TITLE: Long Nights

AUTHOR: Patricia RD.

EMAIL: patricia_rosemary@yahoo.com

SITE: https://www.angelfire.com/realm2/call_of_the_dark/

RATING: R, maybe bordering on NC-17 but I don't think so. Just in case.

PAIRING: Tara/Willow.

DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. Joss owns it all. I'm not worthy.

FEEDBACK; Makes me one happy writer.

DISTRIBUTION: My site, sites already archiving my fic.

Everybody else just ask first, please. I never say no

(to this, I mean)

SUMMARY: Willow remembers.

NOTES: Written for Secret Slasha 2002. Dedicated to Casey (hoping she liked it) and my Tara-loving friends (you know who are)

*************************************

Some nights are harder than others.

Willow prefers really dark nights, no moon in the sky, stars blinded by thick clouds. The dark can be nice.

Tara never lived in the dark. In her own personal shadow, maybe, always shy and staring at the floor. When they first met, Tara had rarely spoken to the Scoobies’s faces. She spoke to their feet and knees, daring to raise her head every once in a while and show a little smile. A smile that would lit up the entire room. But it wasn’t the really special one.

Those rare smile were one of many reasons Willow fell in love with Tara. Even right now, in the dark, she can see them, the special smile Tara saved just for her. The one that told Willow so many wonderful things without those soft lips whispering any words at all.

With Tara, actions always spoke louder than words any way.

Willow’s memory moves back to their first night together. It was just as dark as this, with only a little moonshine and pale stars to witness their intimacy. Longing, curiosity and love making up for any lack of experience. Warm soft hands peeling off her clothes, lips peppering her exposed skin with tender kisses. Hesitation on every movement at first. She can trace the patterns Tara made that night, close her eyes and feel her again. She opens her eyes and can almost see her.

Bolder now, Willow’s lips travel from Tara’s face to her creamy shoulders, capturing a full breast, Tara’s fingers tangling in hair the color of fire. Willow’s own hands snaking lower, trembling in anticipation. They find wet skin and moist curls, ready for her. Her lips follow her fingers, discovering sweet taste, delving her tongue inside, moaning against Tara’s hot skin, face suddenly bathed in warm juices. Then naughty hands still exploring, not tired yet and hungry for more. Night turned into day as the two girls rediscovered each other.

That was the first of many nights.

Like bottles of good wine, Willow keeps those memories safe inside of her, taking out a bottle on nights like this. She carefully looks around and settles on a special vintage. Their last night together. This one tastes of silk and happy tears, of new made promises and rosebud kisses. There’s even a hint of blood where a fingernail scratched by accident the plump mount of a breast and the sweet taste of her own cum in Tara’s mouth.

Amazing how something as beautiful and strong can be destroyed with a tiny piece of lead. How such intense rage can overcome sweetness. And then, the ultimate miracle: The loving words of a friend stopping the end of the world.

And now Willow lies alone in the dark, uncorking bottle after bottle of memories. It hurts, but she does it anyway. She welcomes this, the opening of old wounds, a reminder of what she lost and what she almost lost too. It’s not a bad punishment.

If only the nights weren’t so long.

FIN.