back. Willow jerks and squirms and almost flails against the flame and licks and kisses harder, clitoris then away, over labia and then back, hard, forgiving, and the flames won't burn themselves out as long as Willow knows the way to Tara's heart.