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“Is it true, what he said?”
Giles dipped the cloth into the bowl of water beside him and brought it up to the gash in her forehead, firmly and patiently wiping the blood away. Buffy watched him, wincing as the cloth touched her open wound. Her healing ability would take some time to return. She had forgotten not only what it was like to be weak, but also what it was like to be fragile.
“I-” he hesitated. “I care for you, Buffy.”
He lowered his hand, white cloth carrying red blood to the water bowl, diffusing there into murky brown.
“As a father?”
“If you like.”
He was always so skilled at avoiding the question.
“As a Watcher?”
“You already know.”
Buffy studied him. His shirtsleeves were roughly rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. His eye and cheek were beginning to bruise a sickening purple from his rescue attempt. His expression: carefully controlled, concern writing over some of the more delicate emotions that shone through in his eyes.
Giles wrung the cloth over the bowl, the sound of droplets hollow in the thick silence between them. He began to lift his hand once more to her forehead, but Buffy reached out and intercepted it, her touch feather-light and trembling. His hand acquiesced to even the most subtle demands of hers. She turned his hand palm up, cupping it like a fledgling bird. She traced circles across the heel of his palm.
“As a man?”
“Buffy…”
She curled her fingers into his, lifted her other hand to his bruised cheek. She stroked her thumb across his cheekbone and raised his chin with the gentlest pressure. Exhaustion had made her bold.
“As a man?” she pressed, meeting his gaze.
Buffy did not expect the stricken look in Giles’ eyes. Where she looked for love she found shame and grief. How much did it hurt him to love her? How much had he already given up for her?
“I don’t wish to lie to you, Buffy.”
“Then tell me the truth,” she said through her teeth. Her words sounded sharp and spiteful. Buffy was losing her patience. She needed honesty, and if she couldn’t have it, then there was nothing more he could give her.
Giles pulled his hands from hers to set the cloth down on the table. For a moment, Buffy thought he wouldn’t answer, that he was getting up to leave. A bolt of fear raced down her spine, leaving her arms tingling. But then Giles began to clean his glasses, and Buffy released a tense breath she hadn’t known she was holding. He was only shifting his posture, and Buffy realized he was probably uncomfortable, kneeling before her. She should have known.
Finally, his hands returned. One alighted gently on her knee, the other tangled itself into hers once more. He was closer than he had been before, and Buffy spread her legs to accommodate him. She could nearly feel the expansion of his chest on the insides of her knees. She wanted to.
“The truth…” Giles took a fortifying breath. His expression was all wrong - grim and determined, as if going into battle.
Please, Giles. I need you to say it.
“Buffy, there is no- no part of me that-” his voice broke unexpectedly. He paused to regain his composure.
“Yes,” he said finally. “As a man. As myself. With all that I am.”
Buffy felt her throat tighten and tears began to well up in her eyes. She reached forward and pulled him to her, quick and breathless, clinging to him with all the strength she had, which wasn’t much. Still, he was caught off-guard and tumbled forward a bit, his hands catching his weight on the arms of the chair before softening into her. Buffy curled her body around him as if he were the delicate and broken thing, framing the sides of his ribcage with her thighs, pulling his broad chest against her belly. She guided his head to her breast with one hand and rested her cheek in his hair, sniffling.
In spite of the fact that they had almost never touched, Buffy held Giles to her with an ease and familiarity she had never known, not even with Angel. It felt as though she were seeing her Watcher for the first time. And if they were both too worn out to be joyful, at least they had the truth between them and Buffy clung to it with everything she had.
Giles’ arms found their way between Buffy and the back of the chair, clinging fiercely to her. She stroked his hair gently, and as she replayed his exchange with Travers in her mind, her tears began to flow freely until she was quietly sobbing and fisting her hand into his hair.
Then Giles’ shoulders began to quiver, and for a moment Buffy was uncertain what was happening, until she realized that he was crying too. Soon it was undeniable; he was weeping like a child in her arms, with an intensity that Buffy had seen only once before, the night that Jenny died.
“I almost lost you today,” Giles said, his voice wet and warbling.
“I almost lost you, too,” Buffy murmured into his hair.
“Never,” said Giles. He pulled back from her, just far enough for their eyes to meet. He pulled his arm out from behind her, messily, and brought it up to her cheek. His touch felt raw and uncoordinated. Giles’ eyes were puffy and tear-stained, and he had never looked more beautiful to her. Buffy watched his lips part and felt anticipation rise in her chest. She began to draw nearer, until she could feel his breath, which was coming quickly. And even then she remained unsure. Was this really what he meant?
Suddenly Buffy was aware of every place his body touched hers. Her mind reeled with a heady mixture of grief, love, and desire. All she could think about was Giles, and all she could want was to be closer to him. She was aware of the weight and bulk of him, was imagining how it would feel to be beneath that weight. To feel his heat inside her… Buffy shimmied forward on the seat, her legs already wrapped around him, her hips rocking forward once without her control, searching for contact and finding only air.
“Giles…” Buffy said breathlessly. She watched her hand slide down from the top of his head, to the side of his face, to his neck. “Are we-?”
Before Buffy could form her question, Giles surged forward and closed the gap between them, his lips tender and swollen and perfect against hers. Buffy’s hand tightened around the back of his neck, holding him to her. It was not a gentle kiss, but made rough perhaps only by Giles’ overestimation of the distance between them.
When Buffy’s shock subsided and Giles had not fled, Buffy grew brave enough to pull away again. Her heart both soared and pounded in her chest. She glanced at his lips, then at his eyes, looking for a sign. Her own expression was dazed and unreadable, but she saw longing in Giles. The darkening of desire and the shock of discovering that nothing about this felt strange or new.
She pressed her lips to his this time, exploring, cautious. A second chaste kiss, a third. Buffy parted her mouth ever so slightly and Giles, ever attentive, did the same. All that existed were his lips, and hers, and the rest of her was ungoverned as her body searched for his. Buffy had nothing more in her than to feel where Rupert Giles was kissing her.
Slowly, Buffy framed Giles’ lower lip between hers and sucked gently, eliciting a strangled moan that sent shockwaves of desire to Buffy’s core. Encouraged by his reaction, Buffy ran her tongue along the seam of his lip and he seemed to straighten and grow tense against her.
As if a switch had been flipped, the kiss ceased to be patient and exploratory and became a desperate, bodily quest for proximity. Giles pressed himself ever closer to Buffy, and Buffy rocked her hips gently into his belly. And though she was a head higher than him in their current position, she could have sworn that he had grown somehow, taking up the full space his body commanded as his back and shoulders tensed beneath her hands.
As their kiss deepened, Buffy learned that Giles writhed when she traced the insides of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. She learned that his breath was hot and human, a novelty to Buffy, and she learned that nothing made her wet like hearing Giles moan.
His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. One hand firmly gripping her loose hair, pulling her to him with a desperation that Buffy relished. One hand snaking its way to her hip, gripping her overalls, causing the bud at the apex of her thighs to pulse with need. One hand on her delicate neck, his thumb pressing into her pulse point. One hand caressing the back of her thigh, the back of her knee. And everywhere pulling, pulling, drawing her closer to him, as if she could be enfolded into his bulk.
No amount of contact seemed to be enough. She ground her hips against him and moaned, and though she felt ashamed of the heat of her desire, she was not ashamed enough to stop. She moved forward on the chair until she was barely perched on the edge of it. Giles’ hands wandered beneath Buffy’s shirt, and when she felt his calloused fingers against the sensitive skin of her waist, she gasped in delight. Buffy began to suck hard on Giles’ neck, encouraging him. He moaned in response, and his hands wandered farther, tracing along the waistband of Buffy’s panties.
The thought of him undressing her – something Buffy had never allowed herself to think about – now sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. She arched her back, wanting more, wanting skin. She clawed at his back, his breath hot as he traced the delicate shell of her ear with his tongue.
Giles tugged on Buffy’s panties, pulling them taut. Buffy, shocked by the sudden sensation of tightness, gasped and jumped a little in her seat before discovering that she relished the pressure it created against her sex.
She rocked her hips up once more at the edge of her seat. With her weight pressing against him, Giles suddenly lost his balance and toppled backward onto the floor of the library, pulling Buffy on top of him. They paused for barely a moment before Buffy captured his mouth, fearing that if they stopped they would never start again.
Buffy felt a slick wetness between her thighs, her panties drenched beneath her overalls. She slid down his body, straddling him, aligning her hips with his. For the first time, she felt his own arousal, Giles’ bulge rigid and pronounced in his trousers. She moaned and pressed herself against him, the friction of the cloth between them hitting her just right. As she began to move her hips against him, a desperate growl vibrated through Giles’ chest.
His hands found her hips and began to guide her movements. Slowly at first, then faster, faster, his fingers digging into her soft flanks, until they were both so urgent with need that they forgot entirely about kissing. Giles dropped his head back onto the floor, eyes closed tightly, neck arched, lips parted – lost to pleasure.
Buffy’s orgasm was building hot and fast, her clit pulsing against the denim of her overalls until she burst with pleasure and a wet heat flooded her. She threw herself upright, head thrown back, keening like an animal as her hips jerked and stuttered and Giles’ cock throbbed in his trousers.
“God – Buffy!” Giles let out a stifled call as he came, pressing himself up against her.
Giles was an absolute vision beneath her, Buffy thought, studying the open and exhausted expression on his face. Then suddenly, still reeling from the afterglow of her most powerful orgasm to date, Buffy began to cry again.
Buffy lowered herself against Giles’ chest. She felt the warmth and solidity of Giles beneath her, and his pulsing erection, and she thought distantly that he probably didn’t come when she did, and felt a sense of failure. She wondered if he would regret this, and whether the Council would have him deported, and a thousand other worries she couldn’t put into words.
Giles quickly and tenderly wrapped his arms around her back, rubbing long, gentle strokes up and down. Then, unexpectedly, her tears turned to wild laughter.
“God, Giles, I’m sorry. I don’t- agh. I’m a mess.”
Giles sat up, pulling Buffy easily with him. He tacitly adjusted himself, then settled Buffy in his lap. He pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and smiled warmly, his features softened somehow. Buffy had never seen him like this. He was concerned for her, that much was obvious. But he seemed looser, too. More relaxed. She wiped away her tears with the heel of her hand and returned his smile with a small, self-deprecating one of her own.
“That bad, huh?” he cajoled, his face open and gentle.
“The worst,” Buffy replied, dramatically rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t keep up the part. A smile brightened her face and she sniffled once more. Giles handed her a handkerchief. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. This is all just… a lot. You know, for one day.”
Giles seemed to stiffen a bit, some of his usual tension returning. His mouth opened ever so slightly, preparing to form a question. Buffy wanted relaxed, post-coital bliss Giles again, and she felt guilty for crying. She pressed a finger to his lips.
“Giles. Shh.” Buffy wrapped her arms and legs tighter around his torso. She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder. It seemed to do the trick, and she felt his body melt just a little bit into hers. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
They stayed like that for several minutes, seated on the floor of the library, the only two people in the world. Their bodies entwined as if it had always been this way between them - as if they had done this all along.
After some time, Buffy began to rouse herself. She twirled her finger through Giles’ hair and planted a few chaste kisses on his neck.
“My Watcher.” Buffy ran her fingers over his lips, his cheekbones, his brow. She smiled softly. “I didn’t know how much I… until they tried to take you away. Feels like a miracle. Or a dream. Like the whole first part of our relationship was… I don’t know. It’s like I’m seeing you for the first time.” Thinking of that time, that other lifetime, sent a river of cold dread through her heart. “I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t think I could go back to that. I want… I want this. I want to touch you. I want to sit with you. I want to… do other things with you. And I want you to be my Watcher, and I don’t care what the Council says about it. Is that– Am I making sense or just rambling?”
His ribcage fluttered with silent laughter, and a smirk touched his lips. “Buffy. You are just about the only thing that makes sense.”
Buffy kissed him again, her body instantly aflame as she felt his hands grip her waist. She ran her fingers through his hair and he groaned as she pulled on it.
“Y’know, I’ve never done that before?” Buffy whispered into Giles’ ear, then licked the shell of it.
“Done what, exactly?”
Buffy turned from vixen to schoolgirl in an instant, a blush coloring her cheeks crimson. Suddenly she felt way out of her depth, doing things with an older man that she was too embarrassed to even talk about. He’d probably been doing this for longer than she’d been alive.
“I’ve never… um. With clothes on?”
“Had an orgasm?”
“Well, that too.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was saying.
“Not… ever? On your own?”
“I mean, yeah, but not… with someone. Not like that.” Buffy groaned inwardly. Why was it easier to do these things than to talk about them? She didn’t want Giles to know how inexperienced she was, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. At this point, her only option was honesty. This was Giles she was talking to. Giles whose lap she was sitting on. Giles who she just… until she came. “What do you call that?” she blurted. “What we were just doing?”
“Dry humping,” Giles said drily, but Buffy could hear the smirk.
“Dry humping? That's not even a little bit sexy."
He arched a brow. “Did you enjoy it?”
“...Okay, yes,” she admitted with a grin, then swatted his shoulder. “But don’t tease me about it.”
“I think you’ll find you quite like it when I tease you,” he murmured into her neck.
Buffy shivered and another wave of heat flashed through her, sending fresh wetness between her thighs. Giles pulled back, gentle laughter rolling through him. Buffy’s cheeks were hot, and suddenly she felt too seen. Vulnerability took some getting used to, and Buffy was out of practice. He put his hand on her cheek and steadied her, his eyes dancing.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Buffy? Because, if it were only about… taking comfort, I would understand. I wouldn’t blame you. But I couldn’t- well. I don’t think I could bear it.”
“Rupert.” Buffy pressed her lips to his once more, dizzy with the feel of him. It was the first time she had called him that, but it wouldn’t be the last. “I have never been more sure. Of anything.”
FIN