DISCLAIMER: Large chunks of this story are the property of Joss Whedon (BTVS/Angel), Ilene Chaiken (L Word), and the various multi-conglomerate media corporations (i.e. Fox, UPN, and Showtime).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was heavily inspired by a UK short film called 'Double Entente' (1994) by Jacquie Lawrence. Willow's POV. Sequel to Wants.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

By Fun In Dysfuntion

I send a small prayer to the C++ deities, hoping the code will run smoothly this time. I lean back in my chair watching text sprawl across the computer screen. It blurs, resembling a crawling inkblot. My eyes are tired, my head pounding. The bright fluorescent lights in this computer lab are not helping. I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and inwardly curse. I know I'm nowhere near finishing this project.

I have to call. I don't want to call. I hate disappointing Tara. Will she forgive me this time? Leaving the computer room, I walk outside the building to make my phone call. Away from the harsh lights and stagnant air, I already feel better. With the phone to my ear, I wait for her to answer. "Hi baby," she says. Her voice never fails to give me shivers.

"I can't make it tonight. I can't get the program to run. I need more time to work on it. I'm so sorry, hon," I tell her, feeling frustrated and guilty about breaking yet another date.

Her words comfort me, but I know I let her down. I can tell. Her voice is slightly higher than normal when she says, "I'll see you later."

Back in the lab, I attempt to fix the code to make it run correctly. I want to finish this project. 'But, to what end and for what price?' a bitter inner voice asks. I know the answer. A hallow accolade bartered with time that should be spent with Tara. I sigh.

I need to get away from here. I need to be with Tara.

I walk to the Espresso Pump. As I enter from the side entrance, I can see her staring at strangers walking by the windows. I buy a mocha and stand near her. I want her to be surprised and happy to see me. Instead, I'm greeted with a look of irritation flitting across her features as she grudgingly allows me to share her table. I don't blame her. I can't.

Silence is not my friend. I've never been good with dealing with the awkward pauses in conversations. My first instinct is to fill the void with banalities strung together by an invisible thread woven by my panicked synapses. I ignore that impulse. Instead, I watch her as I sip my drink. I can tell she's upset. She doesn't even want to look in my direction.

In a pathetic attempt to break the tension with self-deprecating irony, I ask her if she is waiting for someone.

"Not any more," she replies, giving me hope. I smile in relief.

"I'm so sorry I've let school take away from our time together,' I apologize. I want to salve the hurt that I've caused. My eyes search hers as I whisper ardently, "I get all focus-girl with school, and I forget what matters most to me…you."

I need to reconnect, to touch her hand. It's a small gesture, but even the most innocent caresses are enough to provoke my desire for her. She pauses. She's still a little hurt by how I've disregarded our time. 'Forgive me,' my eyes plead. She takes my hand as we leave the coffee house.

Walk into our dorm room, I light our candles. I shed my jacket and gaze at her. Shyness suddenly overcomes me. Unable to verbalize my desires, I hesitate.

I need us.

She reacts instantaneously. Warm arms draw me close. I feel her tongue brush across my lower lip before she enters my mouth. I moan into her mouth as my arms wrap around her waist, pulling her body into mine. My hands knead the muscles of her back. Blood pounds in my ears. She tugs harshly to remove my shirt. Breathing raggedly, I can feel the intimate caress of her eyes on me. My body responds to her gazes, her touch.

I need her.

Her seductive voice makes me tremble. I drop my head onto her shoulder. My knees are weak. I kiss her neck, working my way to her collarbone and nibbling at her flesh while I undo the buttons on her shirt. My lips brush hers teasingly. Whimpers emanate from her throat as her hands in my hair crush my lips to hers to deepen the kiss. Her velvet tongue slips over mine. I capture it, sucking gently and sliding my lips along her tongue. The vibrations from her groan tickle my lips. My fingers nimbly dance to loosen fasteners of our clothes. The discarded items pool around our legs.

Tumbling onto our bed, our bodies tangled in an intimate caress as we fulfill our needs.

The End

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