Funnier in Latin
Series: Next Story
Spoilers: Buffy: Post-season 6. Angel: None, really.
Summary: Fred's out on the prowl and finds a beautiful redhead.
Disclaimer: All non-original characters herein belong to persons such as Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, WB, etc, etc, etc, rather the author. No compensation is received by the author or the owners of this site.
Author's Note: This is canon Buffy, this last season after Willow tried to end the world, and non-canon Angel, this last season. Gunn and Fred aren't together. I usually don't write Willow or Fred centric fic, but this idea came to me. I wrote it in about an hour, so it's kinda stinky and has been on my hard drive for a while.
Other times, she can't help the babble that seems just to fall from her lips, her brain tells her mouth to stop, and she even wants to raise her hands to cup them over her lips so that she can stop herself from speaking. Except a part of her knows they'd think she's even crazier, if she did. She knows she sounds crazy, but she just can't seem to help herself. She knows a lot of it is just the repercussions of her time in Pylea, and she hopes that in due time, they will pass. But if not, at least she knows she has a card to play the next time they try to force her into something she doesn't want to do. Like singing karaoke.
She sneaks out late at night, to go to bars in clothing they don't know she owns, or would ever imagine her to wear. This is her secret, and she holds it close to her, relishing in it. It's the only part of her life that she's had control over, and that hasn't been intruded upon by other people. She meets people, lonely men and women, like her, who come to these bars alone. The bars are filled with lonely people. These aren't the types of clubs near university campuses or large office buildings where people go with their friends or co-workers to have fun or unwind. These are the seedier bars that people like that commonly avoid. These are bars where lonely people go to drink themselves stupid so that they won't mind that the person they're making out with or fucking against a dirty wall is rather ugly. When they close their eyes, they imagine someone else in the place of the person they're kissing or fucking.
Fred has better standards than that. Once the thrill of anonymous fucking in dark, public places wore off, she made them take her back to their places. She'd walk into dark apartments or houses, and blink against the harsh lights that would turn on. She'd drink in the surroundings, and she's beginning to recognize patterns. Lonely professional women, tired of going out to sports bars with colleagues after work. Lonely professional men, tired of meeting lonely professional women still going to the sports bars with colleagues after work. Newly single people. Sometimes, Fred knows it was just a girlfriend or a boyfriend. No ring on the finger, no pale swath of skin where a ring used to be in an otherwise evenly tanned hand. She recognizes the divorcees immediately because of that telltale patch. She knows some of those people are cheaters who took the ring off merely because their spouses were out of town. But these people are often easily recognizable.
There's a difference, really. You know when someone has been living on his or her own for a while. And Fred has grown quite adept at recognizing them.
Tonight, she sits alone, per usual, at the bar nursing a Jack and Coke. She swirls the liquid in the glass, and ignores the stares at her back. A flash of red taking a seat on the stool beside her catches her attention, and for a moment, she can't breathe. 'I love red hair that shade,' she thinks, as she stares at the woman's face and sees a pair of brown eyes. She turns away, staring down at her glass as she remembers the girl she once knew with red hair and brown eyes. 'Lauren...' And her heart breaks just a little more.
Willow knows the woman beside her was staring at her before she turned away. Willow wonders what it is about her that made the other woman's eyes fill with tears.
She'd tried to end the world, and for weeks afterward, everyone annoyed the shit out of her, trying to see if she was okay. Of course she wasn't okay. And they acted like she was dying of guilt inside because she'd tried to end the world, but that just wasn't so. These days, everyone's tried to end the world, that was nothing new. And someone had managed to stop it, just like someone ALWAYS did. It was only surprising because it was Xander, rambling away about some crayon, some story from their youth that she'd forgotten, but it had somehow moved her to tears. Fucking amazing. Still, she was glad that he stopped her, she just wished it wasn't in such a shitty ass way. She almost wished Buffy had kicked her arse or something, but she wasn't prepared for the world of physical pain that would have awaited her if Buffy had. Dealing with the pain inside her head and heart were enough without having to deal with mangled limbs.
She'd gotten annoyed, they never left her alone, even at night when she tried to sleep. So, she left. She told them she was going to Los Angeles, to find Angel—he would know what it was like to have tried to end the world. She considered stopping in to see Faith in prison as well, but nixed that idea, although the dark-haired Slayer had been haunting her thoughts lately. Mostly it was Faith's mocking voice echoing inside her head, accusing her of being a hypocrite. "You ain't much better than me, Red." Faith's trademark sneer. And Willow knew it was true.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark-haired woman, waif thin, look at her, and quickly look away. 'She's shy,' Willow realized, her heart aching for Tara. She unconsciously smiled as she saw the dark-haired woman draw in a deep breath and turn to tap Willow on the shoulder.
Willow turned and tried to smile, but failed to. She wasn't sure how, it was just a facial contraction, really, and she'd just done it seconds before without realizing it. But when she tried to do it consciously, she failed at it. It put the woman off. Willow could tell, but she admired the woman for still having a go at it anyway.
"C...can...can I buy you a drink?" A stuttery, soft, Southern drawl like honey. Willow again thought of Tara. Shy, sweet Tara who stammered and stuttered and had surprised Willow with a stunning singing voice. Beautiful Tara who had ran her hands through Willow's hair, had caressed Willow's face with gentleness. Tara had graceful hands. Willow remembers hands on skin, the fullness of well-developed breasts, she remembers slick wetness and moans and pleas for release. "Oh, pretty please." Her eyes fill with tears.
Fred watches with horror as tears fill the redhead's eyes, and she immediately says she's sorry, stuttering over an apology. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I mean, rather—I only meant, well I guess it doesn't really matter what I meant, because you're crying, but I didn't mean to make you—"
The red head laughs sadly through her tears, and rests her index finger over Fred's lips. "It's okay. I'd love for you to buy me a drink."
"What will you have?" Fred asks.
"Something sweet," and Willow thinks of Tara.
Willow nods. She's not a big drinker, her addiction was never alcohol...her addictions were Tara and magic. 'And now she's gone...' Willow pushes the thoughts of her ex-girlfriend out of the way, memories of Tara bleeding, Tara's blood being everywhere except where it belonged, began to assault her mind. The shuddering little gasps, Tara's eyes pleading with her silently to take away the pain, right before she died...
"Thank-you," Willow says quietly as the bartender sets the drink in front of her. "I'm Willow, and you are?"
Willow lifts an eyebrow in surprise. "Fred?"
"Short for Winifred, everyone calls me Fred though..."
Willow could see Fred was ready to ramble some more. So she lifts her finger to rest on Fred's lips again.
"Fred. What do you say after we finish our drinks, we go back to my place? I have a hotel room not far from here."
"You're not from here?"
Willow shakes her head. Fred is surprised that Willow isn't from L.A. Willow has a certain deadness, a vacancy in her eyes that Fred is beginning to recognize in many of LA's denizens, from wannabe actor/waiters to the doctors she sees when she visits the psychologist everyone recommended she see, to the homeless men she passes by. She wonders if her eyes will ever look like that.
Willow is amused that Fred is surprised to know that Willow is not a resident of LA. She looks into Fred's eyes and sees fear, but doesn't think the fear is of her. There's fear and unnamed hurt in Fred's eyes, and Willow longs to know what caused it. She wonders why she gives a shit.
Fred watches as Willow finishes her drink and remembers Lauren Schaffer, her red hair and brown eyes. Willow looks so much like her that it starts to hurt. Fred downs the last of her fourth Jack and Coke to stop it.
Fred remembers stealing kisses with Lauren in the bathroom during lunch period in high school, or in the locker room before gym class started, after everyone else has left. She remembers playing with Lauren's hair, and teasing her, "I used to not like redheads, especially red-headed kids, they look bratty." A beat. "I was right about the brat part." A gentle tug on Lauren's hair to tell her that Fred was just kidding.
She remembers Lauren making her come, and remembers making Lauren come. They'd screamed each other's names. Sometimes, late at night, when she's alone, she can almost feel Lauren's fingers still moving inside her.
She remembers Lauren pleading with her not to break up with her, not to freak out about the girl-on-girl thing. She remembers being uncharacteristically cruel to the girl she loved because she was scared of what others might think. She remembers the hurt in Lauren's eyes as Fred pushed her and walked away. That was the last time Fred ever saw Lauren alive, because Lauren died a few weeks later. Officially, she'd fallen asleep at the wheel, but Fred heard Mr. And Mrs. Schaffer crying and talking about how bad she'd looked, how thin and unkempt. How it seemed like she never slept, and Fred wondered if Lauren had meant to die. She wasn't sure, but she knew she'd been responsible for Lauren's dying, and she was filled with remorse and bitter regret as Mr. and Mrs. Schaffer had asked her, pleaded with her for answers to their daughter's sudden depression.
"I don't know," Fred had said.
Some nights, she wonders if her torment in Pylea is retribution for the way she treated Lauren and the lie she'd told her dead lover's parents.
Fred blinks away her tears and her past, and faces Willow with a warm smile. "Ready?"
"Yes," Willow says, taking Fred's hand.
Willow's hotel room is small, and hot when they enter it. It's familiar to Fred, this situation. She shuts her eyes for a few seconds so that the light being switched on in the room won't assault her eyes as much. It's becoming instinct for her to do that.
"This is my room," Willow says unnecessarily, suddenly shy.
Fred smiles, and moves in to kiss her. Her hands rake through Willow's hair, and Willow moans and Fred's tongue enters her mouth. They push forward onto the bed where they wrestle a little bit, to see who goes on top. Fred hovers over Willow, and unbuttons Willow's shirt and leans her head down to suck on one of Willow's breasts. Willow groans and wraps her hands around Fred's head, pushing her closer. Fred sits up and throws off her top, and moves for Willow's pants. She unbuttons them, and yanks them down violently, quickly. Willow gasps against the sudden rush of air, and Fred's eyes widen when she realizes Willow hadn't been wearing panties. She's also very aroused.
Fred pushes one finger into Willow, and smiles as Willow gasps against the sudden intrusion. She inserts two more fingers, and enjoys the view of Willow's face as she plays with and teases the redhead. Willow bucks and moans and pleads with Fred to use her mouth. Fred just smiles and continues to push Willow to the brink, but not allowing her to come.
And just when Willow thinks she can't take it anymore, Fred's lips brush against Willow's clitoris.
Willow lying on her back, trying to catch her breath. Fred is laughing softly beside her, and Willow feels resentment and gratitude. Willow sits up and pushes her hands down on Fred's chest. "My turn now," she growls.
Willow smiles in satisfaction, she'd made Fred beg for release. Fred is covered in sweat and cum; tears are running down her face. But she's not crying. Willow sticks a finger into Fred, who shivers and groans, inching closer to the redhead.
"You're still wet," Willow says quietly.
Fred can think of nothing to say.
"I want you to masturbate in front of me," Willow says with a growl, and remembers when she'd made Tara do the same thing.
Fred's eyes narrow, and she sits up, trying to get away.
Willow catches her by the arm, and pushes her back. "I'll help you," Willow mutters, taking one of Fred's hands and guiding her. "Play with yourself," she urges, and watches in fascination as slim fingers slide in and out. Willow moans and begins to suck on Fred's breasts for the countless time that night.
Soon Fred has her second orgasm, and Willow is satisfied. The first time Fred had come, Willow imagined it was Tara coming beneath her fingers. This time, she wanted Fred. Fred laid in bed, breathing hard, her fingers resting on her stomach. Willow stood up and walked to the window, and opened it.
A rush of cool air brushes over her body. Her nipples get harder. Arms go around her, pinching her nipples.
"Thanks for that," Fred husks in her ear. Fingers slide down and play with her pubic hair. Fred strokes Willow for a few moments, and Willow sighs. "Do you want to come again?" Fred whispers in her ear.
Willow turns to face her. "Yes," she murmurs. "Yes."
Fred is getting dressed, Willow is watching her. Physically, Fred and Tara couldn't be more different, but...Fred had reminded her so much of Tara she wanted time to stop. She knew how things like this went, Faith had told her once. She held on tight to Fred after Fred had made her come a second time. This time, she didn't pretend she was holding Tara.
"I'm sorry, but I really do have to go," Fred said apologetically.
"I know," Willow said softly.
"Maybe we'll meet again," Fred said, her eyes blurred with tears as she leaned down to kiss Willow goodbye. Through the blur, she almost thought she was seeing Lauren.
"Perhaps," Willow said.
Fred walked away, and Willow watched as the brunette quietly shut the door behind her.
Hours later, each woman lay in bed, alone. Willow decided she was ready to see Angel, and hoped he could help her. She wondered what LA had in store for her.