Previously in "Sum": A freak accident has split Buffy into two not-so-equal pieces. The Slayer piece was on terminal meltdown until she and Buffy made physical contact. Now they've dragged Spike into their little luv-pile. But there's still one other person left in the house. . .
Interlude Willow
Willow did her best to ignore them.
But there were too many things to
distract her.
The energy the two of them generated
gathered around her like thick cobwebs.
There was a reason sex magic was so
powerful. It generated an intoxicating combination of kinetic and emotional
energy that affected even the most magically head blind person. Willow was not
head blind.
She felt it everywhere, swirling,
writhing, crackling over her skin. It moved like a lover, shaped by the
circumstances that generated it, caressing her, arousing her, desperate to be
inside her, wanting to use her and be used by her in return.
She wanted to tangle it in her grip,
spin it onto her hands like cotton candy and rebuild the world with it. She was
grateful she hadn’t known last year what Spike and Buffy were doing, what they
created, what she could do with it. She never would have stayed away, as weak
and power hungry as she had been. She was safe now. She could ground it, channel
it back into the earth. But that didn’t stop her from feeling the rush of it
course through her veins. A detached part of her suggested that she might want
to take some of it and dump it into the house protections. A homeowner’s energy
powering the wards and shields around their own property was an impressive
deterrent. And she had Buffy’s tacit permission, from when she had charged
Willow to make the house as safe as she possibly could, no matter what. But she
wouldn’t do it now, not when the energy was so heady.
Even without the energetic maelstrom
slashing around her, there was enough on the material plane to make any research
impossible.
Through the closed door and the
carpeted hardwood floors, the softer sounds were muffled. But the cries of
approach and climax rang through the house, and Willow was familiar enough with
the sounds of a woman’s pleasure to be able to fill in the gaps. She tried not
to imagine them, the two copies of her best friend, doing beautiful,
pleasurable, amazing things to each other in the room, in the very bed Willow
and Tara had shared. She wondered if they had been as loud when they thought
they had the house to themselves. She remembered Tara’s face when they made
love, how her jaw would go slack, her eyes close, her eyebrows arching as though
surprised. She lost all speech as she got closer, devolving into a wordless,
almost musical keen that drove Willow insane.
Willow swore like a sailor when she
came.
The sounds from upstairs had started
slowly, one piercing cry letting her know that something was happening. And that
Spike was right. One of them was a screamer. It wasn’t long before another voice
joined in, still female, a little deeper, a bit more guttural and a whole hell
of a lot cruder. Unbidden, the image popped into Willow’s head of the Slayer
naked on her back, clutching at the sheets and moaning in euphoria as Buffy
licked and sucked her beautiful toned body.
“Stop it!” she reprimanded herself.
“This is your best friend here! You shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.”
The first growl of male ecstasy
nearly drove her from the house.
She slammed her book closed, face
flushed with mortification. And not because she was imagining the addition of
Spike into her tableau, but because it had her totally aroused.
“Goddess help me!” she prayed
silently. And, as though in response, the words of the Goddess came to her. “For
behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.” The blessing, the
invocation she had learned from the witches in Devon gave her a moment’s
reflection, a bit of distance, a reminder of what was truly important in this
life.
And suddenly she was filled with an
overwhelming sadness. She knew Spike’s heart, even if he hadn’t spoken of it
since he got back. And she knew at least part of Buffy’s heart, although she
would never admit it. Willow didn’t know if what was going on upstairs was about
love or pleasure (although judging from the steady thumping now vibrating the
house, she figured there was at least some pleasure involved) or if it was
something altogether different. But whatever it was, she knew there couldn’t be
a happy ending to it. No matter how much the Scoobies did, how many times they
saved the world, they never seemed to earn a happily ever after. Stupid Powers
That Be.
The male energy began twining its way
through the mass that now filled the house, deepening it, adding texture,
dimension. It had the feel of Spike, but its essence was simply male, and was
familiar to her as well. She closed her eyes and remembered the last time she
had felt it so intimately. Had Oz really been gone three years now? She could
still remember the feel of him so clearly, compact solid muscle, coarse fingers
callused by guitar strings, soft, mobile lips . . .
The lure of energy, memory and
hearing finally proved too much for her restraint. Her face was flushed, and she
could barely open her eyes for the weight of desire that flooded her. She had to
find release if she was going to be useful for anything the rest of the night.
But she’d need something from her
room.
She crept silently up the stairs,
skipping the creaking fifth step, and slipped down the hall to what she would
always think of as Buffy’s old room. From the bedside table, she drew out the
small velvet bag Tara had given her and started back down the hall.
An ear-splitting scream shattered the peace of the house, followed by a string of vile, ecstatic curses that made her legs go weak. All restraint, all caution abandoned her, and she crept past the stairwell to the closed bedroom door.
She listened quietly, trying to hear over the pounding of her heart and her
near-gasping breath. She heard the bed moving, heavy breathing punctuated by
post-orgasmic curses and the wet, hungry sounds of mouths tearing eagerly at one
another, all soft moans and eager whimpers. And then Buffy’s voice. “So, are you
gonna fuck her or what?”
Goddess bright.
She didn’t even notice her hand was
on the knob until she began turning it, pulling it slightly forward as she had
dozens of times before when this was her room to prevent the telltale snick of
the latch on the strike plate. She pushed the door open slowly, just enough to
be able to see the bed.
Moonlight cascaded into the room,
casting Buffy’s face and breasts into shadowy relief. She sat propped up on the
pillows, watching the pair in the bed beside her, her eyes hooded, her hand
sensuously sliding up and down her belly.
Willow’s gaze shifted. She had a
clear view of Spike’s backside, tight ass and lean muscular thighs flexing with
each stroke, Buffy’s tanned legs wrapped high around the alabaster of his back.
Willow could hear his worshipful incantations and her ecstatic replies.
“Beautiful, beautiful, perfect girl.”
“God, Spike! Feels so . . . missed
this, missed you . . . so much.”
“Shh, love, I’m here now. Gonna do
right by you now.”
The words of devotion and longing
made Willow want to cry, made her want to scream, made her want to crawl into
the room and beg them to take her into their circle. But she did none of these,
instead backing up silently and closing the door again without a sound. She’d
seen enough.
She kicked her shoes off at the foot
of the sofa, unfastening the waistband of her jeans as she settled at the far
end of the couch, facing the French doors so she couldn’t be surprised by anyone
coming in. She lifted her hips to push her jeans and floral cotton panties down
below her knees and pulled an afghan discreetly over herself. The velvet bag she
set on the arm of the sofa, close at hand.
She nearly sobbed when her fingers
finally slid into her wet, swollen folds. She arched into it, knees spread wide,
as she slid around, dipping into her slit to spread her thick juices over lips
and mound and nub, whimpering at the contact. She knew this wouldn’t take long,
but she could already tell it would be incredible.
She leaned back against the cushions, arching herself back over the arm to expose her neck and thrust her breasts out for her other hand to play with while she fingered herself. She fought down the images of what she had witnessed upstairs. That would be too much. Instead, she opened herself up to the energies they had generated, letting it slide under her skin and charge her as her hand worked labia and clit. She was whimpering now, so close she could taste it.
With the hand that was fondling her
breasts, she reached up and grabbed the velvet bag, sliding one finger into the
neck to loosen the cinch. She pried it open and a small, delicate silver
vibrator slipped into the palm of her hand.
She didn’t even look at it, just slid
the cool metal down to stroke it over herself with a moan. Her mind drifted to
amorphous sexual images, all body parts and heat and thrust but no faces, no
identities. But as she rested the metal against her clit and turned it on, the
images began to change. Moonlight, a large bed. Hard body against her chest,
thrusting hungrily into her. Soft, round curves behind her, stroking her,
fondling her, licking and sucking. She slid a finger, then quickly a second and
third, deep into her channel, thumbing up the power on the vibrator. Then, to
the imagined sounds of Oz’s feral growls and Tara’s musical groans, she fucked
herself, fingers and toy switching places indiscriminately, faster and harder,
arching and driving deeper into the sofa cushions until she exploded with a
glorious and barely restrained string of curses. She collapsed back against the
cushions finally, the toy rolling from her fingers.
She lay there, limp and spent, her
breath coming in heaving gasps. She drew a great shuddering breath, and then
another, bringing herself slowly back to center. She could sense the energy she
had generated and released hovering over and around the couch. She reached out
with her mind and carefully gathered it all up, sinking it back into the earth
beneath the house. The land was starved for it, all the life energy sucked away
from it by the Hellmouth. The energy was a gift from her in repayment for the
damage she had done to it last spring.
She lay there quietly for a little
while longer, just enjoying the buzz. All seemed to have gone quiet upstairs as
well. Maybe they were done. A few more minutes and she’d get up, channel the
energy into the house wards and get back to her research.
She thought she could focus on it
now.
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