Willow sat on the edge of her bed and squinted at the vintage, starburst clock on the wall. She reached for her black, thick-rimmed glasses, placed the specs on the bridge of her nose and pouted at what those four eyes saw.
(7:00. Could this day go any slower? Could that dream have been any more vivid? And more to the point, could I be any wetter? Jesus, Rosenberg! All juiced up and nowhere to go...)
Willow considered fucking herself, but she'd already gone down that road twice today and besides, she really needed to keep herself in check. It was becoming apparent that more often than not her 30-something year old body had the sexual self-control of a teenage boy lying alone in his bedroom, staring at a bikini-clad poster of Jessica Alba.
With a huff of frustration, Willow sprung up from the bed and walked over to Jetson's area in the corner of the room. The pup's gaze followed her as she paced back and forth. "Flowers. I should get her flowers, huh? I mean, I did ruin her shirt and feel her up in the process." Willow stopped, and looked down and over her shoulder. "That part was nice, huh, buddy? Well, not for you 'cause well, hello, dog. I wish you could know. And oh, her eyes..."
Willow plopped herself on the floor next to Jetson where they lay together face-to-face. "You know, I think this is what they mean when they say 'love at first sight.'" They stayed like that for a moment; Willow rubbing her mister's paws and Jetson lavishing in the attention. Only now there was a mission, so of course time felt like it was slipping away from her. Willow quickly got back on her feet and headed for the door--smirking at the irony of maybe buying Tara some tulips.
"Flowers?!" the girl squealed as she opened the door and took in the sight before her. "For me? No need for me to be coy; you really should have."
The blonde volleyed the question back to the woman standing in her doorway, folded her arms and huffed. "I'm wearing my new boots and the tightest pants in my closet and this is how you're going to court me? With a 'huh?' I mean, the flowers are a nice touch and all but you really need to work on..."
"Buff," Willow cautioned, and pushed herself through the entrance. A sweaty and shaky hand held a bunch of colorful Gerber daisies while the other smoothed down her shoulder-length, auburn locks. "I need help."
Buffy flashed a sneaky smile. "Well, before I offer my killer love advice, I need to know one thing."
The redhead looked earnestly at the blonde and nervously chewed her bottom lip. "What's that?"
"Are you gonna just stand there looking all cute holding those flowers while I do? 'cause if so, I totally wanna take a photo."
With a heavy sigh Willow threw herself on the couch and began to whimper. "I'm serious, Buff. I'm totally freaking out and I don't know why. I barely know the girl."
Buffy took a seat next to Willow, and the brown, leather couch squeaked as she settled in for what was sure to be a deep, albeit short heart-to-heart. "But... you want to. A lot."
"God, yes. A very lot. I mean, besides the fact that she's out of control gorgeous, I'm freaking out because, you know... my last relationship with the suckage, and Tracy breaking my heart, and... ohgod! What if I'm only good at writing the smut? It's been forever since I've made good on all those HGOGA fantasies of mine. I mean, do I even remember how to kiss?! Shit! I need practice. Close your eyes while I practice on the back of my hand..."
Buffy placed her hands over Willow's, and the simple gesture served as a reminder to breathe. (In through the nose, out through the mouth.) "Will, one, calm down. Two, you kiss the back of your hand for practice? Does that actually work? Wait, I don't want to know. And three, we'll get through this."
"Buff," she slumped further into the couch, "my confidence tank is totally running on 'E.'"
"When are you meeting?"
Willow was feeling a bit defeated, and so she looked down at her wrist and took great interest in all the buttons on her calculator watch. She was startled when Buffy slapped her open palms on her thighs and pushed herself up from the couch. "Okay, well... That gives us what, three minutes? Stand up and c'mere."
Willow gently placed the flowers on the couch, stepped towards Buffy and straightened her fitted, button-down cowgirl shirt. The redhead stood there frozen and wide-eyed as she watched her friend lean in. Just as Buffy's eyes fell shut, Willow threw her arms out in a defiant halting motion. "Whoa! What are you doing?!"
"Pretending I'm going in for a kiss! You girls do that, right? Kiss? Or do the declarations of undying love and U-Haul come before that?"
Willow took note of Buffy's patented I-get-what-I-want stance, and attempted to suppress a smile. "Yes, of course we kiss!" It was Willow's turn to be snarky. "And fuck." It was too late now; Buffy's full-blown smile was out there and Willow found that she just couldn't stop the return grin as it broke out on her face. "Would you like me to tell you about the fucking...?"
"Maybe later. After our kiss."
(Huh. Not even a flinch! The Buffster's getting pretty good at deflecting my bold lesbian approach. Gonna have to work on that.)
Willow folded her arms and silently wondered how long they were going to keep this up. It was like that staring game, only, you know... with words and well... without the staring. "Yeah, well... just make sure it's a pretend one, got it?"
"Sheesh! Just trying to give you something to work with besides the back of your hand. Besides, you wish you had some quality time getting to know these lips. And wow, I really did just say that out loud, didn't I?"
(And it's Buffy Summers, ladies and gentlemen, who crashes and burns.)
Willow smirked, clearly the winner of their little game. "You totally did, and if I had more time I'd joke you mercilessly about it, but I don't, so can we play Buffy's-a-pretend-lesbian later?"
The blonde relaxed her shoulders and removed the hands that were glued to her hips. "Okay, well," she leaned in again, steering clear of Willow's lips, but hovering around her neck, "you smell good. That's always essential."
Willow flashed a toothy grin and bounced on her toes. "I owe it all to my girlie fragrance and a stick of Orbit Sweet Mint gum."
"I like. Now... Twirl."
"Do you have anything other than one-word questions in your vocab artillery tonight, Will?" Buffy didn't wait for an answer, and instead repeated the command. She held a finger in the air and pointed it down, swirling the digit in a circular motion. "Twirl. Let me see that quirky lesbo fashion chic of yours."
Embarrassed a bit by the Project Runway routine, Willow lowered her head and held her arms out to her sides. She spun quickly, and was left feeling silly and dizzy after showing off her, uh... assets. Never one to turn down a chance to be a smartass with Buffy, she curtsied to end the demonstration.
When Willow looked up she noticed a surprised look on Buffy's face. (What was that look? Pride?) "Hey, new jeans?"
"Yeah, Lucky." With a shrug of her shoulders, she went over to the couch and scooped up the daises. "Thought it couldn't hurt."
"Do you realize how positively adorable you are, Will? You'll never need my love advice. Let's face it, it's awful anyhow. You're absolutely perfect the way you are, and if this Tara doesn't respond to every single charming bit that is you, come back later and we can play that I'm-a-pretend-lesbian game. Just make sure you bring back the flowers."
Willow smirked as she leaned in and whispered in her friend's ear, "You wish you had some quality time getting to know these lips. And Buff...?"
"Thanks." She placed a quick peck on Buffy's cheek and all but skipped out the door, eager to get back to her apartment and win the heart of the knock-out, blue-eyed babe next door.
Willow hurried home from Buffy's, running the four blocks as if she were trying to qualify for the 500-meter dash. Once back in her apartment she steadied her breathing, arranged Tara's flowers "just so" and ran to the bathroom, allowing herself one last look in the mirror.
(Please, Rosenberg... Please keep the spazzmonster in check. Think of the rewards for your good behavior; smiles across the table, Tara's hand in yours, maybe a good night hug... Hell, she might even want to see you again if you can manage to not drool at the sight of her. It's a simple thing, Will; no drool. Pfft! You can totally manage that, can't you?
I'm totally fucked.)