Fun Ship, My Ass!

Author: dlline (Diane Line)
Rating: NC-17 for adult language and sexual situations (I're shocked).
Disclaimer: Willow and Tara belong to Mutant Enemy. Everything else here, especially the story, is mine all mine.
Feedback: Absofreakinlutely:
Summary: This is a totally uber fic, and the characters of FBI Agent Tara Maclay and Willow Rosenberg, PhD, are borrowed from my story, The Rosenberg Files. This is the tale of the girls and their vacation from Hell. Read the story. No further explanation is necessary.
Notes: Special thanks to my beta (and my love) Chris. You deserve extra special treats for this one.

Check out Diane's bio page at Bold Strokes Books, publishers of LGBTQ fiction and non-fiction, for news on D.L.'s upcoming published novels.

Tara stood on the fantail of the ship, wind whipping her hair as sheets of rain soaked her to the skin. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself as a seafaring adventurer, sailing off into the uncharted mysteries of wild oceans, avoiding sea monsters, doing it all for queen and country, but she couldn't. No matter how hard she tried to fantasize herself out of the current situation, she was trapped. She'd already tried everything else she could think of, but now she was consigned to simple avoidance of the situation by subterfuge and plain old hiding.

"Well, Agent Maclay, what's your next move? Are you planning to just jump off and swim back to Baltimore?"

The voice broke Tara's reverie. She turned her head to look at her redheaded girlfriend, and came to the realization that she'd actually not contemplated the jumping overboard thing, but that course of action seemed the most appealing at the moment. Tara turned back toward the stern of the boat, gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white. A vision entered her waterlogged brain, one of her tossing the brainiac college professor over the side of the cruise ship, jumping in after her, and swimming off into the sunset, back toward the Maryland coast.

Anything would be better than the last two days of organized Hell. Really. Anything.

Willow's voice was back, almost pleading. "Baby, I just can't say enough how sorry I am for the way this all worked out. I mean..."

Tara let go of the rain-slicked railing and turned around to take her girlfriend by the hand. "Will, I know. You've apologized at least four hundred times already. I get it. I don't blame you for any of this. I was just as excited as you were. I mean, who wins a cruise?" Tara stopped talking long enough to gesture toward her girlfriend. "Besides you, that is. I never win anything."

Willow nodded and shrugged, her eyes still apologizing. Tara squeezed her hand and continued.

"I loved the idea too. A whole week jam packed with mystery novels, deck chairs, girly drinks, falling asleep in the sunshine..."

Willow finished the sentence. "...moonlit strolls on the deck." She slid an arm around Tara's waist. "Caribbean breezes, making love on the beach..." Little nibbles on the FBI agent's neck. "You, me, miles of unspoiled sand..."

Tara gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on the railing. "But no...can't have that, now, can we? Damn it."

"Baby, I am so sorry." Willow stopped nibbling her girlfriend's neck, and turned to stare off into the blackness of the rainy night at sea. "I just didn't know. I never imagined there was such a person. Like the devil incarnate."

Tara nodded and allowed her thoughts to drift back. To the first day. The day they met...

"William Matthias Hinder. But my friends call me Bill."

Tara accepted the most raucous handshake she'd probably ever received from one of the most unattractive men she'd ever met. She laughed a little as "Bill" turned his overweight, balding, late middle-aged attentions toward Willow, shaking her hand with such force that Tara momentarily feared for the health and well-being of her petite girlfriend. Tara had met people like this before, usually when she was contemplating the purchase of something large and unnecessary. This guy practically screamed "used car salesman," and she could only stifle a laugh as Bill released Willow's hand and offered each woman his business card.

Hinder Motors
"Don't go far when you need a car."
On the Motor Mile in Scranton

Tara looked at the card with a smile, confident in the knowledge that her own ability to read people was still intact, but also noting that Bill's kind of people were always the easiest to read. She hadn't spent the better part of the last decade as an FBI agent without learning a thing or two about people. One glance toward her girlfriend and Tara was forced to stifle another laugh when she saw the look on Willow's face. Something of a cross between "deer in the headlights" and "who the fuck is this asshole" sparkled from her bright green eyes. Tara nodded her understanding, silently promising to continue the conversation in private, while Bill continued to hammer away with his inane observations.

"So, ladies, this is your first cruise. I can tell. I know people, you know? I can tell a lot about you two. Let me guess..." Bill rubbed his chin as he attempted to piece together his version of the story of Willow and Tara.

Tara, for one, could hardly wait. Fortunately, the wait proved short as Bill came up with his answer.

"Okay, here's how I see it. You two went to college together." Bill waved a hand idly between the agent and the professor to punctuate his point. "Roommates, I figure." Tara nodded and smiled, desperately wanting to hear the rest of this story. "And now, you get together once a year, tear up the town..." He hesitated, smiling knowingly at both girls, offering a conspiratory wink. "...get out, meet some new fellas. I know what that's like. Well, not the fellas, because I've got my Sharon. She's a beauty, you know. And a saint. Forty-three years and she still puts up with me. You'll meet her at dinner. I'll make sure you two get assigned to our table. Can't do the cruise thing alone, you know. You'll never meet any nice fellas that way."

Tara could only nod, completely unable to get a word in edgewise. She also couldn't help but notice that Willow seemed to be having the same problem. This guy just never stopped. Fortunately, Willow provided the perfect out.

"Tara, um...Roomie. We should go get unpacked, don't you think?" Willow waggled her eyebrows to punctuate her point, shifting her eyes to the right toward the elevators that led down to their cabin.

Tara smiled and answered. "Right...Roomie. Unpack. Gotcha." She turned her attention back toward Bill, not-so-secretly hoping to be done with the boisterous used car salesman. "It was nice to meet you, Bill." Tara allowed herself to be led toward the elevators by an insistent hand on the sleeve of her t-shirt as Bill called back.

"See you at dinner, ladies." Tara waved back over her shoulder as Willow continued to pull her along, actually past the elevator and on to the stairs. Anything to be done with Bill. Once safely out of sight of the Scranton salesman, the girls broke into laughter. They collapsed against the wall of the stairway, giggling about all those nice fellas they couldn't wait to meet on their vacation.

"I don't know about you, Dr. Rosenberg, but as far as I'm concerned Bill Hinder can be the last nice fella we meet. I have other plans for this vacation."

Fifteen minutes later, Tara was happily alone with her girlfriend, and they were at sea, the air conditioning in the cabin set to maximum to protect against the mugginess of the Inner Harbor as they steamed out of Baltimore. Tara knelt on the bed, smiling as the small rear end that she was straddling pressed back and up, offering delicious pressure against the crotch of her shorts. She worked on Willow's back, kneading away the small knots of tension through a green tank top, as she leaned forward to whisper, "I want you, Dr. Rosenberg."

The body beneath her made a little happy noise and squirmed into the attention, as Tara smiled again. Summer vacation was a good thing. She slid her hand under the redhead's tank top, palms touching bare skin. Tara removed her hands and reached for the edge of that same tank top, intending to remove it, but never got the chance as someone knocked on the door.

Willow shot a puzzled look over her shoulder as Tara climbed off the bed and crossed the small cabin to answer the door. Her heart sank as she pulled the door open to reveal the toothy grin of a certain used car salesman from Scranton, this time accompanied by a rather plain looking woman with a really pinched expression on her face. Cringing with the realization that Bill was back, Tara pulled the door open and announced, "Will, look. It's Bill. And I assume..."

Tara never got the chance to finish her statement as Bill pushed past her, inviting himself inside. "Yep, this is Sharon. I thought you gals might like to meet the little woman." He turned, addressing his next statement to the rather sour-looking woman behind him. "Shari, this is Terri and Wilma. The two gals I was telling you about."

Tara actually started to correct Bill about his near misses with their names, but stopped. She was quickly coming to realize that he wasn't listening anyway, and figured that she could be Terri for the five minutes that it would take her to get rid of him and get back to undressing her girlfriend.

She smiled and exchanged a rather dead-fish kind of handshake with Bill's wife as Willow got up off the bed to do the same. Any thoughts Tara had of returning to the ravaging of a certain hot little college professor were quickly squashed as Bill plopped down on the cabin's small sofa. He patted the spot next to him, urging his wife to sit, while he gestured for the girls to join them in the two facing chairs. Looking to Willow for support, Tara noted the look of utter panic that had taken hold of the redhead's freckled face, and realized that their worst fears were about to happen. Bill pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it, allowing the long strip of pictures to unfurl, and spoke.

"I wanted to tell you about our grandchildren."

Tara recognized a no-win situation when she was in one. She could only watch as Willow's eyes glazed over because she knew exactly what the expression meant.

Oh,, we're screwed. And not in a good way.

Tara only heard bits of the conversation, that is, if anyone could call Bill's monologue about his offspring a conversation.

"...plays lacrosse for Penn State..."

"...starred in the Scranton Players production of Annie..."

"...worried 'cause you know what they say about boys who play the flute..."

"...really wasn't his fault, but we still love him anyway..."

A momentary flash crossed Tara's muddled brain as she sat patiently, filled with fear that the blank look she knew to be on her face would make it stick that way. An image formed in her mind, one of her retrieving her FBI-issue handgun from the confines of her luggage, calmly pulling back the slide, and shooting herself in the head. Anything to stop the tale of the grandkids. She enjoyed a moment of peace as Bill folded up the pictures and returned his wallet to his pocket, but that relief was short-lived as he stood up and said, "Wow, look at the time. We have first seating for dinner. You gals need to get ready."

The look of naked panic was back on Willow's face and Tara figured that she probably had a similar expression on her own. She decided to try to weasel out of dinner.

"Actually, Bill, Will and I were gonna wait..."

He interrupted her, "But you have to go to early dinner. If you go to late seating, we'll miss the show. Best Tom Jones impersonator this side of the Mississippi. Can't miss that." He threw an elbow at Tara's ribs for emphasis, forcing her to duck and cover. "I know what Tom Jones does for healthy young girls like you, and I've rounded up a couple of nice guys for you two to go out with tonight."

Tara had to give it one more try as she watched Willow's eyes roll back up into her head. "But, we need a few minutes to get ready. We'll meet you there later. You two go..."

"Nope," he interrupted again. "Shari and I will just wait in the hallway. Can't have you girls getting lost." Tara's heart sank again. "C'mon, Shari. Let's give them a minute." Tara could only watch, dejected, as Bill took his wife's hand, leading her out and into the hallway. She closed the door behind them as she heard Bill begin to sing, really off key, "It's not unusual to be loved by anyone..."

Well, shit.

And it had only gotten worse.

Dinner featured another mind-numbing monologue, this time about auto credit and financing. The only thing that came close to saving the evening was Bill's generosity in regards to round after round of Bahama Mamas purchased from the bar. But even that proved to be problematic as the cocktails just kept coming. Tara finally opted to start pouring her drinks into the closest potted palm tree, but Willow didn't figure that trick out until it was way too late. The decidedly green-around-the-gills look on the professor's face provided Tara with the perfect out. Excuses were made all around and Tara could finally take her girlfriend and leave, but only after promising to go out with Bill's procured dates the following night.

Tara half-carried, half-dragged one really hammered college professor back to their room, and struggled to open the cabin door one handed. Willow's off-key, rum-soaked rendition of the only Tom Jones song she knew was becoming genuinely annoying as Tara finally gave up trying to be gentle and tossed her girlfriend bodily onto the bed, where she landed face down, half hanging off one side. Tara could only sit, dejected, on the opposite side of the bed, as she shot one last evil glance over her shoulder to her girlfriend's muffled, "Why, why, whyyyy... Delilah."

Morning dawned brightly at sea as Tara stretched, waking gently from her troubled night's sleep. Her dreams had been routinely interrupted by Willow's occasional dash to the bathroom in order to puke up the copious amounts of alcohol that she'd consumed the night before. Tara enjoyed the momentary peace, as Willow drooled and snored, not so lightly, finally looking like she might actually be able to sleep off last night's debacle. But, again, that peace proved to be short-lived as a rather insistent hand began pounding on the door accompanied soon thereafter by a voice that forced Tara to close her eyes in disgust.

"Wilma...Terri... up and at 'em. Let's go. Gotta hurry up and have fun, fun, fun!"

Tara could only glare at the door, while Willow squeezed her eyes closed against the pain, clutched at her head, gritted her teeth, and pleaded, "Oh, god, please... make it stop!" Tara patted the redhead's knee through the covers, attempting to offer a small bit of comfort when the pounding resumed at the door.

"Easy, sweetie. I'll get rid of him."

Willow didn't answer. She just continued to hold her head with both hands and hide from the light and the noise. Tara recognized her girlfriend's rather futile attempt to will the little men with the jackhammers to stop drilling into her skull. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders, slid quietly out of bed and pulled a robe on over her tank top and pajama pants, crossing the room to make some kind of excuse that would get rid of everyone's not so favorite used car salesman.

Tara pulled the door open and once again found herself face to face with the toothy grin from Hell and a way-too-chipper greeting, "Good mornin' gals. Ready for mambo lessons?"

"Umm, Bill. I think Will's a little seasick. We need to take a pass on the dance lessons."

His whole face lit up. Somehow, Tara knew that he'd have something to offer. "Ah, seasick. I know all about that. Used to happen to Shari. Every time the ship hit a wave, she could feel it. Up and down and up and down...."

Tara watched in wide-eyed horror as he punctuated each "up and down" with an exaggerated sway of his hands, Willow following the movement with her eyes. This proved to be a really bad move as the motion overcame the exceedingly hung-over college professor, finally left with no option but to cover her mouth with her hand and make one more mad dash to the bathroom, barely getting the door closed before she puked up another bright orange round of Bahama Mama.

Bill nodded and offered a knowing smile. "Yep, just like Shari. I'll run down to my cabin and get some Alka-Seltzer. That'll take care of your buddy." He turned to leave, but stopped, calling out support to Willow through the bathroom door. "Hang in there, Wilma. I'll be right back. We'll get you fixed right up."

Willow could only moan sickly from the bathroom as Tara ushered Bill out and closed the door behind him.



"Do you think anyone would notice if I tossed his fat ass overboard?"

"uuuhhh...why don't you try it and find out?"

Tara had chosen the deck chair carefully. It was situated in such a way that she could get plenty of morning sunshine, have a great view of the goings-on on deck, and it was still close enough to the doorway leading below should she need to make a hasty getaway. Clad in a sleek, navy blue tank suit with a batik sarong tied loosely about her waist, she took a moment to watch a joyous group of kids splashing in the pool then sank into the thick cushion of her white, wooden deck chair, basking in the sun pretending to read. She'd left Willow in the cabin to sleep off her hangover, opting to do a little poolside sunbathing, hoping that her white Ohio State baseball cap and sunglasses would serve to deter any used car salesmen from Scranton.

Fat fucking chance.

"Hey, Terri. Whatcha readin'?"

She didn't even need to look up to answer, "Hi, Bill." Allowing herself a small smile, Tara contemplated telling him that she was reading Death of a Salesman, but figured he wouldn't get the joke, so she remained silent.

She shivered, chills running down her spine as she looked up to see the face of the man, nose coated with zinc oxide, blocking her sun, leaving her in the one shady spot of poolside deck. As if the image of unattractive, fat, balding, and late-middle aged weren't bad enough, the new one presenting itself to her at the moment put the others totally to shame. She shook her head in an attempt to drive the disturbing picture from her brain, but it was stuck there, burned into her gray matter forever and ever.

Day-glow orange Speedo swimsuit.

Tara closed her book, made a hurried excuse about checking on Willow, and ran to hide in her cabin.

A plan. Tara needed a plan. And she needed it quickly.

Willow sat cross-legged on the bed and waved her hands in the air while she offered up suggestions as to the best way to deal with their new friend, Bill.

"Do they still keelhaul people? I mean, we could talk to the captain..."

"No, sweetie, I think they stopped doing that somewhere around the turn of the 19th century." Tara shot yet another evil glance in Willow's direction. "We need a real plan here, Will, or we're gonna be stuck doing the Used Car Mambo with Bill for the entire trip."

Willow crossed her arms and furrowed her brow, appearing to think really hard, while Tara continued to pace the meager width of the cabin, trying to come up with her own plan. She stopped pacing when Willow raised her hand, offering up another idea.

"Um, Tara, we could tell him the truth. Sometimes that works."

Tara could only stare at her girlfriend. "Sure, we can do that. How's this? Say, Bill, you're a fat-assed loudmouth and we need you to leave us the fuck alone. That might work."

Willow shot her an exasperated look. "No, baby, that's not what I meant. We don't have to be hateful, but he needs to know that we don't need dates. Can't we just tell him the truth? You know... come out to him."

Tara felt herself relax a little, but even she wasn't sure why. "I don't know, Will. I mean he's been in here more than once. There's only one bed and we're very obviously both sleeping in it. I'm really concerned that he's only going to believe what he wants to believe. And right now, he believes that he's found us the men of our dreams."

She watched the expression on Willow's face light up, as an idea struck the brainy redhead. "Yes, you're right about that, so maybe we need to come out to the guys, explain the situation, and maybe enlist their aid. They might be okay with it. They can tell Bill that they're taking us out for a walk, throw a couple of elbows at him and wink, and we can ooh and ahh at their thoughtfulness. The second we're clear of the door, we thank the boys, give 'em each twenty bucks for the casino, then we're safely rid of Bill and Sharon for the night."

Tara liked that idea a lot. She pointed toward the professor and smiled. "Oh, that's good, Will. You are a devious little minx, aren't you?" Willow just shrugged and smiled, obviously more than a little proud of her ingenuity, as Tara continued her thought. "And then we can come back here, hide for a while until the coast is clear and maybe take that little stroll in the moonlight. It is a big ship. I think we can avoid detection if we stick to the shadows." She smiled again, warming to the idea even more. "I just want some alone time with you."

Willow returned the agent's smile. "Yeah, I'm all for that. Let's do it."

That was it. Tara had her plan. She could only hope that the guys would come through.

Tara's hope for a successful escape died quickly after meeting their dates. Matt, a piano salesman from Charlottesville, Virginia, was so exactly like a younger version of Bill that she contemplated tossing him overboard simply out of spite. Tara could see that Willow hadn't fared any better as she fought off the attentions of Bryce, a network administrator from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The guys initially seemed nice, but Tara could see their true colors halfway through the first dance, as Matt attempted to woo her with insinuations of his manliness through a series of jokes related to nine-foot grand piano sales and his belief that size really does matter. She could only roll her eyes after her third removal of his hand from her ass when she noticed Willow wrestling with the same problem.

Tara had finally had enough. She removed Matt's hand from her ass a fourth time, struggling against her basic desire to twist his arm up roughly behind his back and throw him face-first into the nearest wall. She urged him, not very gently, to release her and crossed the small dance floor to rescue Willow from the computer geek that looked to be humping her leg.

"Excuse me..."

She tapped Bryce on the shoulder, waited for him to release her girlfriend, and took Willow by the hand, excusing them both for a conspiratory trip to the ladies room. As the door closed behind her, Tara leaned against the closest sink and sagged her shoulders in defeat.

"Will, I don't think your plan is gonna work."

Tara, watching in the mirror across the room, noted that Willow's similar posture indicated the same sense of defeat that she was feeling at the moment.

"No, baby, I don't think it is. Do you have a plan B in mind?" Willow hesitated, "Well, other than running like hell and hiding in the boiler room. Besides, this guy Bryce is all over me. If I try to tell him that I'm queer and want to be alone with you, he's gonna want to watch. And then I just might have to kill him myself."

Tara nodded and tried to concoct plan B. "How about this..." Willow arched her eyebrows, encouraging Tara to continue, "Can you fake sick?"

Willow looked offended for just a second and then nodded her head. "'s not that much of a stretch anyway. What do you have in mind, baby?"

"How about if we give the guys one more dance, head back toward the table with Bill and Sharon, drink one more drink, and then you come down with a migraine or something." Tara offered a hopeful smile as she asked, "Think that might work?"

With a nod of her head, Willow agreed. "Worth a shot, I suppose." Willow squeezed Tara's hand on her way toward the door, straightened out her khaki slacks, and pulled the door open. Tara followed silently back toward the dance floor. Steeling herself with thoughts of finally getting Willow alone for an extended period of time, Tara marched to their table, plastered on a smile and asked Mr. Piano for a dance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Willow extend a hand to Bryce who almost fell over himself to get to the dance floor. Plan B was under way.

Halfway to the dance floor, the music changed to some inane slow song from the Little River Band. As Matt pulled her tightly to him, Tara fervently wished she hadn't left her gun in the cabin. She was gritting her teeth, breathing slowly, thinking that they just might make it to the end of the song when she heard the straw land.

"Hey, the hands."

That was all it took. Agent Maclay broke into full cop mode, got between Willow and Mr. Computer Geek, grabbed him by the arm and drove him face first into the nearest wall. She pinned him there with a hand in the middle of his back and snarled, "Stop feeling up my girlfriend." She shoved again for emphasis. "Understand?"

Bryce could only nod his head, far too terrified to actually form words. Tara secretly wished that she could see the look on his face, the squirrely little weasel. She released him, leaving him to wonder what the fuck had just happened, and took Willow by the hand to lead her out of the dance club and onto the fantail of the ship. She opted to ignore the shocked expressions on the faces that she was leaving behind on the dance floor because she was just too fed up to care anymore.

And now here she was, still on the deck, soaked with rain, wondering how the heck things could have gotten so messed up. She really felt bad for losing it the way she had, but come's just not a smart thing to grope the girlfriend of an FBI agent who also happens to be at the end of her metaphorical rope. Not smart at all. Before she could stop the thought, Tara said, "I just don't see how this could get any worse."

Tara closed her eyes to push away the knowledge of what she had just done. It didn't work. As she heard the door open behind her, Tara knew that she had willed it to happen just by asking the damn question. Her grip tightened on the rail when she heard the voice.

"Wilma? Terri? Are you gals all right?"

It was Bill. Tara allowed a small smile as a new image of throwing him off the fantail flashed through her head. She dismissed the thought and turned to answer him. "Yes, Bill, we're fine." She turned to Willow and asked, "Aren't we, Will?"

Willow crossed her arms over her chest, stuck her chin out resolutely, and answered, "Yes, we're fine, thank you."

Bill still looked shocked. "Wow, Terri. Remind me not to piss you off. What was that all about?"

"Bill..." Tara said, exasperated, "that was about me being done. She started to tick off points with her fingers. "I'm done with grabby dates that we don't need. I'm done with Bahama Mamas and mambo lessons and shuffleboard tournaments and scavenger hunts and whatever other kind of organized madness you can find to drag us to. I'm just...well, I'm just done."

But apparently Bill wasn't. "But Terri..."

"No, Bill." Tara held a hand up to stop him. "It's not Terri. My name is Tara." She pointed toward Willow, who actually looked as shocked as Bill did, and continued, "Her name is Willow. Willow like the tree, not Wilma like the Flintstones. Got it?"

Bill nodded. He still looked a little shocked as he asked, "And she's your girlfriend?"

"Yes, Bill...she's my girlfriend. My girlfriend that I haven't had five minutes alone with, except when she was puking, of course, but I'm hoping that all that changes right now."

Bill nodded again. "But I thought..."

Tara interrupted. She was pleading now. "Please, Bill."

This time he didn't answer. He offered Tara one more nod of his head, hopefully indicating to her that she could have all of the alone time with Willow that she wanted, turned silently, and disappeared back into the club. Tara wasn't sure what to think about that, but decided that it provided a great opportunity for her to take her girlfriend and leave.

Day three dawned clear and bright, all traces of last night's brisk rain gone with the first golden rays of sunrise. Tara opened one eye experimentally as early morning sunshine spilled in through the closed window, relieved to have been able to sleep undisturbed for the entire night. She stretched, yawned, turned to look at her still extremely zonked out girlfriend, and smiled. Gently, so as not to disturb this redheaded image of unconscious bliss, Tara slid out from under the sheet and padded barefoot into the bathroom to pee. A quick glance in the mirror showed Tara that she looked rested, so there was another plus to start the day. Add to that the fact that she had sent Bill packing with the truth of her situation, and it was no wonder that today was feeling better already.

Tara snapped off the bathroom light and leaned against the open door frame to enjoy the peaceful sight of Willow, sleeping, all curled up on her left side with the blanket tucked up under her chin. Absolutely adorable. Tara couldn't stand it one more minute. She shinnied out of her flannel pajama bottoms, peeled off her black tank top, and slid back under the covers, spooning Willow from behind with an arm around her middle. The still-sleeping professor made a little happy noise and wiggled back with her butt. Tara smiled and slid her hand down the front of Willow's green Snoopy pants, eliciting another, even happier sound and a little more hip action. Tara smiled again and made a happy noise of her own.

Tara really liked waking up this way. Willow would stay asleep for just a while longer, giving Tara ample opportunity to get her girlfriend good and worked up. Since, she hoped, they had absolutely no plans for the next twenty-four hours, they could order room service and stay in bed all day. That sounded like a really good idea, as she let her fingers do the walking just a touch lower and whispered in a light sing song tone, "Dr. Rosenberg..."

Cool. Willow happy noise number three. Tara smiled and snuggled her hips against her girlfriend's butt.

Willow stirred. "Agent Maclay, if you keep that up, you're going to be in big trouble."

Tara wasn't concerned as she let just the tips of her fingers brush through soft curls. "Oh, yeah...?"

Willow stretched like a cat and pushed her butt back even more. "Oh, yeah. You just might find yourself confined to your quarters for the duration of your time at sea. Wouldn't want that now, would you?"

Tara still wasn't concerned as she let the movement of her hips develop into a full-fledged grind. "Oh, I could manage." She closed her eyes when Willow reached back to run a hand up her bare leg.

"Agent Maclay..." Willow warned, feigning offense, "it would appear that you're naked. You must think I'm easy or something."

"Please, Dr. Rosenberg, we all know that you're easy."

Tara bit her lip when Willow laughed and replied, "Well, you've got me there..."

"That's right." Tara slid her hand a little lower, getting tantalizingly close to what she knew from experience would be warm and wet and ready. She was practically drooling with anticipation, so she resisted the urge to rush because she wanted this to last all day. "And I've got you someplace else, too, I think."

"Yes, ma'am, you do," Willow answered as she let her hand wander a little more, finally bringing it to rest on Tara's bare butt. "What can I say? I'm a slave to my..."

Willow's words stopped there, replaced by a soft knock at the door. Tara cringed when she heard the voice. "Girls? Are you up yet?"

Oh, shit. It was Bill.

Tara gritted her teeth and growled, "I'm going to kill him." She reclaimed her hand from Willow's pants, kicked the sheets off, and headed directly for the door.

Willow bolted out of bed after her, grabbing Tara's closest arm in an attempt to stop her. "Baby, wait...stop. You can't kill him."

Tara was still pissed, "Why not? Please, Will, tell me why I shouldn't just yank the door open, go out there, and toss his fat ass overboard." She pointed her free hand toward the door for emphasis.

Willow still didn't let go. "Because you're naked, that's why. And as much as I love the idea of naked Amazon used car salesman tossing as an Olympic sport, I'm not sure that it's really a good idea right now."

That stopped her. But not for long. Still seething, Tara grabbed her bathrobe from the foot of the bed, shrugged into it, stomped over to the door, and yanked it open. "What do you want, Bill?"

"Hey,, Tara. Sorry about that. I'm not good with names."

Tara planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. "Again, Bill, what do you want?"

Tara would have sworn that Bill sounded different. Maybe a little deflated. He smiled warmly and held out what Tara soon discovered to be a map. "I got this for you gals and didn't get the chance to give it to you last night, what with all the hoopla." Tara blushed and looked at the carpeting. Bill continued with an apology, "Sorry, well, you know, about the guys. I just didn't know."

She honestly felt bad for him. He seemed positively contrite as he pointed to little circles made with colored pens on the map. "We're getting into St. George's later tonight for a stopover, so I bought you a map of Bermuda. I marked some of my favorite places to go for you." Tara relaxed a little more when Willow came up from behind and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Bill continued, "I thought you two might want to go do the tourist thing tomorrow, you know, by yourselves."

Tara felt genuinely bad for threatening to kill Bill earlier. Willow relieved her of the responsibility for speaking when she said, "Thank you, Bill. That was really thoughtful." Tara nodded her agreement as she accepted the offered map.

"Yeah,'re welcome." Bill hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "I should get going. Shari hates to be late for breakfast. Not good for her blood sugar, you know." He started to turn to leave, but stopped and offered, "And I really am sorry about last night. Shari tells me all the time that I push too hard, but..."

Tara smiled and interrupted, "It's okay, Bill. We're just both really busy at home and we were looking forward to nothing but deck chairs and some quality time alone." She brightened and offered, "But thanks for the map. I'm sure we can use it."

Bill returned Tara's smile with one of his own. "So, go...enjoy each other." He stopped as a funny look crossed his face. "Wait...I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant..."

Tara laughed a little. "I get it, Bill. Thanks again." She stepped back and gently pushed the door closed when he turned to leave. Tara counted to ten in order to give Bill a little time to get where he was going, then opened the door again, placed the 'Do No Disturb" sign on the handle, and leaned against the door until it clicked shut. With a newfound sense of confidence, Tara knew that she would have the rest of the day alone with Willow. She smiled at the back of the door until a familiar voice sounded from across the room.

"So, Agent Maclay, are you just going to stand there, or are you coming back to bed?"

Tara didn't need to be asked that twice. She turned to head back toward where she had been so rudely interrupted mere moments before, but stopped and stifled a laugh when she saw green Snoopy jammie pants and a white t-shirt on the floor next to the bed. "Why, Dr. Rosenberg, you look good enough to eat."

Willow, propped on one elbow with a positively cheeky grin on her face, shot back, "So, what's keeping you from that?"

Tara laughed again. "Well, come to think of it, not a thing." She shrugged out of her white terrycloth bathrobe, which she left in a pile on the floor, fixed her loose ponytail, and practically dove the remainder of the way across the room. Landing with a bounce on the almost-too-soft mattress, Tara wiggled her girlfriend's thighs apart with her shoulders and proceeded to nibble her way northward.

Cool. Willow happy noise number four. Fingers wove their way into Tara's chocolate brown hair, flexed once, and led Tara to exactly where she needed to focus her attention. She smiled (she was doing a lot of that this morning) and got to work. With a soft tongue and even softer little bites, Tara continued what she had started earlier. She looked up long enough to assess if she was doing the right thing. Willow's eyes were closed, her head rolled against the pillow while she chewed on her lower lip. Tara could have sworn that she heard her girlfriend growl.

Good. Tara made a happy noise of her own just thinking about that sound. Between Willow's gyrations and Tara's desire to leave no spot untasted, she was wet practically to her ears. That was good, too. With strong arms wrapped around her girlfriend's thighs, Tara kept her close while the fingers in her hair pulled even harder. It was starting to hurt, but she simply didn't care.

"Oh, god...Tara." Willow was struggling. Tara could hear it in her voice. The way the professor's jaw locked when she was getting close, making every vocalization sound like a growl. Tara loved that sound. "Please..."

"Hmm?" Tara answered, voice muffled by wet auburn curls.

"Tara..." Willow warned through clenched teeth. "It's been three days...used car salesmen...if you don't fuck me soon, it could get really ugly."

Tara stopped licking and looked up. "Really ugly? Wow." She shook her head. "Can't have that."

Willow growled, "No... we can't...please..."

Tara didn't want to tease too much. Truth be told, she was pretty much in agreement on the no-naked-fun-for-three-days thing, so she gave in without a fight. The extent of the wetness on her face left no question in Tara's mind that her girlfriend was ready (seriously ready, to be precise), so she slid three fingers in just as far as they would go, and held on while Willow's hips came all the way off the bed. Tara got up on her knees, helped along by Willow's short fingernails digging into her shoulders hard enough that Tara knew she was leaving marks, pulled all the way out, waited just a second, and then plunged back in, driving her hand with the force of her own hips.

Willow came off the bed again. "Oh, god... baby...that's better. Keep doing that, please, please, just keep doing that."

Tara was more than happy to oblige. She poured all of her frustrations from the last few days into doing everything she could to manage to keep those hips up and off the bed. Harder, faster, Tara did it all, working up a sweat while Willow writhed and bucked, growing more tense with each thrust. Tara was dangerously close herself just from watching the show, but she willed herself to wait. It would be so much better when Willow took care of it.

Willow released Tara from her death grip and reached up to flatten her palms against the headboard, scattering pillows all over the place in the process. Tara didn't care about the bedding. Her one and only concern was helping Willow to come just as hard as she could. And she was so close. Tara leaned down and backed away enough to get her face back into all of those wet auburn curls, and used her mouth to apply just enough suction to send Willow over the edge. Despite her worries about the neighbors, Tara was tenacious. The more Willow growled, the more Tara didn't care about the neighbors. She had better things to do.

Willow finally stopped coming. Tara felt a little let down, just for a second until Willow's eyes slowly crept open, a huge smile broke out all over her face, and she made an observation. "Agent Maclay, you look like a glazed doughnut."

Tara smiled hugely in return as she got up on all fours and crawled up her girlfriend to give her a really sloppy, wet kiss. "Mmmm...and you, Dr. Rosenberg, look like a wet noodle."

"Guilty as charged." Willow lazily held her wrists up. "Take me away, officer."

With a shake of the head, Tara declined. "Oh, no, ma'am. I'm afraid that you're going to have to work this one off."

With a grin and a sideways glance of suspicion, Willow asked, "Really?" Tara shivered a little when she felt an unseen hand begin to make its way up the back of her thigh. "What did you have in mind? Hours and hours of community service...?"

Wow, that hand was getting dangerously close to Agent Maclay's point of no return. She struggled to answer, "Well, that's not exactly what I had in mind." Oh, god, those fingers were way too close. Tara couldn't stand it much longer.

"Oh... how about this?" Willow asked as she held up her free hand, index finger extended, the still-unseen mystery hand finally getting to the place where Tara needed it to be. "I could take three fingers, and slide them into you..." Tara groaned as the fingers stroked lazily, closer and closer, "you know...fuck you 'til you scream then fuck you just a little more..." Tara's brain switched off when Willow leaned up to whisper, hot breath teasing Tara's ear, "Is that what you had in mind, Agent Maclay?"

Tara couldn't answer. The fingers stroking her pussy and the words in her ear were too much to process. Elvis had left the building. After a deep breath, she clenched her jaws and struggled to answer. "Something like that." The hand never gave up, even when Tara swung her leg over to straddle her girlfriend's belly. Finally, the fingers slid home, all three of them, as promised. Tara sat up straight, her eyes rolled back, she took another long breath, wrapped her arms around the back of her head, and growled, "Yeah... something exactly like that."

Tara barely noticed when Willow scooted back enough to sit up. The six brain cells that she had left were completely focused on her girlfriend's right hand, until the left one found the small of Tara's arched back and pulled her forward, forcing the fingers even deeper. Make that five brain cells; just enough to do as she was told when Willow said, "Put your legs around my back, baby... here...sit on my lap. I've got you."

Tara leaned back far enough to give Willow room to kiss a wet path down her sternum. She almost fell over backward when a warm mouth latched onto her right nipple, but the hand kept her upright. Gone were the thoughts of used car salesmen, pinched housewives, and horny idiots. The only things Tara knew right now were the delicious sensations of Willow's mouth and hands. Her hips rolled, pushing Willow deeper with each thrust. The gentle tugging of Willow's teeth on her nipple sending electric shocks to her pussy.

"Oh god, sweetie, that's it. You feel so good."

"What feels good, Tara? Is it this?"

Fingers twisted deliciously inside her, eliciting a gasp from Tara. One finger curled and began stroking her in an offset rhythm that was driving her dangerously close to the edge. Tara tried to pull back, to get a little distance between her and her persistent girlfriend, but Willow's hand on the small of her back held her tightly.

Willow chuckled deep in her throat, "Oh no, Agent Maclay, you're not going anywhere. This is my community service, so I think you should come for me right now. I want to feel your cunt grab my fingers. I want you to look at me when you come so I know what you're thinking."

The words were enough for Tara even without the insistent rhythm of Willow's fingers. With those fingers it was all too much. Tara tipped over the edge, and as she did she took Willow's face in her hands, mouthed "I love you," and let out a scream that probably woke people two decks down.

Sometime later that night, or maybe the next day, the ship steamed into port. Tara vaguely remembered hearing some sort of announcement to that effect, but she was in a Willow-induced haze of pleasure at the time and couldn't be sure. All she knew right now was that she had been awake for forty-five minutes listening to the adorable snores of her girlfriend and there hadn't been one knock on the door. She could hear people in the passageway outside the door hurrying to disembark for a day filled with sightseeing and souvenir shopping.

She stretched lazily, the sheet slipping down to her waist, and her eyes landed on the map with its rainbow of circles resting on the coffee table. Tara threw off the rest of the covers, smacked Willow on the butt and said, "Come on, Dr. Rosenberg, we've got things to do!"

"Tara, look at that! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

Tara knew Willow was talking about the crystal clear water, the sand, the waving palm trees, but all she could see was her girlfriend. Willow, under a huge floppy straw hat with her emerald green tank suit, khaki shorts, and flip flops, was indeed the most beautiful thing that Tara had ever seen.

"Hey girls!"

Tara froze. She felt Willow's hand squeeze hers even tighter. Slowly the two women turned to see Bill and Sharon standing right behind them.

"I thought you two would never come up for air!"

Tara opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped cold by Sharon who smacked Bill meaningfully on the arm and let out a warning, "William!" before falling silent again.

Tara made eye contact with the older woman, thought she recognized a sympathetic twinkle, and reached into Willow's enormous straw bag coming up with the map.

"You know, Bill, Shari, Will and I were thinking about trying out that place you recommended for lunch...The Banana Shack. Why don't you two join us around one? The first round is on me."

THE END (for now)

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