Lares and penates
Author’s Note: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Many thanks to Cordyfan for the beta. He is in no way responsible for this short tale. WARNING! The FR 21 rating for this chapter is there for a reason. No actual sex of any kind but nasty words and thoughts. Lares and Penates
“I love you sweetie,” Willow whispered. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry. I-I… I can’t tell you how happy I am you came back.”
Tara smiled and kissed her girlfriend. “As long as you’re willing to work on controlling your magic and on our relationship, I won’t ever leave again, I promise.”
Then she frowned. “This place feels… A bit different.”
Willow winced. “I needed… The magic, it hurt, so I needed to find a way to get rid of it. Meditation didn’t work. So I did a ritual.”
Tara gave her a sharp look. “What did you do?”
“Remember that home protection rite we found, that we wanted to try? There was an archaeological dig in Pompeii and they found the whole text,” Willow reached for her dresser and dug out the pages. “I translated it first, and then checked it with the translation from the archaeologists and it came out the same and I cast it. Here, see?”
Tara read the translation. “This calls for the Lares and Penates and other household gods of protection,” she smiled. “You did it just like this?”
Willow nodded, her face frightened. “You-you aren’t angry?”
Tara shook her head. “We might want to build a small altar to honour them. In return for offering protection like this, the spirits will want to be acknowledged.”
Willow let out a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you’d be angry. I-I made a sketch of the altar… Look, it’s on the next page.”
Tara turned it over and smirked, her cheeks flushing. “That’s an interesting sketch. Did you show it to Xander to build?”
Willow looked and squeaked, the Polaroid of a very naked Tara that had slipped between the pages on the rite pinned by the Blonde’s thumb.
Tara laughed, then with an abashed smile kissed Willow. “I had a few of those of you around, love.” She deepened the kiss, and Willow answered fervently.
Warren was angry. Warren was beyond angry, he was furious. He saw the bitch Summers on the porch and aimed his revolver. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm and there was a quick, harsh pressure and he dropped his weapon with a scream and an oath.
The man who held him was dressed in a very short toga. Very short. And it showed bits of him that Warren really didn’t want to see.
“Well now, what have we here? Don’t you know this house is under my protection, boy?”
“Your protection? Who the fuck are you? Someone from the gay naturist neighbourhood watch scheme?” Warren tried to pull his hand back, but the man was incredibly strong.
“Me? Oh no. No my darling sweet boy, I’m called Priapus. And fuck is right.” End note: Priapus at first was probably one of the rustic household gods of the Romans, the Lares and Penates, and later grew into a deity of fertility, luck and male genitalia. The following is a poem that describes rather pithily how the Romans expected him to deal with thieves and intruders… Percidere, puer, moneo; futuere, puella; barbatum furem tertia poena manet. Femina si furtum faciet mihi virve puerve, haec cunnum, caput hic praebeat, ille nates. Per medios ibit pueros mediasque puellas mentula, barbatis non nisi summa petet. I warn you, boy, you will be screwed; girl, you will be fucked; a third penalty awaits the bearded thief. If a woman steals from me, or a man, or a boy, let the first give me her cunt, the second his head, the third his buttocks. My dick will go through the middle of boys and the middle of girls, but with bearded men it will aim only for the top.