DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the slayerettes belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
My Brunette with Golden Eyes
By Babydykecate
Willow would normally argue that libraries are as scared as any church or temple, every book holding a bit of the writer's soul, the history of our humanity written into the millions of yellowed, dusty pages. Normally she wouldn't be hiding in one of the forgotten holding rooms of the campus library, with volumes of poetry by Sapphically-inclined writers piled around her. Normally Tara wouldn't be lying on a blanket next to her, her corset barely fastened. And in this moment, Willow would argue that libraries are perfectly natural, reasonable places to read lesbian love poems to your girlfriend while you undress her.
Willow plays with a hook of Tara's corset as Tara smiles back at her lazily.
"Read me this one," Tara whispers, pointing to the slim crimson volume.
Willow picks up the book, turning to the page she'd bookmarked earlier.
"I love your throat, so fragrant and fair," Willow reads softly, "...The little pulses beating there." Her fingers run along Tara's neck, and she lays a brief kiss at the nape of her neck. Tara's breathing hitches, and the look on her face draws Willow back to tease her soft skin.
"You're not reading," Tara protests in-between sighs.
"Umm, no..." Willow replies with a blush. She reaches for another book, lying down next to Tara.
"My brunette with golden eyes, your ivory body, your amber, has left bright reflections in the room, above the garden. The clear midnight sky, under my closed lids, still shines... I am drunk from so many roses, redder than wine. Leaving their garden, the roses have followed me... I drink their breath, I breathe their life. All of them are here. It's a miracle... the stars have risen, hastily, across the wide windows, where the melted gold pours," Willow reads as she pulls Tara against her, their hands intertwined. "Here, among the roses and the stars, you," Willow pauses, reading the next lines slowly and deliberately, "Here in my room, loosening your robe..." Willow undoes the last remaining hook on Tara's corset, and tosses it into the pile of books. Tara laughs softly. Willow whispers the next line in Tara's ear, her tongue tracing from Tara's neck to her ear, "and your nakedness glistens." Tara turns toward Willow, her skin flushed. She pulls off Willow's shirt with a grin before kissing her passionately. Tara's dress is the next to be tossed into the pile of books.
Willow stops Tara before she has her completely naked. "There's one last poem... you'll want this one whispered in your ear, I promise," Willow tells Tara as she grabs the book and joins Tara under the blanket.
"Out of my flesh that hungers, and my mouth that knows, comes the shape I am seeking, for reason. The curve of your body, fits my waiting hand, your flesh warm as sunlight, your lips quick as young birds, between your thighs the sweet, sharp taste of limes. Thus I hold you, frank in my heart's eye, in my skin's knowing, as my fingers conceive your flesh, I feel your stomach, curving against me. Before the moon wanes again, we shall come together. And I would be the moon, spoken over your beckoning flesh, breaking against reservations, beaching thought, my hands at your high tide, over and under inside you, and the passing of hungers, attended, forgotten. Darkly risen, the moon speaks, my eyes, judging your roundness, delightful," Willow whispers as her fingers trace along Tara's thigh.
Poems- You by Angelina Weld Grimké, Roses Rising by Renée Vivien, and On a Night of the Full Moon by Audre Lorde.
The End