title: the gracelessness of birds in springtime
author: Keren Ziv
rating: soft R
disclaimer: I don't own Buffy
spoiler: Once More, With Feeling
summary: I am the last real time they make love.
author's note: wrote this story upon request for Rhiana's sixteenth birthday.

I am Tara's cool and unforgotten anger.

I am the dangerous way that Tara's fingers fit against the nape of Willow's neck; the way that her skip prickles as skin is drug across skin. I am way they tremble in the witch's eyes.

I am her unfiltered disgust for herself, dripping off of her like ice cream down a cone on a hot day. I am her shame and desire; I am the emotion behind it all. I am the follower and the leaves and the dust, and I am unforgotten.

Fingers leave her throat and end up by the fistful in short, auburn hair. I am the way that Tara bites her lip and Willow smiles up drowsily from beneath. I am the questions that Tara cannot ask of Willow.

I am the taste of a kiss and the questions unasked on Tara's lips when she is still furious. I am the way that Tara tries to hold the kiss, tries to slow the soul of Willow down.

I am the hands that Tara glides down Willow's body, all the while cursing at herself for playing the fool. The slow removal of clothing is my trademark; the sickly sweet stench to the air letting me know that this is my place, my time, right here.

Humiliation and shame, that's what I am. I am the deception that Willow used on Tara and that Tara finds herself flinging back with the way that she unbuttons fingers. I am Tara's revenge.

Lips tasting so cruelly sweet; I am the poison of self-loathing that taints the kiss for both Tara and Willow. Eyes flashing dangerously, each is too guilty to notice the other; this is entirely about them, and yet they're alone.

I am the way Tara's skin flushes red under the ministrations of Willow. I am the pebbling of Tara's nipples as Willow's smooth hand dances its way across her body, playing her like a harpsichord. I am the contradiction of acceptance and rebuke between body and mind.

Fingers moving inside, finding their own rhythm, comprise me. I am the energetic acts of sex that they are engaged in; the way that Tara tastes herself on Willow lips.

I am more than fury; I am resentment. I am Tara's promise to herself that she will stop it all.

I am the peculiar smell of sex that Tara associates with Willow; the bite- marks that Tara leaves on Willow's thigh. I am the thumb-prints that Willow will find on the inside of her knee, the last fading physical proof that Tara Was Here.

I am Tara's denial that it means anything, and her knowledge that it means everything.

I am the last real time they make love, and I am Tara's dishonor at that fact.

-:- finis -:-