DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the slayerettes belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's one reference to a Beatles song, and one to a movie I've never seen previously referenced in the ep. 'Something Blue'. The last line is unashamedly stolen from an eighties lesbian movie I rather liked called 'Lianna'. The most obvious one is in the title itself, so that one I'll leave up you not being aware of, possibly, the most famous lesbian on american TV.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To kerkevik[at]btinternet.com

The Dance of the Happy Little Toaster
By Kerkevik


Willow stirred from her slumber just as false dawn was creeping into the room. She opened her eyes carefully, not quite fully aware of where she was... until her nudity hit her.

She was naked! In Tara's bed!

The sudden enormity of her situation made her giggle, albeit quietly.

"Wow!" She gasped, hushing herself instantly.

And it had been wow!

They'd been intimate before, they'd been (half) naked before, but it had been nothing more than high-class, chocolate-frosted, necking.

Last night had been an entirely different matter.

Low-class, chocolate honey-filled, high-caffeine... lust-lovin'.


She glanced over at the slepping face of her lover...

Her lover. Tara was her lover.

Trying not to laugh out loud Willow wondered if she was now an official lesbian, if Tara would now get an official Ellen 'I've turned a straight girl' toaster. She giggled once more. Then smirked as she noticed the tiniest hint of drool on Tara's cheek. If she wasn't so frightened of waking her up, Willow would have kissed it away.


Then she stroked some hair away from Tara's face and dared to kiss her anyway. Ever so slightly; ever so carefully; ever so daintily, on the forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed in the still sweaty scent of her lover.

Her lover. Tara was her lover.


It was a fact now. No going back.

She snorted as she fought back a laugh. Hell, she wanted to shout. To cry out. She was too happy. She contented herself with another gentle kiss, this time on her lover's cheek.

She held her breath as Tara stirred slightly.

For several minutes then, she took in the sight of Tara breathing... in, out, deep in sleep. Oh god, but she was beautiful.

Her lover. Tara was her lover.

"She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah."

She was drunk. She wanted to tell the world. She felt like dancing, and singing. Instead she contented herself with continuing to watch Tara sleeping.

For over half an hour she simply watched her breathing, occasionally gifting herself the slightest of kisses. On the cheek; on the forehead, once, daringly, on the lips. She even stroked Tara's shoulder at one point.

Finally she felt forced to action. She could no longer keep her hands off her lover.

Her lover, she repeated yet again.

"Tara Maclay is my lover," she whispered, breaking into a grin wider than the Grand Canyon.

Was it possible to be too happy?


She felt compelled to laugh, to cry, to shout, to scream. She couldn't even begin to decide which. And she knew she couldn't bear to disturb the peaceful sleep Tara was enjoying.

She wondered if Tara was dreaming about her.

Carefully Willow disengaged herself from the bedclothes, and clambered reluctantly free of Tara. She picked up a discarded t-shirt and grasped her overnight bathroom bag. One last look at Tara's peaceful features, and she opened the door and slowly wandered down the hall to the showers.

There, despite the early hour, she showered. Slowly, langorously, she ran her fingers over her body, touched her lips, brushed her nipples, stroked her belly, teased herself (hissing at just how ready she was) between the legs... everywhere Tara had touched her the night before.

She stepped dripping from the shower and went to stand in front of the mirror. She placed a finger on her tongue, tasting it. Just to see if it felt any different. She finally let out the long-suppressed laughter.

It tasted like it had been recently showered.

She was almost disappointed.

She stared for several minutes at the face she saw in the mirror, studying the inanely stupid grinning face of a woman she could hardly recognise.

Yet seemed to know for the first time.

She seemed to be glowing. Was she glowing? She laughed again. Of course she was glowing! She was fresh from the shower.

Fresh from her lover. Her lover Tara Maclay.

She repeated it out loud and laughed as she wiped wet hair from her face.

Then she stared defiantly at the face in the mirror and declared...

"Willow Rosenberg eats pussy!"

The End

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