"There should be rules against this sort of thing," Willow grumbled under her breath. "What are you staring at?" She suspiciously eyed the listener. "Haven't I given you enough? I've taken you out, given you pretty colors. What more could you want?"
"Uh... to be washed?" Tara mused from the doorway. Carrying her own laundry bag, the blonde smiled at her girlfriend.
Willow harrumphed and continued scowling the pile of dirty clothing that lay on the cement floor of the hotel's small laundry room.
"Would it be an understatement to say that you don't like washing clothes?" Tara asked, dropping her bag beside the washer next to Willow's. The redhead harrumphed again and began tossing articles of clothing into the machine.
"Aren't you going to separate them?" The blonde watched her friend dump the rest of the clothing into a washing machine.
Willow looked at her as if she had suddenly grown another head with a pair of horns attached to it. "Hey, they should be happy that they're being washed rather than febreezed," the redhead mumbled a she poured in the detergent. "Besides, they're all going to get washed," she continued pouring while looking at her girlfriend, "I mean, it shouldn't matter if they're separated, right?" Adding a couple more sprinkles, Willow closed the lid.
Tara's eyes went from Willow to the machine as the redhead pressed "start", and sent out a silent prayer to the clothes. Chances were that some of them would never be the same again.
Starting her separate loads, the young blonde shook her head as she watched her girlfriend give the corner vending machine a kick, grinning in triumph when the selected item fell. "So now that that's out of the way," she balled her bag up and tossed on the machine, "what do you want to do?"
"Load up on sugary goodness and make-out?" Ever the eloquent one, Willow beamed as she moved forward.
"You're on." The gap was closed.
It was only after they had been leaning against the snack machine for over twenty minutes that either girl spoke again. Tara pulled back, lips tingling but the feeling disappeared upon seeing the frown on the other girl's face.
"What is it?" Her brow furrowed.
"We forgot the sugar," out of the blue, the dazed redhead's statement caused Tara to roll her eyes and grin.
"You're plenty sweet," Tara wiggled her eyebrows, pulling the redhead closer.
"Char-." The rest was muffled by the blonde's lips.
Tara's mind shut off. Willow was deliciously addicting. When had she become such a...
Kissing-whore, Willow's thoughts mused. Yes, she was officially the kissing-whore and darned proud of it. Tugging on the blonde's top lip a final time, she released her hold. Lips delightfully bruised from kissing, both young women sighed happily.
"A girl could get used to this," smiling at the satisfied lump in front of her, the red-haired girl's smile broadened when Tara blushed. "Although," she added, "without the washing. Less washing, more kissing." Willow nodded her affirmation.
Footsteps alerted them of a coming presence, several in fact, making both girls regrettably pull apart. Willow observed the numerous laundry bags and nudged her girlfriend, "Let's get out of here, we'll come back later."
Tara, who had been pressing random buttons on the vending machine, nodded and followed her girlfriend out of the room.
Hands clasped, the two young women headed down the main hallway of the hotel, passing a man who was handing out flyers. Politely taking one, Tara read over the contents.
"'Emotions and Art'," the blonde slyly looked at her girlfriend. "Are you up for a weekend seminar?" She folded the paper and slid it into her pocket.
"What are you planning?" Willow curiously regarded her girlfriend, noting the sneaky glint in the blonde's eye.
"Nothing," Tara winked, playfully. "C'mon, it starts soon."
They were dressed appropriately to say the least, donning athletic wear and sweats and fitting in perfectly with the atmosphere.
"Today, we're going to express our emotions through art." The red-haired instructor began. "That means I want to see happiness, sadness, love, sensuality, anger, whatever emotion spurs you on, go with it. Don't hold back, but remember to keep it friendly and fun." The instructor smiled. "If what you're feeling is bored, than stay where you are, but I can't promise that you'll stay clean."
Buckets of paint and rows of different colored chalk lay in the center of the room. "Lucky for us, this room is scheduled for renovation," he smiled at his assistant before his eyes cut back to the group.
"Scream." The unexpected request confused the attendees. "C'mon, shout!" He raised his voice but there wasn't any malice in his tone. A couple of people muttered, and the short instructor frowned, pitifully, at the group.
Willow shared a puzzled look with her girlfriend, although her expression also seemed to read "this was your idea, not mine." Both young women shrugged, releasing their own low and pathetic screams.
"Louder!" The room erupted with different volumes, all participants screaming at the top of their lungs. "Good, now let's begin." Within an hour the room was halfway covered with an array of paintings, words, and unidentifiable... things.
Some people worked silently while others spoke aloud as they created.
Willow frowned at her work with a line of chalk streaked across her face. She glanced over to Tara's section and looked back to her own, the frown intensifying.
"What are you feeling?" Tara asked, noticing the perplexed expression on the redhead's face. A blush clouded Willow's features and the answer was clear.
"I just... I don't know how to express it," the frustrated redhead huffed, "I'm not good with the whole...," she wildly tossed her hands around.
"Fighting?" The blonde guessed with an arched brow.
"Creating," Willow pouted. "I'm artistically challenged, an art-o-phobic."
"No, you're not," Tara stuffed her chalk into her pocket, "You've just not found your niche."
"My 'niche' is stick people and lopsided hearts," the redhead muttered.
"Here, give me your hand," taking her girlfriend's hand with the chalk still in it, Tara moved their joined hands against the wall. "See," elegantly, she drew a series of small circles, "go with the flow." The blonde smiled encouragingly.
When Willow merely scowled the wall, Tara continued. "Or," she directed her friend's attention to the opposite wall, "you could do what they're doing."
Two attendees were repeatedly painting their stomachs and pressing them against the bare wall. "I'm guessing that they'll be moving onto other body parts soon," Tara smirked while the redhead grimaced.
"So... circles," shaking her head of the image, Willow focused on her section. "I can do circles. Yep, circles with little swirls," she told herself as she began to draw.
Tara stood back, watching as her girlfriend became more engrossed in her work. Soon what looked like stick people became, well... stick people with lumps. And what might've been seen as a diseased weed became a flower in the blonde's eyes. Yes, her baby truly was an artist.
Happily grinning, the blonde went back to her own artwork. Chalk stained and smiling, the couple arrived back at the laundry room to find it people-less and bubble-less, contrary to what Tara had thought considering the amount of soap Willow used in the machine.
After blindly tossing her clothing into the dryer, Willow hopped up onto the empty washing machine as Tara pushed some coins into the vending machine.
"What next?" The young woman atop the washer asked.
"You mentioned something about sugary goodness?" Tara gave her girlfriend a teasing lopsided smile as she began to open a chocolate bar.
Oh, yeah, she was definitely a kissing-whore.