Lovers, Slayers and Witches by Rebecca Ashling

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and his corporate affiliates own "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" or "Angel". I do not own this property and I am writing this story for fun, not profit.
Distribution: Anywhere! But please ask my permission first.
The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Spoilers: Seasons 5 to 8 of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and Season 4 of "Angel".
Feedback: Yes
Author's Note: This story begins about a week before Tara's 20th birthday. Dawn is Buffy's fraternal twin. Willow has known she was a lesbian since adolescence.
Pairing: Buffy/Willow/Tara
Summary: Season 5 in an alternate Buffyverse.

A/N: This story has recently gotten past 2k hits. A big thank you to all who've read or reviewed it. Special thanks to Dragonwriter17, Wiffyscoob and Wispr for help and advice.

My reluctance to expose myself becomes aversion, turns to near nausea. Deep breaths! Deep breaths! With an act of will, I set my mouth in motion.

"Before I got to be the Slayer, there were only two real people in my world. Me and Dawn." I avoid their gaze. I don't want to see the dismay, the disgust, and worst of all, the distrust which I know, as I tell this story, will seep into Willow's green-flecked hazel eyes, into Tara's blue-green ones. "Mom and Dad were... pets, favourite possessions. I was kinda fond of them but didn't love them. Everyone else? Pawns, threats, scenery. If I wanted something and Dawn was in my way, I wouldn't hesitate to screw her over. I'd feel guilty, she was the one person who 'deserved' that privilege, and make it up to her. But I came first."

I stop, close my eyelids, to gauge Will's and Tare's reaction. The sound of their breathing tells me nothing. I can hear the distant, whiny buzz of a fly.

"I hadn't always been like that. I don't know when I turned into such a bitch or when it started, even. Perhaps when Der Kinderstod killed Celia, perhaps in junior high. But what matters is that I became small, selfish and spiteful."

"Celia was my cousin. Der Kinderstod was a monster. I was eight when Cele died."

Buffy doesn't notice the hurt in Tara's eyes. She's far too busy, holding an exclusive pity party for one and staring at her shoes. Miss Kitty mews at me, demanding attention, kneading me with her teeny paws. Tara wanted to leave her in the dorm but I thought Miss Kitty would be lonely. I pick her up, pop her into Tara's lap. "Look after Trixie for a moment." Puzzlement crosses Tara's face then she smirks triumphantly as she understands my words. Then she smiles, more genuinely, when she comprehends why I said them.

I contemplate Buffy, recalling her other episodes of withdrawal: after she was drowned by The Master, after she killed Angel. After Celia died? Oh, there's a pattern here: death, guilt, exile. Not this time, you don't, Buffy! But how to convince her? I remember ...remember!... all the times she put herself in danger for me. But I wasn't there for those and Buffy KNOWS I wasn't there. And I finally realise what Tara meant when I had that existential freakout in the Magic Box; the present gobbles up the future and poops it out as memories. Even if I had been here all along. I'd still not be in a position to know things for sure. Just remember them.

"You sound like you were a piece of work, Buff." I tell her. Buffy nods glumly. "But you're not like that now."

"That wasn't a question, missy! I'm telling you: you're not like that now!" I give her my most basilisky stares. Buffy's being difficult and that makes me cranky.

I suddenly know what I have to say, what I have to do. Taking Buffy by her chin, I firmly, but gently, force her gaze upwards. She can only avoid my eyes by closing her own. They're miniature tubs of mint-flavoured ice-cream with milk chocolate chips in 'em. Just how much Rocky Road did I eat? Get a grip, Luxemburg!

"Now listen up, Buffy Anne Summers." I say commandingly. "I'm gonna tell you how it is. Savvy?"

Buffy nods. She could easily break away; Slayer strength and all that. Her eyes are as big as those of a bunny trapped and hypnotised by a fox. Or in this case, a vixen.

"When you told me I was The Seed, you held me until I could say stuff. And that was for quite a while in an uncomfortable position. Would your old self have done that? No. Then you let me me snivel snot and wipe my tears on your new sweater. You'd coveted it for weeks, hoping it would be marked down.. Would your old self have allowed that? Again, no. Then, even though you'd discovered I was really a total stranger to you, you claimed me as a friend. Would your old self have done that? Once more, no. Last night you told me you loved me, love loved me. Would your old self have said that? To a real girl? Let alone a thing, an object like me? For the final time: no!" I breathe in. A babble, a coherent babble. How oxymoronic is that? "Are we crystal, Buff?"

"Wow, Will." Buffy says at last. "You sure know how to sock it to a girl! Yeah, we're crystal." She then gives me a stern look. "But for the record," I'm pulled into a fierce hug, "You're not just some 'thing'. Clear?" I snuggle into her strong arms, feeling safe, warm and loved. "OK, Buffy." I inhale her scent. "Love you."

A/N: Dialogue from the Season Five episode "Family" and the Season Eight comic arc "The Long Way Home", both by Joss Whedon, is used here.

Tara's breasts squash against my back as she reaches round to embrace Buffy and me. She kisses the crown of my head. "Every time she... even when Buffy's at her worst... you always make her feel special. How do you do that?" she asks seriously.

"Magic" I reply. This is said with a smirk to hide my bitterness. The fact is all my qualities, be they good, bad or indifferent, ARE the result of magic. Nothin' to do with me, really.

Impulsively, Buff cranes her neck over my shoulder, meets, tastes Tara's lips. "Ooh, cinnamon buns!" she exclaims.

"Hey, out of the three of us, I'm the Joxer, the joker in the pack." I contradict.

Buffy taps me on the nose with a finger like I'm a naughty kitten. "Stop that!"she snaps crossly.

"Speaking of magic, why can't you teach me, Tara baby?" I ask. "Why does Giles have to find me another teacher?"

Tara's brow furrows into a frown. "There are two reasons." she says thoughtfully. "One is that I can't demonstrate what I know. No witchiness, OK? Two, I'm actually kinda ignorant."

I'm astonished. "Ignorant? How come? I mean, you taught Dawn and she's one powerful witch. Adam wouldn't have been taken down without her."

"See, I learned witchcraft from my mom and she learned from my grandma. I thought that meant I was very knowlegeable about the craft." Tara grimaces. "Dawn was certainly impressed by my 'mystic lineage'. Thing is, we lived in a really remote part of Alabama. We were never part of a coven. Then when Dawnie found out I was so clueless that I genuinely believed my dad when he told me I was a demon..." Tara spreads out her hands in a helpless gesture. "She stopped listening to me."

That last statement was, I reflect, while dramatic, in need of expansion. "I mean, that is, she didn't take me as seriously." I amend. "Dawn got more aggressive and more reckless with the magicks. I got scared, started nagging her. THEN she stopped listening to me."

Buffy raises her eyebrows sceptically . "What's to envy? I fight, I kill. Yeah, the vamps and demons are evil. But they hope, they dream, they feel. Heck, they can even love! And I pretty much murder them. Every night. The Slayer gig is not something to envy."

"You pity the monsters." says Willow with realisation. "You feel guilty for what you hafta do."

Buffy winces. "I didn't mean to blurt that out." She gives me a sad look."I'm sorry, Tare, but that's how it is. It's ironic, isn't it? My Slayerness gifted me with compassion and that's the use I put it to: death, pain, blood." A bleak, bitter smile darkens her features. "And Dawn has the nerve to be jealous. Of me. Really?"

I squeeze the inside of Buffy's left elbow. "Dawn just wants to feel special. But she always has been." I smile in loving recollection. "That's why I fell in love with her. She didn't need magic for that. Just her." I turn to Willow. "And that's why, sweetie, I wouldn't teach you even if I could. You're my love, my light. We're too close, your radiance is too bright. There's not enough distance for the master and student thing."

"All right." assents Willow. She sounds apprehensive. Her hazel eyes are green in the afternoon sun.

I kiss her on the lips. "Don't be frightened, Will. Be careful, pay close attention to your teacher and you'll be OK. You're not quite the idiot Dawn is." Her expression lightens. I clap my hands briskly. "So, Buffy! Where are you taking me for our date this evening?"

"A-la-la-la-la! Yeee-ah!" The rush of the early morning air chills my body as I hurtle myself through it. I land badly, sprawling awkwardly into a patch of nettles. Or maybe they're triffids. Scarlet goosebumps of pain blister my bare legs. Whimper! Note to self: even if Willow thinks you look like a hotter, blonde version of Lara Croft, next time it's sturdy jeans, not cargo shorts. Urtication ain't worth the fornication. I think vanity's best left to the expert practitioner. Speaking of whom...

Buffy and the last remaining vampire exchange looks, shaking their heads in wonder at this crazy chick. Buffy plants her hands on her hips. "Tare, were you channeling Xena?" she scolds. "I'm vexed with you, Tara, really vexed. There's a certain decorum I expect in a fellow Slayer." She makes a disdainful moue. "Trainee." says Buffy in apology to the vamp.

"Ah." The demon nods sagely as he surveys the heaps of ash that were his minions.

"What!?" I yell in fury. Snarling, I hurl a stake at the vampire. Much to my surprise it's a pinpoint strike and the vampire bursts into grave dust all over Buffy. I can't help but grin hugely at my accomplishment.

"One," I retort, somewhat mollified by this spectacle, "I'm three months older than you. Two, I expected a proper date. Not a 'study date'. You weasel!"

"Whatever." she replies. "Anyways, that's the action movie part of our date over. Now for dinner."

"Buffy," I tell her with insulting patience, "I doubt there's a restaurant open now. It's past two."

"Restaurant?" Buffy looks incredulously at me. "A Slayer scoffs at such fripperies! Oh, no, we're Bronzin' it." Seeing my unhappy mien, she adds "The Bronze is traditional, Tare. Dancing, lotsa noise. But no booze 'cause we're underage. Even if we do save the world.

A lot. Every night." Buffy flirts her eyelashes beguilingly but the wry humour in her smile is more bewitching.

When I was a kid, there'd be one particular day in the week when I'd wake up and realise something miraculous: it was Saturday and there was no school! That delight, that potential, that freedom always felt so grand. After Celia was killed I lost my grasp on that feeling. But when I was Chosen, as a sort of backhanded gift, I regained it. Every time I survive my nightly struggle, keeping bright the beacon against the blizzard of bale and darkness, I have that same sense of giddy joy, of liberation.

The music is oceanic, its pounding rhythm is surf beating rocks into pebbles and sand. I snatch Tara's hand, drag her onto the Bronze's dance floor. How I've missed sharing this! How I miss Faith! Tare and I plunge into the wave of sound. Our hearts keep time with its steady pulse as we mirror one another's dervishy gyre. A celebration of our lives, Faith's life, a wake for her life and our own.

Tara's lips look so plump, so delicious, so tender that I cannot resist sampling them. The mingled savour, of the salt of her sweat, the cinnamon of her gloss, is the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Only Faith has ever tasted as sweet, only Willow ever shall. Abruptly, Tare becomes rigid in my arms, frowns. I loosen my embrace in dismay. She pulls me back against her body. "Dawn." she mouths to me. So, my sister is here, watching, jealously spying on us, no doubt. O...K...Let's give the canary something to sing about. I kiss Tara once more. Tattle your tales, Dawnie!

After an eternity of wet, smoochy bliss, Tare pushes me away. But gently, mind. She keeps a good grip on my arms as I gaze into her eyes. I see kindness, affection and lustful glints in their ultramarine depths. I watch, fascinated, as her slow smile unfolds like the petals of a flower at sunrise. First the left corner of her mouth arcs up into that cute half-smile, next a full-blown, crooked, impish grin with the points of her top teeth peeking out. Her crinkled eyes flicker sidelong towards the exit. She laughs, amused and playful. Suddenly, like a March Hare, in one bound Tara's off the dance floor, sprinting out of the Bronze. Surprise delays me, then I launch in quest of her. As I run, I see, at the edge of vision, Dawn all a-rage with bafflement.

It's merry sport under a full moon, playing kiss-chase with Tare through the dark hours of the morning. Only one obstacle. Of all outlandish things, a mugger. I literally growl at him and he flees. Not totally suicidal, then. Eventually, I bring Tara to bay outside her dorm room.

I leer at her, reaching for the full curves of her bosom. "Oh, yeah. Jiggety-jig."

Giggling, she slaps my hand from its quarry, unlocks the door. Within, I see candlelight, pale skin, red hair. "Willow?" Tara murmurs, astonished. My breath catches. Willow is waiting. Naked Willow. Very naked Willow. Exponentially prefixy naked Willow. Now could this be any more awkward? Or any more welcome?

The whole time since the Bronze has felt dreamlike. The transition to the bed will be, mostly, forever beyond thought and memory. Just brief snapshots in a kaleidoscopic collage: my surprise that Willow has so few freckles on her milky body; Tara stopping me from bolting; Will's tongue tickling the roof of my mouth; Tare pinching my nipples into painful pleasance; the moist folds of my sex anointing Willow's exploring fingers with my essence. I'm glad Tara is with us. Her presence is welcome, comforting, rightful. Though I'm not in love with her. Not yet, anyways, but she's in my heart. My focus is on my sweet Wills, my Willow. On the warm, wet, thrilling strokes as she laps at my core, an orange cat supping on the daintiest flesh. With the aid of Will's diligent devotion I soon reach my peak. I can't describe my orgasm with any precision. Metaphors barely suffice. It's a fiery comet plunging into an ocean, tsunamis of pleasure rippling outward from the impact. It's a lightning bolt striking my centre, ecstatic electricity flowing along my spine. It's-

As I reach the zenith of climax, my back arches like a bow and I soar upwards, an erotic arrow blazing a trail to...

Somewhere else. A garden. My senses are sharper, my mind is keener. I lie on my back. I see a woman. Pale green skin, snow-coloured hair, eyes whose colour is in flux: solid white, black on white, solid black, white on black, repeat. I raise myself up on my elbows and see the rest of her. From the waist down an emerald green serpent's tail tipped with a rattle. She's lovely. I don't think I'm in a mundane state of consciousness anymore. Damn! Willow is good!

A/N: A quote from the Season Eight Comics ...arc: "Last Gleaming" by Joss Whedon and Scott Allie... is used here.

"Hi there, snakey demon hottie!" I say brightly, giving Snake Lady an airy, little wave.

"Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer." she states. Her voice is husky, kind of a deep contralto with a hint of a trilling purr beneath. I expected something more hissy.

"What is this?" I demand. "An episode of 'Cheers'? Everyone knows my name. First Dracula, and now you, whoever you are."

"I am Aluwyn, Saga Vasuki." She sidewinds her way towards me, her eyes scanning naked me in appraisal. I fail to suppress my blush.

"And you sound all disappointy." I pout at her. "I'm disconsolate. Waiting for someone else, maybe?" And oddly, I am actually miffed. Why is vanity and self-loathing so twisted together in me?

"I was expecting either you, Tara Maclay or Willow." There's this sad inflection in Aluwyn's tone when she says Will's name.

My memory flashes back to the dying nun who told me of The Seed, the pendant I took from her. Tree and serpent, Willow and-

"You!" I exclaim. Rage and awe shock and thrill me."You created Willow. Put The Seed thingy in her." I glare at Aluwyn. "Should I kill you for screwing up my life or thank you for the wonderful gift?"

My brain is certainly on the ball today. "Willow wasn't just made up, was she? Somewhere, somewhen she was real."

"It's somewhen." says Aluwyn. She pauses. Her gaze lingers on my breasts. "I altered time."

A/N: A quote from the comic "Goddesses And Monsters" by Joss Whedon is used here.

"Huh? What? How? Why? Hamnoo?" I splutter in utter astonishment. "Get explainy!"

"I'll be as direct as my nature, and few remaining choices, allow." Aluwyn replies.

"Oh... Kay..." Buffy brain comes back into play, despite the distraction of Aluwyn's seductive coils. "But that would mean that was a fib which means that was the truth which means- I'm no good with the Zen Conan thing. Why don't I just shove your tail down your throat, Wynnie?"

Aluwyn laughs and sounds her rattle. Does she have multispeed vibration on that, I wonder? "Well said!" She flows into a slow loop-the-loop around me. "I run in circles, the snake that eats its tail. I'm an ouroboros."

"Point taken." I concede. Aluwyn's tale will unwind as it will. Tricksters! They're incorrigible. "Explain as you can."

"I'm a child of Lilith. Mother despises the sons of Adam, and hates women even more. Unlike her, I enjoy the company, the touch of women. For that, Lilith cursed me. So, ever were I to fall in love- not a crush, mind you, real love- with a daughter of Eve..."

"And she with me." Aluwyn adds. I think on how the mechanics of that would have worked. The idea of Will and Aluwyn together doesn't repulse me. It's actually kinda hot...

A/N: A quote from the Firefly episode, "Objects In Space" by Joss Whedon, is used here.

"Indeed." confirms Aluwyn. She's now barely close enough for my fingertips to touch her face, stroke her hair. I wonder if her tresses are as soft as Willow's, her flesh as warm. "But love falls as it shall. It could have been any woman. It could have been Tara, had she not died. Even you, had you not been Chosen."

At Aluwyn speaking of Tare's death, I feel pain: my heart clenches, my nails gouge my palms, tears track down my face. I recall Will's stammered, sobbing story of seeing Tara's death through Tara's eyes. Gunshots, the shattering shrapnel of the window, the wet sound of her bursting heart, blood splashing on Willow's face...

"Those visions!" I wail. "You coulda just told us how it went down. What would've been, before you meddled. Why hurt us that way?" My hands and feet hunger for violence.

"You would understand." Aluwyn retorts. "But not comprehend. I want you to KNOW." She spirals away from me in frustrated curves. "Those visions will continue. You NEED that knowledge. All three of you do. And I couldn't stop the dreams now, even if I wished to do so."

Giles recently taught me a calming mantra. I use it. "What did you mean, if I hadn't been Chosen?"

Aluwyn twists her body, and her gaze, towards me. "All girls who bear the Slayer potential are also actual or latent witches. None younger than fourteen are Called, none older than twenty-one. If Nikki Woods, India Cohen, any of your predecessors had lived that bit longer..."

"I would have been a witch." I muse. The thought of me bippity-boppity-booing makes me smile. A ridiculous notion!

"Any given Slayer" says Aluwyn. "Is as great a warrior as the witch she could have become." She scowls at me. "Do not underestimate yourself!"

"How powerful a witch would I have been?" I ask, a-smirk with casual curiosity. Too casual, too amused. Careless.

Aluwyn corkscrews her tail into a spring, pounces. Her body has me netted in her coils before I can react, her face inches from my nose. I catch her scent: saffron, attar, musk. I cannot move. Her rattle threatens a harsh warning. "As fully dangerous a witch as Willow was in the original timeline." she growls. "She nearly destroyed your world. The peril you hold is not diminished by your being the Slayer."

I'm shaken and aghast. Aluwyn was swifter than a viper! My Wills went all apocalypsy? And I, too, am that much of a threat? "I'm sorry." I apologise, my eyes downcast. "I didn't know a Slayer could destroy a world." I, I can destroy the world! "And... and you're not tame. Nor safe. Not at all." And neither am I; I'd forgotten that. Aluwyn certainly hasn't.

She releases me. "Wise. And in answer to your unspoken question, a Slayer not only could, but has."

I know better than to press Aluwyn on that point. "I'll listen. Tell me what you will tell me."

"There's an entity called the Wellspring. It's omnipotent and invulnerable. Also, mindless, without volition." Aluwyn slides back and forth, shadowing her own course, a serpentine concertina. "Lacking those attributes, it's apt for abuse by the desperate and the foolish. For as long as its current master can sustain its appetite, it can effect any conceivable end."

"Are you? Are you telling me this Well-thingy is God?" I blurt out to Aluwyn. The thought chills me. I distract myself, my eyes tracing the dark, leopardy markings on her pale breasts.

"Bite your tongue, Slayer!" snaps Aluwyn. "I sincerely hope not! No. It's perhaps a blunt saw, a bent chisel, a broken hammer. But the Creator itself? I shouldn't think so." Huh, it would explain a few things, though, I think with a wry grimace.

"Choices? Maybe I should have said, rather, future possibilities. There's no exact way of putting it." she reflects.

"Oh, yes. When the last, remaining drop of my life's potential is gone, my destiny will be fixed in amber. I'll be an automaton, a self-aware cog trapped in the machinery of fate." Aluwyn sighs. "I understood what I was getting into but..."

"You didn't comprehend." I feel... nausea. If what I've just reckoned is true, she will become like a character in a DVD on repeat. Unable to change the plot, but knowing, feeling, living. And whatever the genre; it's gonna be a horror flick. "Is it worth it? Truly worth it?"

"For our Willow." I reach out to take her into my arms. She deserves, demands, has more than earned, whatever inadequate comfort I can give.

I freeze, withdraw in a babble of chagrined confusion. "Oh! I didn't... I mean... Not Willow... I know I'm not Will... That's who you want... To see, that is-"

She silences me with a gentle touch, fingers to lips. "Buffy, I don't think you presumptuous. True, I'd hoped for Willow. But I can sense her auric traces, her mystical scent, on your astral body." Encircling me, Aluwyn eyes me flirtatiously. "I won't refuse you, you please me. Kennedy, you are not! But business first."

"A Slayer. Not someone you, and Willow, need ever worry about." Her face becomes inscrutable and remote. "There was... an unfortunate series of events: drunkenness, a vacuum cleaner, the blow setting, an embolism."

"Yikes!" I glance nervously at Aluwyn's enigmatic expression and decide to ask some other question. "You changed history. That's all butterflies, chaos and stuff. How different is original Buffy?"

She points at a nearby pool of water. Large, scarlet and pink blooms, with intricate folds, float on its surface. Tall, slim trees surround it, lunging at the sky. Suddenly, I want to dive into that pool, and drown my face in the blossoms. I want to climb those trees, and scrape my palms on their bark.

"This place isn't real real-" I glimpse Aluwyn's frown, correct myself. Oh, she's got me well-trained. Good girl, Buffy! Where's my Scooby snack? "Um, not vanilla, astral real. It's funhouse mirror, astral real. It's all a crocodile."

Aluwyn nods in approval. "This whole realm runs on metaphor. It's resonance is self- knowledge."

"And I'm definitely bi." I say, as I regard the Freudian clue by four. I turn back to her. "Very deep, very insighty. But tell me, what does all this," I jab my thumb towards the pond, "Have to do with the price of Manolo Blahniks?"

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Lovers, Slayers and Witches

by Rebecca Ashling

Copyright (c) 2011

rhebegah@ovi.com