Funnier in Latin

Title: Red's Heart
Author: Princess Twilite
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: After season 2 finale. Fred is with Gunn
Summary: Someone comes to thank Fred for what she did to Willow
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and Angel belong to Joss Whedon.
Author's Note: Other couples are Fred/Tara Fred/Gunn.


It was a dream really - or it should have been. Fred couldn't be sure.

After all - when she'd remembered where she'd seen "Red" before - when she remembered the sad eyed woman, almost as sad, a year ago - telling Angel that Buffy [strange name] was dead - well, she'd been torn apart worse. And she didn't have any reason to become involved with a third person. Didn't need one.

Gunn was still upset, he'd come into her bedroom and asked her if there was someone else.

" Is it Wesley?" He had whispered, supporting himself with the door knob, glancing over his shoulder at her. She'd wished like hell she could have said yes. But she just shook her head, and he slammed out, a crash could be heard, and she knew he had knocked over the vase.

I love you - she had wanted to call out. But every now and then, she wondered just who she was fooling. How could you love more than one person? She was starting to think you couldn't, and maybe she was just learning a little bit about herself now. Exploring was okay - and yeah, it might hurt and stab and do all those bad things to other peoples hearts, but it wasn't something she could help, or something she really wanted to stop.

So, like any confused person, Fred had pleaded sick once more, told Cordelia and Angel to go have fun, doing whatever it was that Angel and Cordelia did. They didn't seem to mind. They were probably going to have some stupid fun, in some stupid theater, where they could both pretend to be stupid about each other's feelings.

Maybe she was sick. It stirred in her gut, that fitful longing, this time for a different woman.

Two women filled her mind now, right along side of Gunn, Willow [she still liked calling her Red, but it seemed somehow wrong now], with her soft lips and leaking eyes. Then, there was this new one - this angel of a woman, with long wheat colored hair, and body full of blessings.

There was Tara. And she couldn't be sure whether she was real.

Fred stood near the window of her room, touching a pane of glass - where the moon whispered in, as silent as her breath, touching and kissing her in places that she was loathe to remember, but couldn't really help it.

Tara.

That damn dream.

Fred shook her head, frustrated with herself. This woman had come to her in her head, during a nights diary of heartbreaks, whispered in her ear in a room made of silk. Then kissed the edges of her blouse open.

Fred should have been shocked, but she wasn't.

A tongue had played with her breast, made her shiver at this needed woman's touch. Oh how she'd missed it, missed the feel of such hands. Minutes and hours, and dammit, YEARS of repression had burst forth and she had kissed this dream woman with the force of a hurricane.

She was no longer Winifred Burkle. She was Fredricha. The woman she'd always dreamed she'd be, gutsy - strong, sexy.

SEXY!

This imagined woman, pulled back from such a brutal assault of passion, and touched a finger to Fred's lips, asked for a moment of silence with her luminous eyes. Fred had no choice but to give it, so lost... so in need of something, some unnamed, but now nameable something...

" You helped her." Tara whispered. " You gave her what she needed when she lost her heart, made her okay for a minutes time, and I'm thankful for that."

Fred shuddered. Red. She'd helped red.

" W-what do you mean?" Gone was Fredricha, now she stood similar and afraid.

" I'm Tara, you don't know me. But you will. And I'll help you as you helped her."

A touch to the inside of her thighs, a finger trailing up and into her. Slicking and spreading her juices through her core, where she clenched, shocked and - well, not.

Where are my clothes?

Gentle fingers, manicured nails scraping along the bud of her desire. Making her tremble deep inside, in her gut - straight to the heart. She wanted to open up, to have that key twisted and be unlocked.

Dammit, I'm not a child, I'm not insane, and I'm NOT innocent...I don't care how long I was gone, I want to exist.

Tara brushed a tender kiss over her nose, her eyes and then finally her lips. Touching her tongue softly to the edge, seemingly soaking in the taste. Fred shook as Tara did this, her hands grasping at soundless, colorless air. Felt weightless, set free as this stranger fingered her, brought to the surface of her skin, a bucket of red paint...

Red. As red as Willow's suggestive hair...

And then she was gasping, calling out a prayer, a curse, a blissful song into Tara's plump mouth, tangling tongues and thrusting her hips down, down, down.

Surreal

Minutes later, Fred lay on her back, lips touching her between her legs and she was coming again, body locking up - jerking against whatever surrounded her...

A dream...

Oh god, it felt good - to have a knowing tongue between her legs. Gunn's had been brilliant, this new - slippery appendage that had been flicked and flicked and flicked, but Tara's? Now THIS was what she wanted at THIS moment. She could no longer deny it, no matter how MUCH she loved Gunn, she loved these women too, in their own way.

Or maybe she just desired them all. Maybe she was just selfish.

No, she just wanted to know. She was a scientist after all.

That wasn't it either - hell, the truth was...

Freedom...

And then she had been alone, dream gone, drifting way. Fred was left sweating and twisting in the sheets of her bed. Shocked speechless. And again, almost calmed and settled.

So yeah, this was her new secret life. Fred had a secret life, who would have thought?

She sat now, on the edge of the love seat she'd begged into her room. Remembering. And slowly, so slowly she ached, she pushed her pants down, imagined one lover, with changing faces:

Willow - Tara - Gunn - Tara - Willow

Hell, she wanted them all. It didn't matter that she would in the end, only have one. Didn't matter at all - cause that was the kinda woman she was, or that she wanted to be. So, she'd fantasize - about the way they moved, the way Willow would push her crotch against Fred's face, the way Tara gave and gave, and the way Gunn slipped inside of her.

She wasn't a slut. After all, she'd only been with two people, and dreamed of another, she didn't know WHAT this made her, except a woman now, who knew her body. Who had been touched by hands both hard and those that were smooth like satin. A woman who was damned sure, she would be sent to hell for doing all the things she'd done...

But in this moment, with all the fear and turmoil and yes, the despair - with all that stupid confusion sweltering up like the Texas heat in her brain, well now - she touched herself, and thought of them.

She reveled in it.

And didn't realize she was crying.