Metamorphosis

by Sleek

Copyright © 2003

sleek@yehey.com

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Feedback: Any word, any line, will make my day.
Spoilers: This is semi-AU, there is no Hellmouth but there is a Sunnydale. There are references to S3 Doppelgangland.
Pairing: Willow/Tara

I was teetering on a precipice between a butterfly life and a caterpillar existence.

Mutely, I stood in front of a mahogany door. To open it means I would have to shed all of what I believed I was. To walk away means I could go back to my old life and pick up where I left off. I'll be safe in the comfort of my friends. Be semi-happy with Oz. And secretly wither inside.

Sigh.

I don't know anything anymore. I don't know if I'm straight, gay, bi, transsexual, pansexual, or omnisexual. All I know is when I talk to this woman, I feel more alive than I have ever been in my life.

She knows me even if I myself couldn't decipher me. It's crazy. The things you say to strangers sometimes have more truth than what you say to friends.

But now I have to make a choice. Either I let her remain as this perfect stranger of my fantasies, or let her in my life and discover how imperfectly wonderful she really is.

My hand reached out and grasped the knob. I inhaled deeply and clung to the little courage I found in my heart.

Old reliable, that's what they called me.

"Hey Will, I need your Chem notes."

"Willow, get on the computer and trace this file."

"Rosenberg, it's time to give something back to the community. I know you wanna help your school out here."

Sometimes I just want to be unreasonably snippy to my friends and chuck my whole square life away. Because that's what my life was — angular, with congruent sides, and nothing but integers and points doing the tangent with me.

I soo need to be in tangent with someone.

Oz was doing a great job of sticking by me, but his kisses aren't as scorching, mind-reeling, and knee-wobbling as described in those fat, lusty paperback novels. Not that I read them. No siree— Willow Rosenberg doesn't get sex education from Fabio-covered romance novels— she gets it online.

And out of idle curiosity, I swung by the site gay.com one fateful night.

Autumn: ASL pls.

Red: 18 F, Sunnydale CA. You?

Autumn: 19 F Sunnydale. Small world. I've never seen you in this chat room before.

Red: That's coz I usually don't swing this way. I mean, I bat for the other team. Not that I bat much, I'm more of a spectator in the sport. Just went here to check out the…uh…scenery.

Autumn: Wow. <swoons> You write in complete sentences and your spelling is impeccable! People online usually don't do that anymore. I'm impressed! Too bad you're only here for the…um…'scenery.'

Red: <gasps> Are you flirting with me?

Autumn: Do you want me to be?

I blinked at my computer screen. My heart thumped rapidly in my chest as if I had been running for miles. Don't chicken out now, Rosenberg. You're on a rebellious streak, remember? It kinda doesn't work if you stick to your dull self-image. Carpe Diem!

Red: Yeah. I'm a major flirt. <bats eyelashes furiously>

Autumn: Lol! I bet you are. <grins> Say, hypothetically you find me attractive. You spot me in a bar. Your eyes rake over my voluptuous frame. You approach me, what will you say?

Red: Um…Knowing me I'd probably say the first thing that pops into my mind…like… nice stripy straw. I noticed 'cuz your lips are wrapped around it. Can I keep it? I'm starting a collection because collecting other things like fingernails or hair is just eww. A big no on the necrophilia here, but I'm a big fan of straws. So can I keep it?

Autumn: You're kidding! That's how you flirt? Adorable!

Red: Uh…when you said 'adorable' you don't mean Care Bears-adorable, right? 'Coz I'm not wholesome. I'm a bad girl y'know.

Autumn: <grins> By adorable I meant— I-wanna-nibble-your-ears-and-explore-the-landscape-of-your-body adorable.

Red: Uhh…Can you give me a sec to faint?

Red: Okay, recovered now. That was poetic!

Autumn: lol…thanks. They say I have a poetic soul. Meaning I'm usually melancholic and tormented, but not tonight.

Red: Yeah. Not tonight. Tonight I'm not some old reliable geek geyser dog person.

Autumn: Uh..you lost me.

Red: I'm on a rebellious streak. I wanna do something outrageous. Even just for one night.

Autumn: So you're a good, straight girl looking for a one-night action?

Red: Did I say one night? Oh! <slaps heel of palm against forehead>. I did 'type' one night. Well, I've never had a one-night stand before. Never been with a girl, I just thought…there's something missing in my life, y'know? And I don't know where to look for it. Haven't checked under my rug yet, but I definitely know my life has this huge gap. As if I'm just half-alive.

Autumn: Like you're in an eternal slumber where ebony skies unfurl and shadows weep?

Red: Um…that's a bit extreme…but something like that.

Autumn: I know what you mean. I feel the same way.

Red: Really? So you're a not so straight girl looking for action?

Autumn: I'm a solitude looking for my other solitude.

Red: Huh?

Autumn: Well, Rainer Maria Rilke put it better this way, 'love is when two solitudes meet and protect each other.'

Red: That's nice. So you're looking for love?

Autumn: I just…I'm looking for someone to explore and someone who would explore me. If perhaps in our exploration we find out we're complimenting pieces, then we can stop exploring and start taking care of each other.

Red: You're interesting. I'd wanna explore you.

Autumn: You do?

Red: Uh-huh.

Autumn: How's Friday night?

My fingers froze above the computer keyboard. My auburn brows shot up to my hairline. Next to her demographics and quirky sense of humor, I knew nothing about this woman. This was going way beyond than what I initially planned.

Autumn: This is the first time I asked someone out…online or in real life and I typed as fast as I could before I lost my nerve. I'm painfully shy and I don't usually…well I'm logging out soon. Give me a ring at 551-6604.

And before I could respond, Autumn had logged out.

And so I kept her number. I wrote it on a piece of paper, put it under my pillow and carried it in my pocket like some magic talisman. This was proof that a girl found me somewhat interesting. A girl who was smart, poetic, and liked correct spelling found me interesting.

Friday night came, and the piece of paper was know creased because I had grown a habit of taking it out to look at it when I had nothing better to do.

Seven digits could bring me a step closer to this mystery woman. What am I waiting for? All I have to do is punch the number, talk, and prove that she's not a psycho axe murderer.

Again my fingers strayed to the keypad of my phone like they always did since I got her number. Only this time, I didn't put the phone down when I heard her voice in the other end.

"Hello."

Her voice was rich and smooth as velvet.

"So have you found your other solitude yet?"

A beat.

"R-red?"

There was hopeful lilt in that velvet voice.

"Yup, it's me. You can call me Willow."

Can you hear someone smile? I think I just did.

"Willow, what a unique and beautiful name. I probably scared you off, didn't I?"

I wish she would say my name again. I never thought my name would ever sound so…musical.

"Well, just a little. You logged off before I could compose a coherent sentence."

"Yay, go me. I made you incoherent. B-but I guess that was because of shock not because…umm..you were o-overwhelmed with delight."

Aww…She's both shy and flirty. How endearing is that?

"I think you're endearing."

Ack! Take it back! Take it back! It's too soon! Oh no. She's not answering.

"T-thanks. I never expected … I thought I wouldn't hear from you again. I'm really glad you called, Willow."

"Well I wanted to check if you were a psychotic axe murderer."

"You can tell that by the sound of my voice?"

I bobbed my head.

"Yup. Murderers sound the same, you see. They go to Murder University to learn how to make their voices the right kind of raspy and creepy, and all a little loony…"

I sing-songed the last phrase.

She laughed. It was a tinkling sound that tickled the little hairs on my ears.

"That’s the Loony Toons theme song! Personally, I prefer Nick Toons."

"Ooh! Do you watch Sponge Bob Square Pants, too?"

And so that was how we began our telephonic friendship.

She asked if I was still a good girl on a rebellious streak and I said, yes. She asked if I wanted to do something I've never tried before, and I said I wanted to.

Which brings me here right now, to her doorstep.

Her name is Tara, a name that sounds both arcane and serene. Just like her. At times she's a mystery, and at other times words trickle freely from her mouth to my ears, soothing my nerves after a grueling day.

We can talk for hours and hours and not notice time's passage. Oz began to notice something was up and so I asked for space. I'm truly sorry I hurt him. He is the most loyal friend I could ever find. But I just can't sort things out with him in the picture.

The truth is, I wanted to concentrate on discovering Tara. On peeling every layer of her until there was no barrier between us.

I stared at the mahogany door and wondered what Tara must look like.

I bet she would have the sweetest smile. Her hair would have the scent of ripe fruits in summer. Her eyes would be the warmest skies (she said they were blue) and her hair the color of wheat.

But I wouldn't know all of those things for sure unless I open the damn door.

With one decisive gulp, I turned the knob and entered Tara's room.

The scent of sandalwood caressed my face in greeting.

The room was dimly lit. A string of Christmas lights hung above like fairy dust.

A thick, mauve double mattress lay in the center of the carpeted floor. An oak dresser stood in a corner beside a low bookcase and a study table.

It was night and the moon's ancient light spilled inside the room. It took me a moment to make out her silhouette standing against the moonlight in front of the window. I could barely see her features. She was hiding behind the veil of her long hair.

"Tara?" I took a tentative step toward her. I need to see her. I need to know the face behind that shy yet seductive velvet voice.

"Willow, stop."

Puzzled by the request, I paused near the bed. Did she change her mind about this? At the last minute? Just when I found the courage to enter her room?

I tried to calm to the fluttering panic that capsized in my stomach.

"Willow, if it's all right, c-can you…close your eyes please?"

Her voice is more melodic and hypnotizing in person. It was too easy to succumb to her gentle request but…

"Why, Tara? Don't you want me to see you?"

She sighed. A slight shiver quavered her hunched form.

"I want you to see me, it's just that…I'm not…I'm not sure if I'm the woman you imagined. And seeing me might shatter your…rebellious urge. You might walk away and I don't think I can live with that."

I could not believe this. She wasn't kidding when she said she was painfully shy. She was definitely more confident on the phone and online.

"Tara," I said as if I was coaxing a crab out of its shell. "I didn't come here to view a pin-up poster girl. I came here to see the real you. Besides, as long as you're not slimy and froggy, I promise I won't flee."

Though I did not see it, I know I made her smile. This is one of the small rewards that I live for, making Tara smile. I especially like it when I make her laugh.

"Okay," she said. "But I won't approach until you're eyes are closed. When I feel comfortable enough, I'll ask you to open them. Okay?"

I hesitated a moment. I've come this far. I might as well play along.

"Okay," I whispered and shut my eyes.

I sensed that she was in front of me. She smelled faintly of vanilla.

I felt the soft pads of her fingers tuck my errant locks behinds my ears. Her fingers trailed across my forehead, massaged my scalp, then slid down towards the tiny hairs on my nape. I took a breath. Her simple touch was cool, soothing, and definitely knee-wobbling.

"You're hair," she murmured, "has the scent and color of apples."

She leaned closer. Her breath warmed my cheek.

"You're skin," she continued as I felt silken lips brush my chin and the sensitive corners of my mouth, "is like molten milk."

My lips parted. My breath came out in a satisfied sigh. My mind was reeling. I could hardly remember if I was standing or floating in water.

"I wonder," her voice dipped lower, "what your flavor is."

I was astonished at how full and plump her lips felt against mine. It was like being submerged in cotton, but warmer, oh so much warmer. Her mouth was lava hot and sweeter than honey.

Kissing Tara felt like a sacred ritual of drinking. I cupped the back of her head with both hands and tipped her mouth closer towards my thirsty lips. Drowsily, I tilted my head against hers as our lips parted and closed, parted and close against each other. She poured more honey on my tongue and I gladly lapped every bit of it. My tongue, the lonely pilgrim, sought refuge inside the cave of her mouth, and she enclosed me completely.

When she sipped the juices of my tongue, I felt my whole world melt away. I was melting into a pool of sensation where past and future were irrelevant. All that mattered is this moment. This one perfect moment where every stroke of her tongue, every caress of her hand, reshaped my identity and unearthed my soul.

I could feel myself changing, awakening, as our tongues and lips rubbed erotically against each other. My body was slowly becoming limp, helpless and vulnerable before her.

She took a small shuffling step and pressed our bodies together, forming a horizon, my parched plains met her summer sky. My questing fingers trembled as they sought the shape of her shoulders, arms, waist, and hips. I felt like I was tracing a sculpture of some beautiful deity. The softness of her breasts cushioned our upper bodies. I could tell, by the fullness pressing against me, that she was far more abundant than I was.

A ragged sigh escaped me.

"T-tara."

"Willow," her body and lips eased away from me. "Open your eyes, Darling."

My first sight of Tara will forever be engraved in my mind.

Heavy lids fell over pools of cobalt blue. The depths of her eyes reached the recesses of her beautiful soul. Her lush lips glistened, and her own erratic breath made them part. Her caramel blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in waves. Willow was suddenly reminded of a painting of Aphrodite rising from the foams.

"My god," I choked. "You're beautiful."

She searched the truth of my words, gazing at me from underneath her long lashes. All I could do was stare dumbly at her. A timid smile lifted the corners of her full lips.

"I hope I'm not dreaming," she murmured. "For a while there I thought the most beautiful human being I ever laid eyes on said I'm beautiful."

"You are, Tara," My fingers marveled at the graceful contours of her cheeks. "And if you don't believe me today, I will spend the rest of my existence convincing you otherwise."

My words were too much, I could tell. She was probably not accustomed to hear such endearments. And I cursed all of the people who lied to this woman, who made her believe that she was not something to behold.

"D-do you, wanna…go out? Have dinner?" There was a familiar hopeful lilt in that velvet voice.

"Will there be, mochas?" I chirped, inviting a little levity inside the room.

"Uh-huh," a corner of her lip lifted into an endearing half-smile.

"Will there be kisses?" My hands rested on her shoulders.

"Definitely lots of kisses," her hands wrapped around my neck.

"And gay love," I whispered, not a question, but a conclusion.

I brought our faces closer together and I said goodbye to the old Willow Rosenberg.

The End

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