Sex: Yes, by popular demand, there will be sex between two women in this story. It's PG-13 at worst (or best, if you're a smut-monger).

Violence: Minimal violence, though I can't guarantee the safety of any non-behavior-inhibited-by-a-brain-chip vamps.

Spoilers: Through Season 5.

Thanks: Many thanks to my bud Xenalicious for introducing me to the wonderful world of fan fiction. Who loves ya, baby? A big shout out to the folks on the Kitten Board and willtara egroup.

Comments: I love to get email.  Feedback on my story would be most appreciated.  Nasty comments will be sent to that great electronic wastebasket in the sky.   EMAIL ME!

I’m staring again.  I’m supposed to be working on my english homework, but instead I’m thinking about the way the sunlight is playing off red tresses, glinting like tendrils of fire.  In the breeze I catch the faint scent of perfume mingled with the sweet smell of fall.  She’s on her stomach, a book spread open in front of her, her brow furrowed in concentration.  She looks up briefly, catches me staring, and graces me with a loving smile that makes my heart catch.  She really is beautiful.

A lot of people don’t realize that – their attention is usually caught by the likes of Buffy or Anya, and they look right past her.  But from the first minute I saw her sitting across from me in the Wicca group meeting, I was smitten.  I knew right away that she was the real thing – everything about her was magical, even the sound of her name.  Willow.  Willow Rosenberg.  My love, my heart, my passion.  Even after all this time, her mere presence sends my senses into a tizzy.  My eyes wander over her body, and my thoughts start to wander even further away from my english homework into Naughtyland.  In Willow-speak, this feeling can only be described as “the happy hormone dance.”

Almost like she’s reading my mind, she looks up from her book, and gestures me closer with one crooked finger.  I scoot closer and, even though we’re currently in the middle of the UC Sunnydale campus at 1 p.m. on a Wednesday with a zillion people around, she reaches up to grasp my collar and pulls me in for a kiss that I feel all the way down in my toes.  A year or two ago I might have felt embarassed at such a public display of affection.  But ever since Willow came into my life, I’ve discovered that sometimes public bashfulness has to take a backseat to more basic desires.  Her tongue dances across mine and, yup, the happy hormone dance has switched from a slow waltz to a salsa now. As we break away, I hear her murmur against my lips, “Soon, honey.”  One more quick peck, and then she’s buried in her book again.
 
 
 
 

TBC...