Author: Sandi aka umgaynow aka That Big Tease
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Willow and Tara, I haven't owned anything in over 3 years...also I'm stoned on Percocet right now and therefore it logically stands to follow that I can't be held accountable for my actions.
Feedback: Please leave feedback on the The Traveller's Tale thread on the Kitten Board.

Willow chuckled triumphantly, feeling rather satisfied with herself, as she ducked down the shaded alleyway that led to the smithy's stall. The first sight to catch her eye, as she came back into the sunlight, froze her solid in her tracks. Oddly enough, leaving her wondering just how the weather had suddenly turned so very warm.

"Oh my," she gasped, "That is definitely not Giles."

The redhead's eyes began their journey at ground level. At first alighting on a pair of well worn boots, before slowly and studiously moving upward, drinking in every detail of the fascinating new terrain they so eagerly explored. Willow missed not so much as a solitary smudge or wrinkle on the soft chamois trousers that so flatteringly swathed the magnificent legs. Her gaze caressed their shapely form like a pair of hands, climbing ever higher, finally to arrive at the nexus, where the breeches curved outward, cradling their precious contents in a manner wondrous to behold.

Funny, I don't recollect ever wanting to bite someone on the bum before...curious indeed.

Directly above the bit where the chamois sloped just as wonderfully back inward, was a hand-tooled leather vest just a shade or two darker than the trousers themselves. What the redhead could see of the intricate sunburst pattern, which covered the hide, had obviously been crafted by an artisan of extraordinary skill. The portion of the design that she couldn't see was obscured by a cascade of shining wheat-blonde hair, tied back with a simple leather thong, doubtless to keep it free of the fire and entanglement with the straps of the heavy cowhide apron.

Still, it was neither the vest nor the hair half-hiding it that commanded the redhead's attention, but rather the strong, broad back that they covered. The chiseled arms and tanned shoulders were also of note, their muscles glistening wetly in the afternoon sun as they plied the hammer and tongs.

Ironically, the one detail, that demanded her scrutiny so much more than all the others, was actually not so very big at all. Hardly an inch or two in its totality, it resided just at the place where the top of the trousers met the bottom of the vest. A pale strip of skin that revealed itself, for the briefest of moments, only when its owner worked the bellows, pumping vigorously at the foot pedal. Perhaps it was the elusiveness of the thing that made it so tantalizing or maybe the bead of sweat that could occasionally be seen running down the groove at its center, disappearing so enticingly beneath the waist of the pants. Then again, it might also have had something to do with the novelty of it, pale as the finest ivory while all the other flesh in evidence was dark as burnished oak.

Could it truly be both as soft and as powerful as it looks?

And more importantly, could Willow resist this sudden all-consuming need to press her lips to it? Momentarily, she began to feel light-headed and improbably enough, even warmer than before. She was fairly burning up.

"Well then," she whispered in wonder, "Either I have finally managed to catch the plague or I really do like boys after all."