Title: Touch

Author: Sulks

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Willow/Fred

Setting: Post Season six BtVS

Summary: A redhead and a brunette meet up at a bar

Disclaimer: Author does not own characters or make money from this.

There are certain things Fred just isn't ready to talk about. The gang

thinks these things are her time in Pylea, and avoid talking about it when

she's around. When she walks into a room, she knows they had been

speculating on the types of torment she endured while she was there by their

guilty expressions and the awkward silences as Wesley tries to find a

subject he thinks is more appropriate to talk about. More often than not,

everyone starts talking about the weather. For her own amusement, she starts

rambling about cirrocumulus clouds, and watch as they feign interest with

very real relief. She bores them with details about altocirrus clouds, and

she suspects Angel wants to cancel the Cable television merely because she

turns on all the televisions to the Weather Channel constantly. She knows

it's a bit mean-spirited, this pretence, but they expect it from her, and

hey, we all have our roles to play, do we not?

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 coworkers 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 recognise 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

recognises 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

recognisable.

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 recognising 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 realised, 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 realising 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.

"Midori Sour?"

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?"

"Fred."

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

recognise 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.

'Lauren...'

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

realises 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.

End.