SERIES TITLE  : Monterey
CHAPTER/TITLE : 1/9 Ball and Chain, Part 3/3.
AUTHOR        : Black Widow
EMAIL         : bw@l...
FEEDBACK      : Please? Pretty please? Fucking gimme!
SUMMARY       : Joyce remembers...
SPOILERS      : None. 
RATING        : NC-17
PAIRING       : Joyce/Rupert
DISCLAIMER    : The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant
                Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, and Greenwolf Productions, 20th
                Century Fox, the WB Network, and whoever else may have a
                hold on them. The situation is wholly mine, and I do
                not mean to infringe upon any copyrights.
ARCHIVE/DIST  : You want it, take it. Just send me an email to let me know
NOTES         : This little part wouldn't have got written if i hadn't been
                made aware of the possible potential this silly story had.
                The bad news is it creates two plots i want to explore now,
                so there'll be two different chapter 2s and two completely
                different stories to follow, though it may take a while.
DEDICATION    : Fair spark of the gods,
                Daughter of Elysium,
                Drunk with fiery rapture, Goddess,
                We approach thy shrine!

*

Joyce walked past the car and into the house.

... she had responsibilities. No matter what the world threw at her
she had to be there, she had no choice. There was no freedom, only
loneliness. That was a mother's lot and, if truth be told, she'd
resigned herself to that a long time ago.

Shutting the door behind her she dropped her jacket over the back of a
chair and closed all the curtains.

She knew she had to be patient, Buffy would call round eventually,
probably when she wanted something, but she'd call round. And
Rupert...

She may not have the man but she had her memories and no one could
take them away from her. Stretching out on the sofa she recalled that
day, felt the warmth of the sun on her skin, the gentle breeze in her
hair. The bright, shy smile of the earnest young man as he sat down
beside her. The smile she returned, seeing him relax visibly. He must
have been so nervous. Wasn't that typical of her Rupert?

For the first couple of songs they'd just sat there, listening to
Janis singing. Laughing as they'd joined in the choruses, each trying
to out-sing the other, but still being drowned out by her sheer power.
Oh, she could sing. The raw emotion in her voice had caught both of
them. There was a magic that evening - and it had nothing to do with
the sweet smelling air.

She remembered holding her hand out to him, seeing the sparkle in his
eyes as he took it. They held hands and smiled and listened and sang
and laughed. When Janis finished she remembered looking at him and
smiling, standing up and leading him away from the crowds, away to a
secluded area where they could be alone. She knew she wanted him and
she didn't care. They hadn't spoken two words to each other and here
she was taking a complete stranger to...

When they were alone she took his other hand and looked shyly into his
eyes. She leaned tentatively towards him and kissed him softly on the
lips. She felt her pulse race as it did back then as he looked at her,
uncertain.

"I, um," he said. "I'm not sure about this."

She remembered the strange lilt to his voice when he sang and when he
spoke... her knees went weak. English. He sang strong and clear, but
when he spoke... so gentle, soft... the accent so rich. Now more than
ever she knew. She kissed him again, opening her lips just a little,
seeing if he understood. When his tongue touched her lips she felt
such an ache...

Flinging her arms around him she opened her mouth to his, her mind
reeling as his tongue touched hers. When he put his arms around her
she knew for certain he was the one. 

Switching her mind off she let herself enjoy the feel of his strong
arms around her, the gentle caresses, his fingers stroking the back of
her neck sending shivers of pleasure through her.

Joyce put a hand to her neck, trying to find the spot he'd found so
easily. Tracing a circle with her nails needing to feel now what she'd
felt then.

The look of concern on his face. She shook her head and smiled at him,
pulling him to the ground.

Her hand went to her blouse as his did, clumsily undoing the buttons,
slipping inside, feeling the fabric before sliding across to touch her
skin. Curving around the swell of her breast, caressing it gently, her
thumb reaching inside to play across her nipple, so tender. She felt
the stirring within her as he teased, as his mouth met hers and they
kissed again, deeper, longer, his hand supporting her head, her
fingers playing lazily on her neck.

Slowly she undid the buttons for him so that his hand could explore
her more easily. Undoing the band of her skirt for him she felt her
fingers slide down to her hips and trace the line of elastic above her
groin, hesitant, uncertain. Looking into his eyes, smiling
reassuringly, her hand slipped inside ever so slowly, searching
through the soft hair, stopping at the sudden wetness.

Feeling the hotness of his breath on her neck, as he kissed and licked
across and up under her chin to her lips. As his tongue dipped inside
her mouth her fingers played across her lips before one finger slowly
parted them, seeking the forbidden.  

Lifting her hips to tell him that she wanted him inside her, trying
not to cry out as her fingers slid deeper inside, urgent, wanting,
needing. The fire in her body, in her mind as his tongue found her
breast, as she pulled at her nipple, as her fingers filled her,
stroking, as her thumb rubbed against her clitoris, the exhilaration
as her first orgasm pulsed through her body. The way she cried out.
The beautiful look on his face when she opened her eyes and smiled up
at him. The way she cried out...

Joyce opened her eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. She lay
perfectly still, feeling the wetness surrounding her fingers, feeling
the heat of her own body, feeling the emptiness inside her. Feeling
the heartache. She was a child, he was a boy. It shouldn't have
happened.

He tried removing her fingers but her body moved with them and she
gasped at the sensation. No, it was wrong! It should never have been.
As her hips fell she cursed herself as her fingers sought her heat
again.

Why did it always have to be this way? Why did she always end up
masturbating? Why was her desire for him as strong now as it was then?
No, not as strong - stronger.

Her body wanted more. She undid his belt and pulled his trousers down
to his ankles. He was so big, so ready, she straddled his hips and
guided him inside, her fingers working urgently as he filled her.
Pinning his arms to the ground she explored his mouth with her tongue.

He rolled them over easily and she hooked her legs around him, urging
him, needing him, wanting to force him into her, demanding. But he
held firm, kept his own rhythm, made her body fight against his will,
always keeping what she desperately wanted just beyond her reach.

"Oh, God, Rupert. Why?"

Joyce stared vacantly at the ceiling. She had no control as the orgasm
surged through her, as she ground her clit into the palm of her hand,
as she let go and cried, looking into the face of the boy looking down
at her. She let her fingers play not wanting the moment to end. She
wanted the boy, she wanted his touch, his kisses. She wanted his love.
She wanted...

The knocking at the door snapped her attention to the present. She
looked down at herself. She felt her skin tingle as she removed her
fingers, she smelled her sweet sex, she felt the desire within her
still unfulfilled. "Just a moment," she called out as she grabbed a
couple of tissues.

To be continued.