chapter six: leviticus - collections

It was frigid in the bedroom. Tara glanced at the open window and thought about getting out of the bed. Then she rolled her eyes at that idea, looked down at her naked body and leisurely inspected the itsy-bitsy goosebumps pebbling the skin of her bare breasts. Shivering, she glanced around the room and saw the blanket on the floor. The sheets were knotted at the foot of the bed. Her only cover was the body lying on top of her. She sighed and wondered why Willow couldn't make her feel any warmer. Tara's eyelids drooped as the mass of wavy red hair moved across her chest and cool moist lips suckled her left breast.

“I'm c-cold.” Tara twisted a fistful of Willow's hair and then turned the witch's head so that she could see her eyes.

“Let go…I'm busy.” Willow pulled away from Tara's grasp and returned her attention to Tara's nipples. She was licking, biting and pulling them into small pink points.

Tara still felt cold. “Make me warm.”

Willow turned her head and rested her cheek on Tara's chest. “You sure, baby?”

Tara nodded slowly.

Willow kissed Tara's chest, her lips wet and firm moved greedily from one nipple to the other. She then traced a path with her tongue down Tara's torso to her abdomen and paused at her belly button, sucking and licking it lavishly. Then all of a sudden, Willow was hovering near the ceiling directly above Tara's body. Tara wasn't frightened as her eyes locked with Willow's darkening eyes. Since the thought spell, Willow hadn't done anything without using the magic that was always at her fingertips. As Tara stared into the other witch's eyes, she felt the magic flow from her body into Willow's.

A warm sensation hummed through her.

Willow dropped from the ceiling, her head suddenly buried between Tara's legs, her tongue burrowing deeply into her pussy. Tara cried out as Willow's fingers replaced her tongue and slammed into her, jabbing into her swollen center. Two, three, and then a fist pushed into Tara's soaked cunt. Tara twisted her hips as Willow's tongue lapped hungrily at the juices flowing from her body.

“Open your legs...wide," instructed Willow. “Yes…good…now wider.” Willow's tongue pressed against Tara's clit as her fist worked in and out of her core.

Tara looked at the floral printed curtains billowing against the windowpane. Things were so different now; she couldn't remember when they'd changed. She just knew they weren't the same.

Tara felt Willow move away from her and turned to look down at the end of the bed. Willow was sitting cross-legged, her arms resting easily, a hand on each knee. Her black eyes glowed as a dark cloud swirled around her. Tara could barely see Willow’s face; the magic was so intense. It was more powerful than anything Tara had ever seen. She pulled her gaze away from the cloud and fixed it on Willow's open mouth and waited. She wasn't afraid she told herself. She had asked for this and now had wanted it this way always. She took a deep breath. Her entire body stiffened as Willow's nostrils flared.

Then Willow pursed her lips and blew.

Tara roared as the orgasm drenched her body.


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“Was it good?” Willow asked, not needing an answer.

“Always,” whispered Tara as she lay on her back on the bed, legs apart, and arms at her side as her chest heaved.

Willow unfolded her legs, rose from the bed and walked over to the open window. She relished the cool breeze against her hot skin. “I'm going to talk to Giles, today.” She turned and looked at Tara. Her lover's eyes had grown wide and a look of wild panic soaked through them. “Time to tell him about the spell, don't you think?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not?” Willow's voice was hollow as her head swayed from side to side, bidding the air to caress her face. “Nothing's changed. Not really.” She glanced from one end of pre-dawn Revello Drive to the other. Then she pushed herself away from the open window and scanned the floor. She strolled over to the heap of jeans and t-shirts on the floor and picked up the items she needed.

"Will you tell him…that you remember the thought?”

“No.” She stood in the middle of the room with the clothes in her arms. “I'll tell him the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That…” she paused. “I never forgot the thought.” She pulled the white t-shirt over her head with one hand.

“You c-changed the rules,” said Tara.

Willow watched Tara move to the opposite side of the bed, away from where she sat.

“What rules? Don't talk to be about rules,” scolded Willow. “For the past two months, power has come to us from every corner of the universe. That precious thought we eradicated with a simple spell was the best fucking thing to happen to me.” Willow smiled slowly and pinched Tara's still bare nipple. “The best thing to happen to us.”

Tara bit her lower lip and inched closer to Willow. “Honey, you've got to be careful.” She swallowed. “The book you took from Giles explained a lot about the Portal Jumper. Sure, with the thought, you've become more powerful. But Willow …can you really stop him?”

Willow held her breath and forced herself to relax the fist she'd formed with her right hand at Tara's words. “I'm the most powerful witch this universe has ever seen, and yes, I can stop him.”

“But we still don't understand the extent of the consequences of the thought spell?” Tara's voice was soft; it made nearly no sound whatsoever. However, it was enough for Willow to hear.

“Not without consequences,” murmured Willow, shaking her head. “Damn magic and its consequences.” Looking down for a moment, Willow was thoughtful. “We know most of the consequences so far, and they've been….well, minimal.”

“Wouldn't exactly call a chronically depressed drunken watcher, a practically suicidal thousand year-old vengeance demon and…Xander…God only knows what's up with him…minimal, Willow.” Tara's words were pointed, but her voice, gentle and careful.

“Damn,” Willow whispered as she rested her head on Tara's chest. “I almost forgot about Xander.”

“Okay, that's not good,” said Tara. “We can't afford to forget about him.”

“And what about Spike?”

“Giles is a fool for sending Spike to New York,” snapped Willow. She stood abruptly and marched over to the open window.

“S-sorry. Didn't mean to mention, Spike,” said Tara.

“You know, maybe Giles still has some of the old smarts left in him,” sighed Willow. “Spike is bait. If nothing else, he can't hurt and he can't really help. So maybe, he won't get in our way, baby.”

Willow sidled back over to the bed. Caressing Tara's thigh, she bent forward and placed a kiss on her hip.

“Too early to talk to Giles, you know,” she grinned at Tara out of the corner of her eye. “Feel like some more…magic?”

Tara felt a chill and saw the goose bumps beginning to form on her stomach and breasts.

“Always,” she whispered.


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“Spike?” Buffy's jaw dropped. Then almost instantly, she closed her mouth and hoped Spike hadn't noticed her shocked expression.

“Spike! What the hell are you doing here?” She folded her arms across her chest and planted her feet wide apart and glared at the blond vampire she hadn't seen in…well…hadn't seen in a damned long time. “Spike, I asked you a question! What are you doing here?”

He just stood and stared at her as if she was some sort of Dali statue, all angles and wings instead of arms and legs. She'd seen her first Dali the week before at the Museum of Modern Art or MoMA as New Yorkers called it. She'd been more than a little freaked by the Dali mystique. What was up with that man's moustache anyway? Her lip curled in wonder as she got lost in the memory. Then she reconnected with the sight in front of her.

What was Spike doing in New York City?

She also wondered if he was still all goo-goo eyed about her. After all this time, was that even possible? Probably, she decided. Amazing how you don't let go of anything in that gin-soaked brain of yours.”

“Scotch,” he began slowly, his voice rich and deep. "Jack Daniels, preferably, and on occasion a nice snifter of a good brandy. But Gin? Never Gin, pet.” He placed his hands on his hips, flaring his duster on either side, and tilted his head, his eyes slits as he smiled at her.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking.

“I'm in New York!" She stated the obvious. "How did you find me?"

“Wasn't as hard as you might expect, love,” he said.

“Oh my God!” cried Buffy. Running to him, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, embracing him with her Slayer strength. “Giles sent you!” she exclaimed. “It's over! We can go home.”

Buffy released him and stumbled backward. Spike hadn't returned the hug. Fact was he was standing as still as that damned Dali statue. Maybe the hug had been a little much.

“Ah,” she started. “Sorry about that.” Still she hoped Giles had sent him to tell her she could come home. She hadn't realized how much she missed Sunnydale until Spike dropped from the sky and landed on top of the dumpster next to her.

He had to be here because of Giles. Didn't he? He hadn't just shown up for no reason. Of course, he could be in town because of something or someone else. Hadn't he left Sunnydale right after she'd been brought back to life? He'd stayed in town all of what? Two weeks. She could barely remember. Damn. When was the last time she'd seen Spike? For a few moments there, she'd forgotten she'd died for the second or was it the third time only a few months back. A year ago, Glory had been everywhere and Spike had had a crush on her. Then he'd almost died to save her and Dawn….

“Spike…seriously what are you doing here?” Her voice sounded softer than she'd planned.


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Tommy Dugan slouched in the back seat of car number four on the Lexington Avenue subway heading toward the upper West Side from the Village. At least that's the train he hoped he was on. It had been a long, hard night. He'd had a gig at a club on Bleeker Street off Eighth Avenue. The last set hadn't ended until 2 a.m., later than usual for a Tuesday night and he'd barely made it to subway on time. But he'd played his horn like nobody's business. Got the gig down cold. How many seventeen year-old musicians got opportunities like that? Performing with the man at a professional club, patrons clapping and singing and loving every note, every beat. Damn, it was too sweet. He hugged his trumpet case to his chest.

He felt on top of the world. Confidence oozed from every pore in his body as he sat smiling in the subway car. That's it, he decided. The next night at work at Mom's Restaurant he'd invite Dawn Summers to come hear him play. He knew she was all caught up in Carlo, but shit, she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in his whole life. Besides he really liked her and she was nice to him. Didn't seem to matter to her that he was short and thick and couldn't always remember to wash his stringy brown hair. Let alone get it cut on a regular basis. This girl liked people for what they were. That shit was rare, man. He shrugged and settled down lower in the seat as the train pulled into Grand Central Station.

Tommy blinked slowly as he fought to keep his eyes from closing. Suddenly he was sleepy, very sleepy. He straightened his spine and sat erect in his seat and then shook his head and shoulders from side to side and up and down. He only had a few more stops before he arrived at the stop where he needed to be. He usually was so geeked after a show that he had no trouble staying awake on the train. Tonight though, he was exhausted. But he still didn't want to fall asleep on the subway, especially with his horn on him. Never knew what kind of creep might board the subway at this hour.

"Okay, then," he said aloud. Maybe thinking about Dawn might help him stay awake. Let's dwell on some of her more exciting attributes. He gripped his case tightly.

Okay, she had great hair, the best long and silky...shit! Did dudes his age say silky? Naw, he decided. She had good hair was better. She also had great eyes and a kicking behind. Okay, did dudes say behind? Nope. She had a great ass. That was really better.

As the train pulled into the next station, Tommy looked around the subway car. Odd, it was pretty damned empty. Just him and a guy seated near the front dressed in white.

Oh well, he thought as he slumped down into his seat. Still several more stops before his stop. Might as well plan what he'd say to Dawn the next night at work.


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His senses throbbed. This one had been near the gift. He'd touched it. He'd smelled its beauty. Oh, but so much more lovely was the fact that he himself was his own prize. Excellent, he exhaled. He coughed as he breathed in the stale air of the underground vessel.

Challenges, however. New York was a bestial city. All dirt, girt and arrogance. Too many seeking too little. All about satisfaction. Never mindful of the journey. If nothing else, he knew he was a patient man. How could he be anything else after all this time? A few moments in each dimension every seven hundred years built character.

Turning his head sharply, he sensed a sudden change. The veil was beginning to slip. Whatever sorcerer that had tried to cripple him had made a mistake. He laughed aloud. Silly, how these creatures' attempts never really got in his way. Nothing had touched him in centuries.

He tilted his head from left to right, encouraging the blood to flow into his brain and behind his eyes. This train was predictable. At around 2:30 a.m., it entered a tunnel after leaving Grand Central Station and headed toward the Bronx.

He looked at the hornplayer. Soon, he'd have at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes with the boy. No one else was going to board. That was an easy glamour for him.

“Tommy,” he stood and turned. The boy jumped up and hugged the horn case to his chest. “You are my gift.”

to be continued…