Totem and Taboo                                        

Chapter One: The Politics of Reality

She was blaming it on Fleetwood Mac.

Completely. Resolutely. And without hesitation.

Even though Stevie Nicks herself would have only shaken her head at the situation and said, "Man... I know the goddess has something better in store for you."

Abby Lockhart's reply to that was simple:

"Fuck the goddess."

Because it had been that damn song playing, Lindsey Buckingham's fucking guitar, that stupid flickering of the TV that neither one of them had been paying attention to, when Abby had first lost whatever fragile grip she had on her sanity-- obviously a genetic condition-- tangled Kim Legaspi's obscenely thick blonde locks in her hands, and pulled the other woman's mouth hard against hers.

Or maybe it hadn't been.

Maybe that had been the second time... when Kim was long against the length of her body, snuggling for warmth despite the already humid summer night. She had murmured the lyrics into Abby's ear, her light alto an acappela contrast to the CD, the vibrato traveling down her spine and settling somewhere just south of obscene.

But that might not have been it either.

It might have been that afternoon Kim referred to as their alfresco adventure, a Sunday when Abby knew she was going to be hurting come midnight and no sleep, but knowing that Malik would trade her two hour's worth of nap for a decent gossip. And it wasn't like she was ashamed of anything she and Kim were doing. And god... what that woman was doing to her as she somehow managed to hit the exit doing something close to seventy five, her hand buried somewhere Abby wouldn't want to explain to a highway patrolman, and the radio blaring something about thunder, rain and players that made absolutely no sense as she thrust her hips against the sun, the sound, and the smile of the woman who held her so carelessly in her hand.

Yeah. Sure. It was all Stevie Nicks' fault.

Throw Sheryl Crow in there for good measure, too.

And those leather pants that she had found at the back of Kim's closet.

"I haven't worn those in years." The grace of a blush, a half-smile and duck of her head. "I went as Jim Morrison one Halloween."

Innocent enough.

"Wear them for me now..."

Thank god it was still summer and she had a chance to burn the fused scents of sex and leather from her nostrils or else she'd be sentenced to wearing that damned pea coat every winter from now until the end of time. The slick sweat of Kim's skin greasing the slide of their bodies together, the ungodly heat from Kim's body underneath the leather. Those legs... endless... nevermind the white silk shirt that hadn't lasted more than a minute after she had stepped from the bedroom to offer herself to Abby's awestruck gaze.

Crashing. Burning. Riverwide as the press of her mouth against Abby's sex. Kim had fed, been sheltered in the strength of Abby's response-- Abby had felt Kim's renewal hidden in the hot seep of salt from her eyes when she thought the nurse wasn't paying attention. After they both had come and neither one of them was supposed hold the results against the other. And she hadn't--not really. Only measured it against the depth of her own need, found herself drowning in a difficult kind of desire that had surpassed the simplicity which had allegedly brought them together in the first place.

"Touch me..."

Her voice, Kim's need... Or was it the reverse?

Step. And step back. Turn again.

"God... come inside me..."

She had wanted her so violently. Both. Separate. No, the same... thrust. Touch. Taste. Reach...

"Mine..."

A word never spoken between them.

"Touch me..."

The more common refrain.

Reaching for the other. The keen of desire. Such a tidy word for something so messy, so wet...

So outside the purview of what was supposed to be.

She knew she wasn't the first in Kim's heart. Didn't care, the truth be told. For this woman's eyes and hands reached someplace that Abby hadn't ever wanted anyone to go. Ignored the Danger!Will Robinson! signs around her psyche, plunged in with little or no regard to the boundaries around Abby's soul.

Or had that been her?

Kim's voice thick in her ear.

"Oh God, please... Don't... Oh God... Yes..."

Her voice a profane litany from that beautiful mouth.