“The Unicorn”
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Story
Erotica: Giles/Buffy
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (C) 1999 by A. Manley Haight
RATING: NC-17
Flames are welcome and are, in fact, encouraged for psychological study.
This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox Television, or AOL Time Warner. This story may be distributed only with prior permission of the author, and may not be posted to any archive, ftp site, or web page without the written permission of the author. This story is distributed for the individual personal entertainment of persons of legal age for viewing sexually explicit material in areas where such viewing is legal, and is not subject to purchase or sale by anyone.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: To make the premise of this story work, I’ve altered at least one concrete event in the show, and made some assumptions about Giles’ unspoken background. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch, speaking from some personal experience.
The library had been quiet for a while except for the occasional sound of pages turning. Giles, Buffy, Xander, Willow and Oz were there on a Saturday looking for a way to kill a demon that had so far proved annoyingly difficult to kill. Buffy had emerged unharmed from a battle with it, but in spite of the application of several weapons, including high voltage electricity, Thaluth had also escaped without a scratch. Giles had discovered this was because Thaluth was an Arch Demon, of the higher ranks of Hell, and protected by stronger magic than most demons. Research so far had proved singularly unenlightening because they had yet to even find a reference to Thaluth, much less a recommended method of destroying same. Finally, someone spoke.”Oh Lord,” Giles sighed. “Here it is.”
“What?” Buffy said, bemused by Giles’ tone, which had conveyed dismay rather than excitement. He handed the book over to her and Xander read over her shoulder.
“Aw, jeez,” Xander exclaimed. “Not another virgin sacrifice. If we keep this up, we’re not gonna have any virgins left in this town, and then there’s gonna be real Hell to pay.”
“It’s not a virgin sacrifice,” Giles said. “It’s a ritual that has to be performed by a virgin, or in this case, the ritual itself requires that the virgin lose her virginity. The virgin is thus consecrated and is the only person who can kill the demon.” He stepped closer but she held onto the book, reading. “What does it say about the sacrifice?”
“‘The virgin shall be a living human,’” Buffy read, “‘of good physical form and free of the consumptive and wasting diseases. If female, she shall have had her first moon flow.”
“Menarche,” Giles said, taking off his glasses absently to see the dense print better. “She has to have reached puberty. Go on.”
“‘If male, he shall be of no fewer than fourteen years.’”
“An adult, in other words,” Giles murmured. At the sight of his wistful, upside-down reading, Buffy gave the book to him with an amused smile, and he took it with a sheepish glance before putting the stem of his glasses in his mouth and looking down to read again. “The virgin’s partner doesn’t have to be a virgin himself,” he said thoughtfully, lost in the scholarly nature of the text. “Does have to be human, not surprisingly. Well, as sordid as it sounds, I suppose we have to find a virgin who’s willing to lose her virginity in the name of destroying evil.”
“Again with the her,” Buffy said, her smile quirking, and Giles looked up at her blankly and replaced his glasses.
“It’s statistically much more likely that any virgin we find of the right age will be female,” he said. “Women typically keep it longer and men lose it as quickly as possible.” He said the last dryly, and Xander cleared his throat.
“Obviously that crosses my name off the list of people to be deflowered,” he said, then perked up. “But not to do the deflowering.”
“I think perhaps we should search for another solution to destroying Thaluth,” Giles said. “I have problems with the ethics of this.” Buffy grunted.
“Then we keep looking,” she said, turning back to walk toward the stacks.
“Yes,” Giles said in a low voice, and the tone caused her to pause at the top of the steps.
“But?” she prodded.
“But,” Giles said, “I’m not going to hold my breath, to use an expression.” He gestured with the open book. “Any other weapon we find that would work against Arch Demons would involve killing people — small children to be exact — or performing a special rite during a full solar eclipse. We’re not going to have another full solar eclipse here for several more years. Those are the only means I have ever heard of for dealing with Arch Demons.”
“This fighting evil thing sucks,” Xander declared grumpily, sitting down at the table with a thump. “It can’t be something simple like burning a few plants and chanting. No, it has to be virgins and baby killing and things that only happen when all the planets are aligned and the moon rises red and it rains fish for three days in a row.”
“Regrettably, the Hellmouth didn’t send a stone goblin to harass us,” Giles said.
“Oh yeah? What do you have to do to get rid of them?”
“Throw salt over your left shoulder and say the goblin’s name backwards three times,” he said deadpan, and from up in the stacks Buffy gave a strangled laugh.
“Hey, do not taunt happy fun ball,” Xander said.
“You’re mean, Giles,” came Buffy’s voice again from behind the section labeled ‘Western Hermeticism.’ “Xander, stone goblins are what they call the bricks that pave the road to Hell. It’s ‘cuz they try to trip you and cut your feet.”
“I’m glad to hear that you’ve been paying attention,” Giles said to her.
“I had nightmares about it the day after you told me,” she replied sarcastically. Then she sighed. “I can’t find anything else about how to kill Thaluth in the Demon Hierarchy or the Forty Steps of Hell.” She emerged from behind the stacks and came down the steps.
“Ooh, here’s something,” Willow said, speaking up for the first time. She had Giles’ rare copy of Chaos of the QBLH and had been slogging through the labyrinthine English. Her face fell a few seconds later. “Oh, wait. It’s the solar eclipse thing.”
“Anything else?” Giles asked, leaning forward on the table. She kept reading but shook her head.
“Nope.”
“That pretty much exhausts our avenues of exploration, then,” Giles said.
“Guess we better start looking for a virgin,” Buffy said. She glanced at Xander. “Xander and Faith and I are out. What about you guys?” She was looking at Willow and Oz, who exchanged a look, and then Willow flushed.
“Um, I think we’re out, too,” she said.
“Swell,” Buffy said. “Somehow I can’t really see us roaming the school interrogating people to find a virgin, assuming they’d tell us the truth anyhow.”
“And assuming we don’t get arrested,” Xander added.
“We cannot involve outsiders,” Giles said flatly, warningly, and Buffy sat back on the table.
“Yeah. So what do we do?”
“Does homosexuality count?” Oz said.
“Huh?” Buffy said.
“Well…men can be virgins with other men without being virgins with women,” Oz said. “I think. At least, some people talk about it that way. Even if the other person has to be female, couldn’t she penetrate him with something? Her fingers? Then Willow and I could do it.”
“Do you eat with that mouth?” Xander said to him, looking overwhelmingly squeamish.
“That isn’t a mating,” Giles said in response to Oz’s question. “Plus I don’t know what the consequences would be of trying to interpret the text that way. It could be dangerous.”
“So much for that idea,” Buffy sighed. “Good try, though, Oz.”
“There is, um, one other person we haven’t considered,” Giles said, looking uncomfortable with both hands in his pockets. They all looked at him expectantly.
“Oh yeah?” Xander said with sincere curiosity. “Who?”
“Yeah, Giles, who?” Buffy said. “I think we’ve pretty much covered the bases here, unless you mean Cordelia, and even if she is a virgin, I don’t think we could talk her into this.” Her tone was wry.
“I don’t mean Cordelia,” Giles said. “I mean me.”
There was a pregnant silence, Buffy more than any of the rest of them looking at him as if he had just announced he was Tiamat, the dragon of Sumer.
“No way,” Buffy said finally, in a tone of utter disbelief and incredulity. “You mean you’re…but Miss Calendar…” Giles merely shook his head slightly.
“Our relationship never progressed that far,” he said plainly. He caught the expression of mild sympathy on Xander’s face and forced himself not to scowl at the boy. Oz merely looked intrigued. Willow looked like she couldn’t believe they were even talking about Giles’ sex life, much less whether any aspect of it were normal or not. “It’s by choice and not inability, if I may be allowed to defend my own virility,” he finally said, irritated. Buffy jerked her head back slightly, startled by the heat in his voice.
“So you mean you’re a…a virgin?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, in the flat tone he had used before, as if daring her to mock him for it.
“Oh,” she said. Her mind was racing. What did you say in response to a revelation like that? Sticking to the subject seemed like a good idea. “So…if you’re willing to do the ritual, who does the deflowering part?” Giles looked down at his shoes for a moment, hands still in his trouser pockets, and cleared his throat.
“The mating has to be a male-female union, so it would have to be a female,” he replied. “Not necessarily a virgin herself. Pretty much any female will do, as long as she’s human.” Buffy became aware of eyes on her, and turned slightly to her friends.
“Why are you guys all looking at me?” she demanded with the nervous avoidance of the obvious. Giles cleared his throat again, then glanced up.
“Um, would you all mind giving us some time?” he asked. “Buffy and I need to talk privately.”
“Sure,” Willow said, discreetly pulling on Xander’s sleeve as she and Oz moved toward the library exit. “We’ll be out in the hall.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Giles said when they were alone. “I don’t want you to think that I meant — ”
“No, hey, it’s okay,” Buffy said, still nervous. She perched on the edge of the table and took a deep breath. She wasn’t used to having to be quite this mature about something when Giles was around. Usually he was the confident one. Now he was vulnerable and she had to be careful. “We should talk about it.” Giles nodded, still not looking at her. She resisted the most obvious thing to say next; so, you’re really a virgin, huh? “Um…sorry I’m acting kind of weird about this. I mean…I try not to think about whether the grownups I know have sex or not, but I guess we just assume that they have at least once.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption,” Giles acknowledged. “It doesn’t offend me that people think that. M-mostly it doesn’t come up at all.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said. “Guess not.” She looked down at her shoes for a moment. “So…what are we going to do about Thaluth?”
“I’ll do the ritual,” Giles said, in the tone of someone accepting that tomorrow he would walk to the guillotine. He was looking at her now, with a curious, unflinching bravery. “Then I’ll be consecrated and I can kill Thaluth myself. We can’t allow him to walk the Earth even a day longer than absolutely necessary. There’s no other way, and my emotional modesty is in no way as important as the lives of innocent people, not to mention our own. To be honest, whoever it is has to also be able to take a weapon against the demon, and that will require some skill and experience even with the protection of the consecration’s magic.”
“Well,” Buffy said slowly, “I’m fresh out of ideas for a partner for you, if you’re going to insist on excluding me…”
“I am,” Giles said firmly.
“So who, then?” she asked, exasperated by his misplaced chivalry. “Faith? I’m sure she’d be only too happy to say yes.”
“She’s too young,” Giles said. “Both of you are, her own promiscuity notwithstanding.”
“The book says she just has to have reached puberty,” Buffy said.
“That book was written four hundred years ago,” Giles said. “Girls got married when they were twelve or thirteen back then. Plus, it’s just an absolute outside boundary. The ritual would technically work with you…or a girl even younger…but I won’t consider it. It’s not acceptable.”
“It doesn’t look to me like you have a lot of choices here,” Buffy replied, still annoyed.
“I thought…I thought perhaps we could ask your mother,” he said in a low voice, not meeting her eyes. “If she’d be willing.”
“Do you, uh, do you like my mom that way?” Buffy wondered with a faintly distressed and disgusted look. Giles shook his head.
“No. She’s a lovely woman and I do like her, but no, not ‘that way.’ It just seems like a more appropriate choice.”
“It’d make things really complicated between you two,” Buffy said.
“As if it wouldn’t make things complicated between you and me?” Giles snapped, and Buffy was silent, looking at him. He looked away, then pushed away from the banister to pace the floor. “I could…well, I could hire a prostitute,” Giles said, putting his back to her and pausing by the counter. “There’s no reason for you to be involved. Any woman will suffice.”
“No,” Buffy said angrily. “I won’t let you do that. Jesus, Giles, this isn’t just about defending the world from evil. This is special for you. It should be with someone you care about…even if you don’t necessarily love them.” Her uncertainty made her voice falter, and he wanted to turn and embrace her gently, but kept still to let her regain her composure. “Giles, do you really want your first time to be like that? Hollow and impersonal?” She saw his shoulders sag as he let out a deep, tired breath.
“No,” he said, almost inaudibly. “I don’t. I wanted it to be something I chose to do…with someone I loved and trusted.”
“Then let me do it,” she said gently, and she heard him sigh again. Walking up behind him, she carefully put her hand on his back. His breath caught but he didn’t pull away, his head turning slightly. “Okay, so it’s not the kind of love you wish it was…but we do love each other, don’t we? As friends? And trust each other, too?” He didn’t answer, and she could see his profile. His head was bowed, lips pressed together tightly. She realized he had slowly tensed under her hand, so she withdrew the touch. He didn’t relax, but glanced sidelong at her. His eyes were hard, reflecting everything back and not allowing her to see into his thoughts or feelings.
“It would be grossly unfair to you,” he said finally, his voice low and as unrevealing as his eyes.
“Giles,” she said quietly, “I’m the Slayer. Nobody said this job was easy. If I could take your place, you know I would, but I can’t, and I also can’t let somebody else do what I should do myself. That’s not right. I know you think it’s sort of perverted…but it’s okay. I mean, jeez, I did it with a guy who was two hundred and forty, and not even human besides. That’s about as perverted as it gets without crossing over into farm animals and rubber bedsheets.” Giles let out a long sigh and took off his glasses to rub at his eyes with one hand.
“God, I can’t believe we’re talking about this,” he murmured.
“Ditto,” she said. “Anyway, I’m legal. It’s not like you’d be breaking the law or anything.”
“It’s not the law I’m worried about breaking,” Giles said. He moved away from her, back toward the table, where he sat down heavily in one of the chairs and threw his glasses on the table carelessly. She followed him, sitting in the chair at the table’s end, not forcing him to look at her.
“I know it’ll affect our relationship,” Buffy said. “Everything that happens to us affects our relationship. The world’s not on ‘pause,’ Giles. Stuff happens and we deal. That’s the way it works.” She reached out for his hand where it rested on the table, and he squeezed gently, accepting the kindness. “If you’ll let me, I’d feel really privileged to be your first.” She saw his mouth quirk in a wan smile, his gaze still focused on something nonexistent on the other side of the library.
“You sound very sure of yourself,” he commented.
“Really?” Buffy said, her eyebrows knitting. “Must be something in the water.” He laughed quietly, hardly more than a breath, but it was a good sign. “Can I ask you something?” He actually looked at her finally, his expression unconsciously open and guileless.
“If you wish,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “Why wait this long?”
“I never met anyone I was that close to,” he said simply. He glanced away again, but then forced himself to meet her eyes once more. “It’s not something I can do casually. I just…can’t. I’ve had sexual experiences…had girlfriends when I was younger. I just…never wanted to take that last step. It’s too private, too close to the center of who I am. Jenny…maybe we would have done that eventually, maybe not. I can’t say. I loved her — I loved all the women I was with — but I never really knew them. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said, thinking about how little she knew Angel, and yet had made love to him anyway. She wondered if that had been a mistake. “Did Jenny know you were a virgin?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve rarely ever told anyone. It seems unnecessary unless I get to the point where I would want to do anything about it, and any woman I felt that close to wouldn’t be the sort to mind that I was new to it.” His thumb was rubbing the back of her hand slowly, and there was a long silence between them. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked at last.
“Yeah,” she said, covering his hand with her other one. “I’m sure.”
“We’ll have to go pretty fast,” he said. “We should do it tonight.” She looked briefly anxious, then nodded.
“I know,” she sighed. “It’s okay. Your place, I guess?”
“Yes. I’ve got most of what we need. The rest I can get on the way home. Can you come at about six?”
“No problem. Do you want me to bring anything?
“I’d, um, suggest a change of clothes,” he said shyly, “and if you eat supper first, eat lightly, or wait until after. If you wish I’ll take you to dinner.” He was mildly surprised when she giggled.
“The old sex for food routine, huh?” she said, and he flushed. Before he could object, she waved her hand at him. “Relax, Giles. Joke. Lighten up.” Her Watcher gave a deep sigh.
“Sorry,” he said. “This is just very embarrassing.”
“Yeah, I know,” she agreed. “I guess we should tell the guys.”
Out in the hallway, Xander, Willow and Oz waited. Willow had made them move away from the door so Xander couldn’t eavesdrop, and they had discussed among themselves what the Slayer and her Watcher might be talking about.”I’m sorry, but I just can’t swallow the fact that Giles is a virgin,” Xander said. “It’s just so…creepy.”
“I don’t think it’s creepy,” Willow said defensively. “I think it’s nice. It means he’s not after women just for sex.” Oz cast her a faintly wounded look and she turned to him. “Oh, I didn’t mean you, Oz,” she said. “I meant, you know, jerky guys and stuff.”
“Maybe he can’t,” Xander said. “Maybe he’s impotent or something. Or has some really weird and unspeakable disease.”
“He said it was by choice and not inability,” Willow said.
“He could be lying,” Xander replied. “Wouldn’t you lie about something like that?”
“No,” Oz offered.
They all started when the library door burst open and Buffy stuck her head out.
“You guys can come back in now,” she said. She seemed relaxed, so they all followed her back into the library. Giles was sitting at the table reading the book in which he’d found the ritual earlier. He glanced up as they entered, then looked down again almost as quickly. Buffy went over next to him to lean against the table. He didn’t seem discomfited by her closeness, but he sighed quietly and closed the book. “Giles and I are going to do it,” she said.
“Wow, that’s, um…great?” Willow said, trying to read Buffy’s steady gaze and Giles’ evasive silence. Buffy’s mouth quirked.
“Not for Thaluth,” she said, “but otherwise it’s okay.”
“So then what?” Xander said. “You guys do it and Thaluth goes poof?”
“The ritual itself doesn’t harm Thaluth directly,” Giles said, looking up. His voice was clear and pedantic. “It will render me invulnerable to him, however, and give any weapon I hold the capacity to harm him. Then I could use a more conventional method.”
“Like?”
“Taking his head with a sword is the traditional choice,” the Watcher said. The tone made them all pause, and then Buffy filled the void.
“We’ll do it tonight, at Giles’ place. Just us; you guys can go home. If it works the world will once again be a Thaluth-free zone.”
Buffy walked home that afternoon with a surreal sensation, as if the conversation in the library had been a hallucination. It was nearly impossible to think of Giles in a sexual context. He was a handsome and charismatic man — she knew that — but he was so repressed and introverted that she never got a sense of sensuality from him at all, much less any indication that he was a sexual being. She wondered if he even knew he was charismatic. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was a virgin, given all that and what she knew of his personality. Still, it was hard to grasp. All the opportunities he must have had, and he had never given in? Maybe his sex drive just wasn’t that strong. She’d read that it varied quite a bit from person to person. Weren’t men supposed to all be sex-focused, though?A small, hard knot of anxiety had formed in the pit of her stomach by the time she got home. She had already decided what she was going to tell her mother, and went upstairs to her room to drop off her stuff and think about what she needed to do. She lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how she was going to do this tonight. How much experience did Giles have? He’d said he’d had sexual experiences, so even if he was a virgin, he wasn’t a total innocent. There were a lot of things you could do without having intercourse, some of them pretty nasty. It left open the question of his past, too, the young thug named Ripper who smoked, stole guns, vandalized and raised demons. All of that and there had been no room for casual sex? What was the explanation behind that?
And which of them was going to take the lead? Should she let him or was he going to be too shy? She’d thought he was going to die of embarrassment during their conversation in the library; he’d barely even looked at her the entire time. Would he be offended if she were aggressive? A lot of men seemed to hate that. She had a terrible suspicion that he might be a die-hard make-love-with-the-lights-off type. She at least wanted to see him — he was cute.
/I should take a shower,/ she thought, and got up to dig through her closet looking for the right clothes. Something sexy? No. It would embarrass him beyond belief. She wanted to make him as comfortable as possible, and the “come hither” dynamic wasn’t part of their relationship and probably never would be. Jeans and a T-shirt. She took a warm shower since it was a cool afternoon, and would probably get cooler that night. Not that she wasn’t always fastidious, but she paid particular attention to washing this time. Some of it was awareness of the ritual aspect of this thing she and Giles were going to do. Rituals often required bathing of some kind, or washing hands. She caught sight of herself in the mirror when she got out of the shower, and spent a moment looking at her own nakedness. /What will he think? Am I too skinny for him? To muscular? Too flat-chested? What does he look like naked? Why is it so hard to imagine?/
She scurried down the hall to her bedroom, still wrapped in the towel, and got dressed before drying and combing out her hair more thoroughly. She emptied out an overnight bag and packed a change of clothes and some toiletries. Vampire hunting stuff went in after — stakes, holy water, crosses and some lighter fluid and matches. She wondered if she should wear any perfume, then decided not to. Best not to be distracting, plus she didn’t think she’d ever been able to wear it again without thinking of making love to him — although that didn’t seem entirely bad. Another sudden thought sent her into the bathroom again to brush her teeth. She decided not to eat. She was too nervous. She heard her mom as she bounded down the stairs, and paused in the kitchen doorway with her bag slung over her shoulder. Joyce glanced up at the sound of her daughter’s presence.
“Were you in the shower?” her mother asked, mildly curious. She had obviously just come home from shopping, and there were groceries all over the kitchen. She was busy making herself a tuna salad sandwich. “You don’t usually do that in the afternoon.”
“I was cold,” she said, which was half the truth. She pretended to shiver. “Wanted to warm up. Oh,” she added, trying to sound casual, “I’m going over to Giles’ place tonight for training, and then we’ll probably go on patrol right after.”
“Okay,” Joyce said. There was nothing strange about this announcement. It was part of Buffy’s lifestyle and Joyce had come to accept that Buffy could take care of herself. “You want something to eat first?”
“Nah,” she said. “Had a big lunch.”
“Just be careful,” her mother admonished. They exchanged a wry look, and Buffy went out the door.
Giles had bathed with similar conscientiousness, but was now in the position of playing host to tonight’s events. He reviewed the ritual he’d found for destroying Thaluth, and compared it to his own Watcher’s books about fighting Arch Demons and the proper use of virgins in consecration ceremonies. The bedroom was not really going to be a good location for it, he concluded. He couldn’t set the candles up the way they needed to be; at equidistant points in the shape of a pentagram. Pentagrams were used for power rituals, and symbolized man’s physical and spiritual state. The large rug in front of the fireplace was the only large space suitable, and since it was cold that night, he built a fire in the hearth. The pentagram didn’t have to be drawn, but needed to be fairly big to accommodate the space for the lovemaking itself. He placed the white candles down carefully in copper pans to catch the wax, measuring the distances to be certain of the correct dimensions. Some herbs were to be burned, and he set these out to be ready when needed.Other things were needed, too, and these were zipped up inside a black bag under the chair at the edge of the rug. He moved it slightly as he unfolded a large, goosedown comforter on the floor. It was a deep, forest green, and would be much more comfortable than the bare rug. He put another blanket on the couch, and resisted reviewing the contents of the zippered bag. He already knew it contained what was required. He had seen no point in wearing shoes, and went barefoot into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He hadn’t been able to eat, his belly twisted into an impossible tangle of nervousness, fear, and anger. That this would be the only way to kill Thaluth — surrendering this precious part of himself that he had kept so long — made him almost blind with fury. There was nothing the Hellmouth would not take from them. To let Thaluth walk the earth was to invite a catastrophe as well as send a message that Slayers and Watchers were powerless against Arch Demons. They could not allow that message to be sent, and if it also showed what a Watcher would willingly sacrifice in his fight against the Darkness, so much the better.
The rage would consume him if allowed, and he sat down on the green comforter, taking a few moments to calm himself. A stick of white cloud incense helped to clear his mind of distractions. He wanted to be completely focused on the ritual, not just for its own sake, but because Buffy deserved nothing less than his full attention.
It wasn’t that he had never noticed that she was beautiful. It was obvious enough, but the pride he had felt in her had always been paternal, and his awareness of her beauty had been similarly avuncular. She was just, well, a child in his mind, in spite of being on the verge of full maturity. He sat on the floor for a while as the warmth from the fire filled the room, trying to quiet the trembling that seemed to start deep in his belly and spread outward to consume him. What was he afraid of, exactly? Trusting her? He didn’t think that trust would be misplaced, and he had to remind himself that she was probably much less experienced than he was sexually, in spite of the fact that he was a virgin and she wasn’t.
There was a knock on the door, and he started, then glanced at the clock on the wall. She was a little early, but that was understandable. He was glad he hadn’t asked her to come later. The waiting would have killed him. He rose to walk across the floor in the house’s calm silence. He had opted not to put any sort of music on — to do so seemed incongruously romantic. Pulling the door open, he found her casually dressed with a leather bag over one shoulder. Their eyes met for a long moment.
“Hi,” she said awkwardly. Giles stepped back slightly to let her in.
“Come in, Buffy,” he said quietly, warmly. She entered his house with a trepidation that was wholly out of keeping with her usual energy in his presence, as if she had never been here before. She jumped at the sound of the door being shut behind her, and glanced back to see Giles coming toward her. “Let me take that,” he said, offering his hand out for her bag, and she gave it to him. She took in the dark comforter on the floor and the fire in the hearth, which cast gold and orange light around the otherwise shadowed room. White candles were spaced out around the rug. She jumped again when Giles’ hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and we’ll sit.” She obeyed in silence, bending over to slip off the athletic shoes without untying them and lining them up at the edge of the couch. Giles came around her onto the comforter, and looked back at her when she gave a muffled laugh. “What?” he wondered, curious of her amusement.
“Just realized I’ve never seen you barefoot before,” she said, and he followed her gaze down to his feet. He gave a sheepish half-shrug, and sat down on the floor, gesturing slightly for her to join him. She sat cross-legged in front of him, not too close, and realized that he was looking straight at her, unlike their conversation earlier that day. “So,” she said, desperate to break the quiet. “I guess we should, uh, get started.”
“I thought we might talk for a bit first,” he said, and she sighed, relaxing slightly at his calm, low voice. “We’re both nervous…but I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“Um…am I afraid of you?” she asked, shifting a little.
“You look like you expect me to eat you alive,” he said. His voice was still gentle and sonorous. “If you want to ask me something, you can, you know. You must still be wondering about the fact that I’m a virgin.”
“It’s just all the stuff we found out about your juvenile delinquent days,” Buffy said, lacing her hands together in her lap and sounding apologetic. “Stealing, fighting, demon summoning. I just sort of assumed that sex came in there somewhere.”
“It did,” he said, surprising her with the blunt answer. He glanced away ruefully. “I daresay I’ve done everything but intercourse. That was a long time ago…but I’m not naive and I’m not ignorant.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“Actually, I was thinking before that we should be pretty darn glad that you’re a virgin,” Buffy said. “Otherwise we’d be screwed for a way to kill Thaluth.” She realized what she’d said as Giles flinched. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
“It’s all right,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but the buttoned shirt and charcoal trousers were different from the clothes he’d worn earlier. “I think perhaps we should try to find our sense of humor about this. I must be making it sound like I would rather die than make love to you, which isn’t the case at all. It’s just…not the way I’ve come to think of you…not the sort of thoughts a Watcher would have…” He trailed off, just looking at her.
“What?” she asked, and he looked away again.
“Sorry,” he murmured, then gave a nervous laugh. “You’re just…so young.”
“I’m eighteen,” she reminded him, then cocked her head. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Forty-three,” he said. “God, I could be your father.”
“But you’re not,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “So how does this ritual go?”
“I just have to light the candles and speak an opening incantation. Then I’ll start some herbs burning and we, uh, make love. It doesn’t really matter how long it takes, as long as we’re inside the pentagram while we do it. When it’s done, there’s a closing incantation. Don’t worry about those — I’ve already memorized them, and they’re in Latin anyway. If the ritual is done correctly, I will be consecrated and Thaluth will not be able to harm me. I can take a sword to him tonight and kill him.”
“Sounds pretty straightforward. Does the consecration make you permanently invulnerable to Arch Demons?”
“Yes,” Giles said. “So at least there is something else longstanding to be gained.”
“So how do we do it correctly?” Buffy wondered. “Is there a wrong way to lose your virginity?” Her Watcher looked away again shyly.
“We, um, there has to be penetration. The position’s not important as long as the coupling itself is accomplished.” He took a careful breath, struggling for the composure to talk about it academically. “It doesn’t…it doesn’t have to be taken to orgasm. Intercourse is enough.”
“Ah,” Buffy said. “Okay.”
“Oh…um, there’s something else I need to do,” he said, suddenly rising to his feet.
“What?” Buffy asked, frowning. She hadn’t detected anything in his description of the ritual that seemed to be unmet, from what she could see of their surroundings.
“It’s just a minor thing,” he said, turning away toward the stairs. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Giles,” she said in a warning tone, and he paused as if jerked to a halt by an invisible leash. “What?” It was a demand, tolerant but firm, and Giles sighed, then came back to the comforter to sit down again. He rested his elbows on his knees wearily and rubbed at his face, then back through his hair.
“It’s, uh, it’s been quite a while since I, um…”
“Played with yourself?” she supplied with an arched eyebrow. He grunted, presumably an affirmative reply.
“I won’t have any control,” he said, shaking his head slightly, obviously embarrassed not only by talking about this, but by the fact itself. “I would have taken care of it earlier except that I just realized it.”
“Well, uh, if all we have to do is get it in there, that probably won’t matter.” She knew she was blushing, but gazed at him steadily since he wasn’t looking at her. He sighed.
“You’re going to have to trust me on this,” he said. “I should do something about it before we start.”
“Don’t I get to do it, then?” she asked, and he lifted wide eyes to her.
“Um…” He cleared his throat. “If…if you wish, I suppose.”
“Is that okay with you?” she wondered anxiously, still shocked at herself that she’d had the audacity to make the offer in the first place, and fascinated by his stunned reaction. “I mean…obviously it’s up to you, but…oh, I don’t know what the heck I mean. Forget I said it.” He just stared at her, still with that astonished expression, and she realized the nature of the choice she was forcing upon him. “You couldn’t forget that any more than you could stop breathing, could you?” she asked with gentle sarcasm, and her Watcher swallowed hard.
“Buffy…you’re under absolutely no obligation to do any of this,” he said softly. “Truthfully, I’m glad that it’s you. I doubt that I could, well, perform with anyone else. Even so it’s going to take some effort on my part to relax enough.” He looked apologetic. “When I was sixteen I could be ready at the drop of a hat. Not quite that easy anymore, I’m afraid. Takes some patience and I’ve never been particularly quick to rouse unless my mind is engaged as well as my body.” He sighed and looked away, then rose to his knees to stretch over to the hearth for the matches. “I should start the ritual before we go any further.” He lit the candles one by one, making sure they were seated in the copper trays. The herbs he put in the glazed ceramic dish he’d used for the Japanese incense. He lit a small clump of dried lemon grass and mixed it in with the herbs as it burned. The sweet, earthy smell filled the room, and Giles moved back to the center of the green comforter to speak the incantation that would begin the ritual:
Tonight I am pure, innocent in mind and body.
Evil cannot touch me here, and I am immortal.
I surrender my identity for this moment,
To open my soul for the Flaming Sword.
I eat from the Tree to see my enemy’s weakness.
My eyes thus opened, nothing shall stay my blade.
Nothing obvious happened, but when Giles looked at her again, she saw in his eyes that he had committed himself to this completely. “You can leave the pentagram if you need to, but all of our lovemaking must take place inside it until the ritual is done.” Buffy nodded her understanding, then also got up on her knees and shuffled around behind him. “What are you doing?” he asked, more than a little apprehensively.
“I don’t have to be turned on for this to work,” she said matter-of-factly. “One advantage of being a girl. You, we’re going to have to figure out how to turn you on. You gotta help me, but we can start by relaxing you. The traditional gimmick is a massage. Works every time.”
“Oh, I — ” The sensation of her hands digging into the taut muscles in his shoulders made him momentarily lose coherent thought. “I see,” he said breathlessly. She was actually touching him, actually laying her hands upon his body. He couldn’t really take in this fact, confused as he was by the anxiety and guilt — and now, pleasure — that flamed inside him. In the next instant he was moving forward, out of her reach, his breath coming hard in his chest. “I don’t think I can do this,” he panted, starting to get up to leave the pentagram, but Buffy grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop.
“Giles, we have to,” she said. “I know it’s hard. Jesus, you think this is easy for me? It’s okay. You can trust me.” He was on his knees, half-turned back to her with panic in his eyes.
“I don’t want this to destroy us,” he whispered. “There has to be another way to kill Thaluth. I can find someone else. Buffy, I’m so afraid that if we do this, it will ruin our friendship and our ability to work together. I can’t take a risk like that with the Slayer. I can’t take a risk like that with you.” He moved again, this time back toward her, lunging to take her in his arms and hold her to him tightly. “I’m supposed to be your teacher,” he murmured against her soft hair, stroking her back soothingly. She hugged him in return, accepting his fear and his love, then pulled out of his embrace to look at him.
“Giles, if I were the virgin and somebody had to do this with me, I’d want it to be you,” she said seriously, quietly. He looked painfully torn, and she touched his face gently. “What you are most of all is my Watcher. I know our friendship can survive this, because we care too much about each other to let anything else happen. It’s okay for you to like this,” she said, and he gave a strange, half-flinch. “That’s what scares you, isn’t it? That you might enjoy this. I want you to, Giles. I want to make you feel good. That’s what lovemaking is supposed to be — showing how much you love someone.”
She leaned forward slowly, giving him the chance to refuse, but he met her mouth with his own softly, just barely brushing her lips with his eyes half-closed. His lips were warm and sensuous even though the kiss itself was chaste. His expression was difficult to read when she pulled back enough to look at him, but after another heartbeat, he was the one who moved to kiss her, still with that amazing gentleness. His hand came up to twine his fingers in her hair, holding her head carefully, and they kissed slowly, learning the other’s rhythm and exploring cautiously.
Both of her hands were in his hair, stroking, caressing him. She rubbed at the muscles in his neck and shoulder, trying to reassure him. The kindness made his throat tighten, and he found himself kissing her with real desire, still yet gentle but filled with affection and warmth. It was when her mouth opened beneath his that he discovered how much he wanted to taste her, and he accepted the invitation eagerly, his tongue finding hers in another caress of love.
Buffy was a little surprised by the sudden sincerity of his passion — the difference was striking. She tasted fire in his soul and hunger in his body, and when he began nuzzling under her chin, the touch of his mouth on her skin seared her like a white-hot brand. She sensed a certain amount of clinical method in it, but there was an underlying sexual heat that made her stomach clench. Lifting her chin, she tried to keep still to let him kiss softly at her throat, her hands around his neck and shoulders, enjoying his warmth. That was one marked difference between him and Angel. Angel was cold, as all vampires were. No breath or blood moved in his body. Giles was hot, burning her with his touch, and she felt the man that he was for the first time. It was actually a bit of a jolt, really grasping him as male and not just as a force called “Watcher” in her life.
“It’s all right for you to touch me,” he murmured.
“What?” she asked, a little dazed. He drew back to look at her, and she expected him to be amused by her disorientation, but he just gazed at her seriously.
“You were right before, when you said that my own arousal is crucial to the success of this ritual,” he answered, his voice low. “You need to touch me.” He hesitated. “Talk to me a little. If…if you really want to make me feel good, I’d like to know it.”
“Oh. Um, what do you want me to do?” she asked, her anxiety returning now that they were having to discuss this instead of just acting as they had been a moment ago. Giles shook his head slightly, an ambivalent gesture.
“I don’t really have a preference at this point. Explore if you’re curious, or ask me a question. Don’t worry about whether you’re doing it right or not.” She glanced up into his amber eyes, wondering how he had read that fear in her so accurately. “Everyone’s different. I’ll let you know if something’s uncomfortable.” He swallowed, visibly debating how much he should share with her. “I like being touched, n-not just sexually.” She heard the implicit challenge, saw it in his eyes; Find the places that make me tremble and moan and make me want you.
It would have been very easy to make a wry remark, or do something else that made light of what Giles was telling her. The harder thing to do was to take the confession as he gave it — trustingly, as a private confidence. She didn’t smile, and reached up to put her palm against his jaw and neck.
“Can I keep going with the massage?” she asked, and Giles nodded, inwardly relieved that she didn’t want to rush this any more than he did.
“Of course.” He shifted farther into the center of the invisible pentagram and Buffy got behind him again. He wasn’t sure what to expect as he sat down in a half cross-legged pose, but the iron surety of her strength caught him off guard, and he grunted as her fingers dug slowly into his shoulders.
“Sorry,” she said. “That hurt?”
“No,” he said truthfully. “I just keep forgetting how strong you are.” She was rubbing carefully across his trapezius with both hands, going deep but not hard.
“Yeah, me and Lou Ferrigno should join the Olympic Weightlifting Team,” she muttered.
“No, I like it,” he said, turning his head slightly. “You have natural talent, which shouldn’t surprise me.” He paused, feeling her silence heavily. “Does it embarrass you? Having preternatural strength?”
“It’s weird sometimes,” she admitted, still in that quiet voice. “Being able to stop three-hundred-pound football players in their tracks. Being in the big no-no position of protecting Xander from getting beaten up. He’s never going to forgive me for that, either,” she said with a sigh. “I remember what it was like before I became a Slayer, before I got the strength. Pretty much everybody else could kick my butt. Now, I could knock you into your next life if I wanted to.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” he replied wryly. “You may be stronger, but I outweigh you by nearly a hundred pounds. I also fight dirty.”
“So do I,” she said defensively. She could hear him smiling.
“No, you don’t, from what I’ve seen,” he said. “And Watcher-Slayer conflicts are historically fairly nasty.”
“Hey, who’s giving who a massage here, huh?” she said, and made him grunt again with a deep probe into the muscles below his shoulder blades.
“It feels wonderful,” he said gratefully, leaning forward to let her rub along his spine. A sensuous warmth was pooling in the pit of his stomach, slowly spreading down into his groin. “It’s been a very long time since anyone’s done anything like this for me.”
“There’s something deeply twisted about a world where it takes an Arch Demon coming out of the Hellmouth just to get you a backrub,” she said.
“At the moment I’m not complaining,” he purred. Her hands slid to his sides and flanks, making him draw in a sharp breath of surprise. She froze, and he exhaled quiveringly. “Not complaining at all.” She was fascinated by what she had learned of his musculature, and he had asked her to touch him, so she reached around his body to rub her hands across his chest and stomach, learning the lines and curves and feeling him flinch slightly at certain places. He said nothing, and when she laid her palm on his breastbone, she could feel his heart pounding fast and hard. That she could excite her own Watcher so much, when he had admitted he was horribly nervous and shy, was a tremendous thrill.
She was pressed close up against his back, her knees on either side of his hips, and Giles discovered that he was actually holding back from turning to kiss her again. Her hands brushed across his chest, just barely stroking his nipples, and he wondered if she realized how good it felt to him. He’d been afraid he would feel violated by this encounter, and had steeled himself for it, but she was coaxing sounds from him — low, brief purrs of pleasure — and he had never needed to fake that. He flinched again when her hands returned to the collar of his shirt, and all at once he realized she was unbuttoning it. A flood of wanting and helpless desire made him gasp, but she didn’t stop, her movements determined and gentle.
“You want me to?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” he breathed, the answer leaving his throat without conscious thought. She worked her way down, the feather-light touch at each button sending a ripple of ice-cold adrenaline up his spine. Then his shirt was undone, and she pulled it away from his shoulders. He freed the tails of the shirt from his trousers to help her, shrugging out of it self-consciously. She did something with the shirt behind him, and then her hands settled on his bare shoulders.
Buffy felt his body tense sharply under her hands, his breath leaving him through his nose in a soft rush of enormous emotion as his head half-turned to her over his shoulder. She could feel the question burning inside him; Do I please you? Am I beautiful enough? Her answer to this wouldn’t accept words. He had strength in his shoulders, an unassuming, masculine grace that she found heart-stopping. She ran her hands down his arms, feeling the curved bulk of muscles there, and she felt them move as he shifted against her. She kissed him on the back of his neck, a soft, erotic mouthing that was almost a lick of her tongue, and was rewarded by the low sound of a purr from his throat.
Then she embraced him, slipping her arms under his to mold herself to his back and resting her chin over his shoulder. Her bare arms around him, her hands on his chest and stomach, the sensation of her body pressed against him, was overwhelming. She just held him like that for several long moments, which stretched into minutes, and he felt no desire to end it. To feel arousal was not so difficult. Their bodies helped them with that. For her to cherish him, however, to respect and appreciate him, those were other, more complex things. He felt these in her embrace, and she was trying desperately in that warm silence to tell him how deep it ran in her.
When her hands began to move again, he felt the profound difference in her touch. She wanted to please him, not just for the sake of the ritual, but because she wanted to give him that joy as a personal gift. She stroked down his stomach to the edge of his trousers, gauging the way he shuddered. Back up the gentle line of his ribs, her fingers ran over his nipples lightly, and he couldn’t help but gulp a harsh breath at the flash of sweet pleasure that ripped through him. The way she started told him that she hadn’t done it on purpose — hadn’t known that he was sensitive there or even suspected it. She did not recoil, but held him firmly, and her solid strength let him push back against her without fear. He’d never been with anyone who could handle him like this so easily, and the wildness in his belly surged hungrily.
“Looks like I found a good spot,” she murmured playfully, and he groaned desperately as she toyed with his nipples. He had leaned his head back onto her shoulder, the clean smell of her hair another kind of pleasure that he drank in with a soft purr.
“Care — careful,” he panted. “T-told you I’d be quick the first time. Too much to take in after so long…” He was stunned to hear her laugh softly against his neck.
“If I can make you come that easily, I want to see it,” she said, and one of her hands slipped down to his groin to cup the shape of his hard cock in his trousers. He shivered and pushed up into her palm, one of his feet finding leverage on the floor.
“God, oh,” he gasped, the coiled tension in his loins shifting warningly. It was delicious and hot and he turned his head to try to bite her neck. Her hand slid into his trousers in the same moment, under the soft boxer shorts he wore, and the feel of her cool fingers closing around the length of him was too much to endure.
He reached back to hold her as the climax tore him apart, groaning and panting with ecstasy as he came through her fingers and over her hand in his shorts. She was stroking him, applying pressure in time with his own contractions, bringing the pleasure up to a high plateau that it wouldn’t have reached on its own. He felt fantastically out of control, reaching for her throat with his mouth as the orgasm began to fade, and he knocked them both to the floor as he bent over her and sated the urge to bite by bruising her throat with his teeth and growling roughly.
She was giggling even as he pinned her to the green comforter in his feral pleasure, and when she withdrew her hand from his trousers, he grabbed her wrist and descended on her fingers with his tongue, devouring every trace of his semen on her hand. When he looked at her again, she was no longer laughing, uncertain whether he was rational right now or not. He bent his head to her hand again and kissed her knuckles softly. He was calm in another breath, but heavy with satiation and relaxed pleasure.
“That fast enough for you?” he asked in a deep voice. She merely raised an eyebrow.
“Pretty impressive for a guy who says he doesn’t get aroused as easily as he used to.”
“I didn’t want you to be concerned if it turned out to be difficult for me,” he replied, sitting up again and helping her as well. “Apparently I don’t find you to be a turnoff.”
“Flattering, I guess,” she said wryly.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said with a sigh, and she giggled again as he lay down on his back for a few moments, recovering his breath.
“I know. So do you feel more relaxed now?” He surprised her by laughing lazily.
“Infinitely,” he murmured. “I should clean myself up.” He rolled over to stretch toward the chair where he’d left the zippered bag, and took a small hand towel from it. Rising to his knees, he faced away from her to unfasten his trousers and deal with the mess he had made. His modesty amused Buffy no end, and she scooted across the floor to hug him from behind, kissing his bare back.
“Don’t I get to watch?” she teased, and he grunted tolerantly.
“Well, you’ve basically put me in the position of having to take off my shorts anyway,” he said with mock gravity, “so you’ll get plenty to look at in a moment if you can just contain yourself.” He finished with the towel and then shed his pants and boxers, putting them outside the pentagram. “Come take a look now if you want,” he said softly, amused by his Slayer’s fascination with his body. He turned to face her kneeling, and touched her jaw and shoulders lightly as she studied him. His penis had softened somewhat, and he saw the faint, ghostlike smile on her lips as she took it in her hand. She brushed her fingerpads across one of his nipples again, watching his stomach contract in a flinch at the sensitive caress. “Do you know, you’re very beautiful,” he murmured.
“You don’t think I’m too skinny?”
“Let’s find out,” he said, and dragged her shirt up over her head before she could say anything. She yelped indignantly but was giggling again when he moved in closer and reached around her back to unfasten her bra. “Whoever invented these bloody things should have been shot,” he groused. She helped him and together they got it off and it, too, was flung beyond the perimeter of the pentagram space.
He couldn’t help but reach out and touch her collarbone, drawn by the sharp strength that was visible in her musculature. He wondered if it wasn’t her perceived skinniness that bothered her as much as this taut physique. It was considered unfeminine by a large segment of society, but the sight of it enthralled him. “No,” he said. “Not too skinny, by any means. You’re magnificent, and don’t argue with me. I’m your Watcher and I know these things better than you do.” She had opened her mouth to object, but now closed it as he made her accept his words and the gentle affection as he kissed her lightly on the lips.
“Okay,” she said, her voice unsteady because he had started to kiss down the side of her throat, then along her shoulder. Virgin or not, he definitely knew what he was doing, and she lifted her head to let him kiss under her jaw. “You gonna bite me again?”
“Do you want me to?” he asked, his breath warm across her neck.
“Yeah…but not so hard this time,” she whispered. His mouth brushed over an unmarked place on the side of her neck, and the bite that he offered was gentle and sensuous, just barely letting her feel his teeth. It felt less like a bite and more like he was trying to completely take in the taste and smell of her skin. “Nice,” she said softly. The bite became more kisses, and she shivered. “I thought…I thought you were the one we were supposed to be turning on,” Buffy said in a strained voice, unwilling and unable to pull away from the glorious warmth and pleasure of his attentions.
“That’s what I’m doing,” he mumbled against her shoulder. He pulled her up close to him and laid her down on her back, covering her with his body to continue kissing and nipping down her neck to one of her breasts. She felt the thick weight of his penis against her thigh and realized that he was slowly becoming erect again from pleasuring her. The delicate wetness of his tongue on her nipple made her arch against him with a cry of surprise, and she grabbed at his shoulders as he hummed with amusement. He sat back just enough to use both hands on her jeans, unbuttoning them and then dragging them off along with her panties. She heard him make a soft sound, possibly words, but his amazement was clear in his tone. She shivered at the light stroke of his palm down her muscled thigh, and then he took one of her wrists to guide her hand down between his legs to feel his hardening cock. “See what you do to me?” he murmured. She held him firmly, curious and fascinated by the way his expression changed when she caressed him. The erection in her hand stiffened a little more, its comfortable length seeming to make a silent demand of her that she didn’t resent. “I’m ready,” he said. “Is it all right?” She swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” she said. “Um, condom…” Giles nodded and backed away from her.
“I know,” he said. It was one of the other things he had in the zippered bag, and she rolled onto her side to watch with interest as he took out a dark blue condom package and opened it. She wondered if he’d ever even used one before, being a virgin, but he seemed to be doing it right so she didn’t say anything.
“So?” she asked when he was done and looked up at her. She was surprised to see him gesture for her to come to him and he laid down on his back.
“I want you on top,” he said, his voice soft and strained. “Easier for you to control and harder for me to hurt you.” She complied carefully, straddling him and looking down at his penis, which was amusingly sheathed in a pale blue condom. She lifted her gaze to his eyes and they were both silent for a long moment. There was a strange ache deep in her loins, a physical wanting that seemed to permeate her very bones.
“Okay?” she asked. He nodded, repressing another shiver, and reached down between them to hold his penis. “Let me do that.” Her hand was guiding him, and he rested his palms on her thighs, not sure what else to do as she moved into the right position to accept him.
He could not have imagined the sensation; a mixture of tightness and heat that was overwhelmed by a feeling of contentment and completion. His back arched and he tried desperately not to thrust into her as his eyes closed and he groaned from the bottom of his soul. She was going so slowly, gradually taking him in and making soft, tense sounds of pleasure and pain. When he could open his eyes again, she was bowed over him, her face a tableau of rapture. He felt her contract around him briefly, then relax again, and she sank down to take him completely, finally sitting astride him.
“All right?” he asked quietly, rubbing his hands gently up her arms in a comforting gesture. She nodded slightly, not looking at him, but he saw the smile that flashed across her face and was gone again the next breath. He felt peaceful, in no hurry to do anything or go anywhere, just lying there buried inside her and thinking about how much he loved her. “I think this is enough,” he said, almost inaudibly because he was afraid of breaking some other kind of spell around them. “Let me finish the incantation.”
Tonight I am pure, innocent in mind and body.
My hand is raised and I see the Lightning Path.
I am redemption. I am God.
Demons of the Seventh Circle cannot touch me.
Grant me courage, for I must walk untouched
Through chaos.
Giles felt a suffusion of strength and magic that coincided with the loss of his fear regarding Thaluth and the havoc the demon could wreak. The power spread through him, intertwining itself with his very being and becoming part of his magic as a Watcher. It was like filling in gaps between loose bricks and cementing a foundation to support a great weight. He knew he could kill Thaluth now, and any Arch Demon that might follow after.
“Did it work?” Buffy asked him, and he sighed.
“Yes. I feel the magic settling inside me. I think we did it right.” He was smiling gently, almost fully relaxed on the floor and gazing up at her with sleepy pleasure.
“Guess you’re not a virgin anymore,” Buffy said, smiling down at him. His answering hum was content and joyful.
“Guess not,” he murmured.
“Then we can stop now,” she said, touching his chest lightly for a moment, lost in thought. His smile faded as she moved to withdraw from him, and she caught the silent longing in his face. “You don’t want to stop, do you?” she said softly. He didn’t answer for a long moment, but touched her face with both hands, then her shoulders. “I don’t have the right to ask,” he replied quietly, running his hand lightly down her arm with hesitant tenderness. Buffy settled her weight on him again gently, accepting him completely inside her, and he hissed softly, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Yes, you do,” she said. He swallowed hard, stroking up across her shoulder again.
“You mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to express,” he whispered. “I never…never thought of trying to show it this way…but I want to make love to you. This feels…it’s unbelievable. I didn’t know it could be so incredibly sweet.”
“I think it’s different with different people,” Buffy told him softly. She leaned down to kiss him gently. “Depends how you really feel about each other.” She smiled at his expression of innocent wonder. “Do you want to change positions? Or do you want me to keep going?”
“I like what we’re doing now,” he said, finally putting his hands on her hips. “Go slowly with me. I want to savor it.”
The next time she rose up off of him, it was a deliberate thrust and drove a strangled grunt of ecstasy and astonishment and awe from deep in his throat. Her eyes were half-closed, not revealing her inner emotions, but he could see and feel her desire in the way she moved. She rose again, plunged down on him with excruciating slowness, then again, and again until it was a continuous, building wave of pressure and joy inside him that was so intense it felt like it would rip him asunder. “Oh my God,” he growled. “God, Buffy, does this feel to you the way it feels to me?”
“I dunno,” she whispered, leaning on his chest and bending down to kiss him as she paused for a moment. “Does it feel like you’ve been waiting all your life to do it?” He knew what he needed to do then, and he sat up from the floor and turned her over carefully, ignoring the boundaries of the pentagram now. He settled his weight on top of her and pushed deep, drowning in the satisfaction of being able to fill her this way, and lowered himself to devour her mouth with soft, thorough acceptance and wanting. She answered with pure hunger, her arms around his neck, welcoming him as totally as a woman could welcome a man. He relaxed and then gave another slow, sensuous thrust. Her legs wrapped around his, holding him to her, and he let out a long, shivering breath.
She couldn’t tell him this was what she wanted, that she wanted him to take this from her as surely as she had taken him at first. He was trembling, his body straining to go slow, to keep control of this as he rocked her with deep, full thrusts. He was relishing each one, wringing every last ounce of sensation and delight, his face unconsciously showing her the strength of what he couldn’t say aloud.
Her hand stroking at the soft hair of his neck gradually gave way to an iron grip around his shoulder, each breath coming harder and more labored as he moved them toward some indefinable conclusion. Sweat pooled between their bellies, his back slick with it and the hollow of her throat glistening.
“Breathe, luv,” he whispered, laughing softly. “You’ve got to breathe.”
“Feels too good,” she moaned. “You feel too good, Giles…” That name uttered with such longing and passion made fire ripple up his back.
“Oooh, God,” he breathed, brushing his mouth along her shoulder. “I’m close, Buffy. God, it’s fantastic.”
“Come on,” she said. “Want to see you.” He hissed softly against her skin, letting go of the tension that had held him back, the reluctance that had made him afraid to let her see that she could rouse this in him. It had shocked him to discover it, but now it felt like the conclusion of a long journey they had begun unknowingly. The flame gathered in his loins, at the base of his spine, liquid sensation coalescing into a point of intolerable glory. It could only have been a few pounding heartbeats that he felt the climb, but the traveling itself was delicious beyond his imagination.
“God, Buffy,” he panted. “Oh, Jesus –” The climax was like none he had known. No sudden explosion, no violent release, just a huge, consuming wave that lifted him up and filled him with ecstasy. His cock let go suddenly, surging quick and hard, making him shudder again with the need to spill his seed in her and claim her somehow with the act. His throat ached, his voice rending the quiet house with tormented, joyful groans and whimpers. He knew it had to go away, and when the orgasm faded it was like losing part of his soul, and he moaned with loss. He kissed her throat, lingering there with tenderness as his blood cooled and he was left with the sated serenity of his love for her.
“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her fingers through his hair and stroking his jaw. He nuzzled her gently.
“Just don’t want it to stop,” he whispered. “Let me pull out and I’ll do something for you — ” She held him when he tried to pull away from her.
“No,” she said. “It’s fine. Just…just stay here for a minute.” He sank into her embrace again, holding her close for as long as he dared now that he was losing his erection. He knew he needed to get the condom off, and he finally gave a quiet sigh. “I know,” Buffy said in his ear, sounding distinctly amused. “Go ahead.”
“Maybe I should just get a vasectomy and be done with it,” he muttered, and she gasped as he withdrew from her. He removed the condom carefully, tied the end into a knot, and wrapped it in a tissue before using the towel again to clean himself as much as he could. “I should go tonight,” he said, reaching for his boxer shorts and quickly starting to dress. “I’m sorry for how this looks,” he said wryly, “but Thaluth should be dealt with immediately. It shouldn’t take me long. You’re perfectly welcome to stay here. More than welcome, truthfully.” His voice was warm and quiet, the sort of voice she had never heard from him before tonight.
“I’m going with you,” she said, crawling to the edge of the comforter to find her underwear and jeans. Giles stopped her when she tried to stand up.
“No,” he said. “You won’t be able to fight him and he could kill you.”
“But you can’t go by yourself. Even lightning won’t take that guy out.”
“I’m invulnerable to him now, Buffy,” he said gently. “He can’t harm me.”
“But what if the ritual didn’t work right?” she said. “What if…if something went wrong and Thaluth winds up killing you?”
“If that’s true, then you coming with me won’t prevent it, and if I can’t kill Thaluth now, then there’s nothing we can do to stop him from destroying the entire city of Sunnydale and moving on. I have to go alone.” She watched him, frowning, as he went to the chair again to retrieve the scabbarded broadsword he had put there earlier. He drew the blade with a rasp, examined it once more in the firelight cursorily, then sheathed it again and sat in the chair to put on his boots. “This house is yours, as always,” he said when he looked up. “Take a bath or get something to eat if you wish. When I come back we can talk about dinner, if not tonight, then another time.” He went forward to kneel in front of her. “You’ve given me a greater gift tonight than you realize,” he whispered, and kissed her softly. “I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Be careful,” she said, hugging him.
“I will.”
The house seemed too quiet after he left, and Buffy blew out the candles from the ritual, then lay down on the comforter on the floor, thinking. Her body ached from their lovemaking, a pleasant ache that made her wonder how much she might have hurt him if she felt this exhausted. He hadn’t seemed to be in pain, but maybe that was just the power from the ritual.She hoped that the spell worked as advertised. Giles had been quite sure that it would, and she had to trust his judgement. Waiting around like this was going to be hell. She wished she had followed him, just to have something to do. She still could go, but she knew Giles was right that she would only be putting herself at risk needlessly. She’d brought a book with her that she was in the middle of reading, so she decided that a shower and a change of clothes was a good idea. Then she could get lost in the book and not think about whether or not her Watcher was going to get killed tonight and precede the total destruction of Sunnydale.
“If I die before I get to finish this book,” she muttered on her way up the stairs, “I’m gonna be really pissed.”
They knew where Thaluth was living. His trip to the earthly plane had not been easy to accomplish. Normally it would have been impossible, but the Hellmouth had provided the necessary thinness between the dimensions. He was hiding for a time, waiting until he was fully recovered from his arrival before he set upon the world of men. Even so, he was already more than even a Slayer could handle, and once completely recovered, no manmade weapon would be able to harm him.Giles went to the shipyard, where pleasure boats lined the slips in dark, gently bobbing rows. Beyond this were the commercial docks, where ships came in with cargo. One seaworthy vessel was tied up there, a few lights on inside the inner cabins, but Giles went still farther down the wharf, to where an old, scuttled tanker lay in the still ocean. The outer hull was breached and rusting, only still afloat at all because of the double-hull that some tankers had. It was far from seaworthy, however, and had been abandoned for several years awaiting a refit by a shipping company that had since gone bankrupt.
Oddly enough, there was a gangplank up to the ship’s bow, presumably so that Thaluth’s minions would be able to come and go easily. Giles drew his sword and went up the wide board carefully, wary not only of his footing, but of being detected by whatever might be inside the ship. He reached the deck in silence, pausing for a moment to listen, but the only sound he heard was the slow lapping of black water at the hull many feet below and the occasional, irregular clanging of a depth buoy out in the channel.
He went in through an open hatch, finding two beyond it to be dogged tight, but the corridor led him down into the bowels of the ship, where he began to encounter electric lights. Bemused, he wondered where the power was coming from, then decided that someone must have run a power cable to the ship, since there was no sound of a generator. He wondered what demons needed light for. Vampires could see quite well in almost total darkness, and Thaluth himself surely had no need of artificial lighting.
The answer came when Giles entered one of the ship’s cargo holds, where the light was brightest. Thaluth, Lord of Hell, was reclining on a large pile of textiles and blankets, reading a large book by the light of a floor lamp that had obviously been brought in for the purpose. Giles made his way silently into a corner of the room, staying behind crates and in the shadows of the electric lights.
The demon was as big as Giles remembered, probably about nine or ten feet tall when standing upright. His skin was a deep scarlet, his tabard and loincloth of fine, black fabric that draped his muscular body. His feet were like a camel’s padded toes, his large hands surprisingly dexterous as he studied the book he held with intense interest, turning a page now and then. Folded neatly behind and partially under him were the enormous wings Giles had seen before, spanning a dozen yards when unfurled. He had a serious, not unattractive face, although it was vaguely doglike, with a square muzzle, flared nostrils and dark, intelligent eyes. Arch Demons were of approximately human intellect, but were more dangerous by virtue of centuries of experience. His ears were like a deer’s, set high on his head and relatively mobile, and a pair of ebony horns curved sharply away from his temples.
“Mortals write some interesting books,” Thaluth said in a deep, contemplative voice, and Giles realized that the demon had a companion, a vampire, who was sitting on another pile of cloth nearby. “It’s good that only a few of them are intelligent enough to think like this, though. Do you read much, Anton?” The vampire shrugged slightly.
“Not much anymore, Master,” the vampire said easily. “I spent a hundred years reading and then couldn’t find anything new that was worth it.” Thaluth hummed thoughtfully, still paging through the book which Giles now recognized as a sorcerer’s journal, because of the gold and silver inlaid design on the cover. The magical seal was intended to keep the book from being read. Obviously it hadn’t given the demon much trouble. The vampire lifted his head suddenly, peering out across the cavernous room. Thaluth glanced up at him.
“Do you smell something?” the demon lord asked. “Mortals aboard the ship?”
“One, Master,” the vampire replied, standing slowly. “In this room with us.” Thaluth sighed, and Giles decided there was no more to be gained by hiding. He came out into the open, giving himself room to use the sword.
“Who the Hell are you?” the demon grunted, surprised but not particularly concerned. “No, that just doesn’t sound right. I suppose I should be saying ‘who on Earth are you?’”
“My name is Rupert Giles,” Giles said, moving farther into the room slowly. “And I am a Watcher.”
“Ah, yes, I remember,” Thaluth said, getting a better look at him. “You and the Slayer tried to electrocute me the other day. Perhaps I should have told you it wouldn’t work, but no one ever believes me. You think you can destroy me just because you’re good and I’m evil. Quite a few knights died during the Crusades because of that conviction. So where is your Slayer?”
“Safe,” Giles replied. “And you might want to stand up. It would be rather undignified for one of the Lords of Hell to die sitting down with a book in his lap.”
“Oh, have you come to kill me?” Thaluth asked, still unmoving from his comfortable position with the book, wings folded around him like a leather hammock. He waved one hand at his vampire associate. “Eat him, won’t you, Anton?”
“Thank you, Master,” the vampire said, rising to his feet to approach Giles warily. Giles kept his distance for a moment, holding the sword ready in both hands. The weaponless vampire would have had a lot of trouble with a sword-bearing enemy even under the best of circumstances. Giles, however, wasn’t even worried about the vampire. That was not the reason he was here. Anton finally made a lunge and Giles took the creature’s head with barely a sound, the suddenly headless corpse bursting to ash to dust the floor lightly.
Giles turned to face Thaluth, saying nothing, but watching the demon lord carefully. Thaluth closed his book and put it aside, never taking his eyes off of Giles as he stood and flexed his wings one at a time.
“You took the Earth from us, mortal,” he said in a voice that was now devoid of humor. His unusually long canines were visible when he spoke. “We will take it back, and now that I have risen I will flatten this city and open the Hellmouth once more. The lower demons have been too weak, but you won’t find a Lord of Hell so easy to kill, Watcher.”
Giles knew he had one chance, not because the demon would harm him, but because once Thaluth realized that Giles could not be killed, he would flee and then they would never find him. He charged, running at full speed, and Thaluth lazily lifted a hand, palm out. Giles willed himself to keep going as a ball of white flame formed in Thaluth’s grasp, and then bolted toward him in a flash of deadly light.
The fireball passed harmlessly through Giles’ body like a phantom, and Giles saw an instant of confusion in the demon’s face before driving his blade home through Thaluth’s heart with such force that it emerged from the other side, gouting blood. They stood for a moment, frozen, Giles with both hands on the sword hilt, gazing up into the astonished eyes of a creature almost twice his height. Then a great shudder passed through the demon’s body, and he fell to his knees hard. Giles pulled the sword free and Thaluth gave a blood-choked gasp. “You were a virgin?” the Lord of Hell said in a strangled voice.
“Thanks to my Slayer, no longer,” Giles said, and with a growl of effort, sliced the demon’s neck cleanly in two with a smooth, arcing stroke, and Thaluth’s head fell to the floor as Giles wiped demon blood from his face with a tired hand.
He started to leave, then paused as he remembered the sorcerer’s book that Thaluth had been reading. Hard to know if the magical seal would let him read it, also, but it wasn’t the sort of thing that should be left lying around, so he picked it up and took it with him. On his way out of the ship, Giles cut the power line, and the cable fell into the water with a rasp and a hiss of electric fire.
Buffy started violently at the sound of the front door opening behind her, and she turned on the couch to see her Watcher enter, splashed in crimson blood and carrying his sword in its sheath.”That was quick,” Buffy said, surprised. Her heart had leapt at the sight of him, and she got up from the couch. “So did you kick Thaluth’s ass?” she asked with a grin. Giles grunted, and then held his hand up when she moved as if to hug him.
“Better not touch me yet,” he said, overwhelmed by his pleasure in seeing her again, knowing that he had saved her life because of her own courage and his trust. “I’m covered in demon’s blood. Let me take a shower first.” Buffy giggled, taking in his ruined clothes.
“Guess those go into the fire, huh?” she said.
“Indeed,” he said with a chuckle, dropping the sword on the floor by the kitchen counter and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. Buffy watched him raptly, a wry smile on her mouth. “Burn that, would you?” he asked, handing her the shirt. She pretended to be grossed out, taking it daintily between two fingers.
“Ick. With pleasure. What’s that?” she asked, nodding her chin at the large book he set down on the countertop.
“A sorcerer’s journal, I think,” Giles replied. “Thaluth was reading it when I came upon him. It shouldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, and may prove valuable to us.”
“Huh. The things demons do nowadays.”
He hadn’t been quite sure how to act when he’d returned to the house. It all still seemed a little unreal — he’d killed an Arch Demon! And it had been easy. Well, no, that wasn’t quite the truth. The difficult part hadn’t been running the demon through with his sword. The difficult part was still in the house with him. He bagged his clothes as he took them off, intending to destroy them as he’d asked Buffy to do with his shirt. A cool shower was next. He felt overheated and anxious, and right now wanted only to be clean of what he had done to Thaluth.But did he want to be clean of her? He’d left the house with her scent still strong in his nose and his thoughts. The sweetness of their lovemaking had given him the resolve to enter the darkened ship, had given him the courage to face the demon with such calm. They couldn’t go back to the way things had been between them. They had been transformed by letting themselves be seen with such utter clarity by the other. He was still her elder by many years, and she was still only on the verge of adulthood, but she was a Slayer, and he was her Watcher. She had been right in saying that such a relationship was never easy.
He got out of the shower and dressed in clean clothes with an uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know how to feel now. He knew he loved her, but it wasn’t the romantic love he had longed for all his life. Yet it was more than just as a father would love a daughter, more than just as a friend. She’d been right in that, too. They had committed a brutal transgression, shattered a taboo that was surrounded by disgust and revulsion and fear, and on the other side of that terror, they had found delight and contentment. For their lives to go forward, both of them were going to have to admit that.
She was sitting on the couch again, reading, when he came down the stairs. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and got up to leave the book behind and come over to him. He grunted as she embraced him, holding with more strength than he had expected, and he hugged her to him fiercely.”I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back,” she murmured against his chest.
“How could I leave you?” he replied softly. “You’re the center of my life. Without you I’m aimless and empty.” She was silent for a long moment, letting him rock her slowly.
“So now that Thaluth’s dead, what do we do?” she asked. He sighed deeply.
“That’s a good question,” he said. He let go of her and made her look at him, his hands on her face gently. “You were right before when you said I was afraid that I might enjoy making love to you. I did enjoy it. It was wonderful and sweet and satisfying. I don’t know where we should go with that, or if it should go anywhere. If we were meant to be lovers, we did it too soon. Buffy…I love you. I don’t know what kind of love it is, or what it may mean for us, but we must be careful.”
“Go slow, you mean, in whatever direction,” she said. Giles nodded. She had her hands around his waist, and looked down for a long moment. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while you were gone. Not just worrying about you, but thinking about us…about what we did. I’ve wished for a long time that we could be closer, although mostly what I wanted was just a friendship. I guess one of the reasons I wanted to be your first was because I saw it as a way of getting to know you. You’re hard to get to know. You don’t let anybody in, but you had to this time. That sounds cruel, and actually I’m kind of ashamed that I did it, for that reason, anyway.”
“Don’t be,” he said, lifting her chin so he could look at her eyes. He saw there how much she loved him, even though she couldn’t say it. “You were gentle with me, and I appreciated that more than you know. I don’t think we should pretend this didn’t happen. It’s all right to just let it be, to remember it for what it was; a moment of profound love. The rest…we can get to know each other, the way you wanted, the way we should.” He paused for a moment, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Your friends aren’t going to understand. Not at first, if ever.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, looking away again but not evading his touch. “Guess we’ll have to be careful about that, too.”
“We can talk about it later,” he said. “As it becomes necessary.”
“You said before you’d take me to dinner, if I wanted,” she said with a smile. “That offer still good?” Giles chuckled softly.
“Yes. You want to go tonight?”
“Mm hm. I’m in the mood for Japanese.”
“As you want, then,” he said. “Let me get my coat.” He opened the front door for her, and they stepped out onto the porch.
“So how does it feel to not be a virgin anymore?” she asked. Giles shut the door and stood still for a few moments, considering.
“Different,” he murmured. “Not sure how yet. Ask me some other time.” He smiled and they left together, arms around each other.
The End
“Tiger-Man”
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Story
Erotica: Giles/Faith
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (c) 1999 by A. Manley Haight
RATING: NC-17Flames are welcome and are, in fact, encouraged for psychological study.
WARNING: The sex in this story is pretty rough stuff. If you don’t like violent sex, then steer clear.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: In this universe, Faith is one of the Good Guys. She’s just a little naughtier than the rest of them.
This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy or AOL Time Warner. This story may be distributed only with prior permission of the author, and may not be posted to any archive, ftp site, or web page without the written permission of the author. Okay to archive at Naked Place. This story is distributed for the individual personal entertainment of persons of legal age for viewing sexually explicit material in areas where such viewing is legal, and is not subject to purchase or sale by anyone.
The library door banged open.”Giles! Hey, G-Man, where are you?”Giles came out of his office at the shout.
“Faith,” he said, surprised. “Are you all right? What are you doing here so late?” The rogue Slayer was disheveled, panting, with a wild look in her eyes. He could only wonder what had happened, and waited for her to explain some terrible situation.
She didn’t speak, but came right up to him, grabbed his glasses off his face to toss them on the counter, and took his head in her hands to kiss him obscenely. The touch was flame, blazing down through his groin into his toes, startling him with the intensity of his body’s response. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and finally took her arms and pushed her back from him to catch his breath.
“What…what on earth are you doing?” he panted.
“Didn’t Buffy ever tell you?” she said.
“Tell me what?” he said, a little breathlessly.
“Slaying makes me horny,” she said, licking his jaw. She had both hands on his chest under his coat, seeking out his sensitive nipples through his shirt. He made a soft sound in his throat, unable to bring himself to make her stop. The attention felt good, and it had been a very long time. She was warm and sensuous and obviously wanted him very badly. “Usually it’s okay; I can just go home and have fun by myself, but it’s been a long, long time and I missed a kill tonight and I need a man’s cock.”
“My goodness,” Giles sighed, taken aback by her vulgarity. Why was he still letting her touch him? Why did it have to feel so damn good? “No, she never told me, and actually I-I-I think I’ve heard of it. It’s not too uncommon, historically speaking — ”
“No history lesson,” Faith said, her hands moving down between his legs to grope him, finding his still-soft cock. He half-responded without thinking, his pelvis moving into her palms to answer the carnal pleasure of the touch and the promise. Faith grinned at him, emboldened by his reaction. “I need you, Rupert. I need your body. Is there a horny guy underneath all that stuffy, British tweed?”
He pushed her away suddenly, his hands on her shoulders and not letting go.
“Faith, stop it,” he said, his eyes darkening. “This is not a good idea. It’s totally inappropriate and could have consequences of which you’re unaware. I am a Watcher. May I suggest one of the boys? Or you c-could go to the Bronze. I doubt you’ll have any trouble finding someone willing to oblige you.”
“The boys are both taken,” Faith said. She was touching his chest again, toying with his nipples more aggressively, pinching them sharply. He hissed in surprise but she wouldn’t let him withdraw. “You’re not. And they couldn’t take it anyway. I don’t want this to be complicated. I need it fast and hard and right now, and tomorrow I don’t want to have some kind of a conversation about feelings and love and marriage, and maybe I can give a poor, celibate Watcher a cheap thrill.” She slid her hands down his belly and thighs, framing his groin for a moment and then cupping his balls firmly. He gave a startled, rough grunt, and she found the shaft of his cock again. It was harder now, rising stiffly in his trousers. She outlined its shape with her hand and the Watcher growled. “Just wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”
Giles pushed her away hard, and the edge of the counter came up behind her rather forcefully. She grunted, not actually hurt but very surprised, and Giles backed away from her angrily.
“And did you never think that maybe there was a reason that Watchers are celibate?” he growled furiously. She just looked at him, astonished by the shift in his demeanor. “That there is a reason for my emotional detachment and modesty and discipline? How dare you! You come in here like fire, deliberately provoking me! How dare you violate me like this when you know better!”
/This is not Xander,/ a calm voice in the back of her mind cautioned her. Faith pushed away from the edge of the counter and approached him slowly.
“Because we both need it,” she said. She could feel her own trembling; the unspent lust of her failed kill earlier that night. His nostrils flared and she knew he smelled it on her. “You spend almost every day of your life with your Slayer, having to be near her, smell her, ache for her — the strength that can handle you. You fight with her, honing her skills, worked into a frenzy but forbidden to touch her the way you want to.” Giles bared his teeth as she came right up to him. She had backed him up against the edge of the table.
“Get out,” he hissed. “Get out of here before I — ”
“What?” she challenged quietly, smiling. “Spank me? Bite me? Fuck me? Come on, Watcher-man. I know how you feel about Buffy, but she’s not legal, in California or in the Watcher’s law. But I am. I can take you, Watcher. You can’t hurt me.” She put her hands on his chest again, but just rested them there this time instead of playing with his nipples. She wedged her body between his thighs so he could feel her heat and strength. He shuddered, and she understood then how naturally he responded to a Slayer’s strength and aggression. “I’m not Buffy, but I’m willing to be a substitute under duress. I want some and you want some, Rupert. There’s no bad thing here. No consequences except both of us feeling good.” Her voice was sultry, and she started rubbing his chest, massaging gently. Giles leaned his head back with a soft moan, his knuckles white where he gripped the table’s edge. “Nothing to be scared of, Watcher-man. I’m right here. I’m ready, baby. Just take it. I’m tired of bad boy wannabes. A Watcher’s what I need.”
With a growl of ultimate desperation, Giles pushed her away and slipped away from her, backing up the steps into the stacks.
“No,” he rasped. “I can’t. I don’t dare. Why do you insist on pushing me like this?” She followed him, loving the sight of him becoming increasingly flustered and tempted.
“Because driving you crazy is half the fun,” she said. “Doesn’t it hurt, Watcher-man?” She’d gotten him back into the archaeology section, between the shelves. “All those nights alone, both hands wrapped around your cock and thinking about her, thinking about me?” He had stopped in his retreat from her, as if he had hit an invisible brick wall at his back. He was breathing deep and hard through flared nostrils and a half-open mouth, practically able to taste the scent of her. He couldn’t look away from her as she grabbed him by his coat lapel and shoved him up against the shelving, driving a soft gasp from his chest.
She got between his legs and rubbed herself up against his groin and belly, relishing his now rock-hard erection. His eyes closed at the fiery flood of heat it sent through him, teasing his deepest desires, and he heard himself groan low in his throat. His hips answered her firmly; he could feel her female warmth through their clothes and wanted nothing more than to bury his cock in it.
“Faith…I can’t,” he said hoarsely, trying desperately to breathe. “Can’t.”
“Why not?” she purred. “You worried Buffy will find out? She won’t. I won’t tell her, I swear. You worried I’m going to blackmail you? No way.”
“The Council…I’m forbidden…”
“Don’t you even tell me that the Council of Watchers is going to have a fit,” she said. “Who gives a shit if they do, and who’s going to tell them anyway?” Faith dug her hand into her own pants, covering her fingers with her warm juices and savoring the brief pleasure of fondling herself. Giles watched her, transfixed. “They’re just jealous they can’t have any of this…”
She put her hand under his nose, felt and heard his startled inhale at the scent of her. He shied but she held his face, rubbing the wetness onto his upper lip and forcing him to breathe it in. “You like that, Watcher?” she teased as he shuddered hard and followed her hand as she moved her fingers. She stroked his lips and suddenly he captured her fingers with his mouth, his eyes closing in rapture as he devoured the smell and taste of her on her hand, his eager tongue finding every bit of it. “Ooh, yeah, poor thing, you can’t help it,” she chuckled. His warm breath caressed the back of her hand as he pulled away and looked at her.
“Actually, I think I can help it quite a bit,” he said. Before she could take another breath, he was using his entire body to push her away, across the aisle into the opposite shelf. He pinned her there with his legs and hips, and slid his hand into her hair to grip tightly and jerk her head back to meet his hot, devouring kiss.
There was no hesitation in her reply, her mouth opening to welcome him and she put one hand firmly around the back of his neck, the other around his waist for leverage to grind her hips into his. His mouth slid away from hers, down her neck, licking and nipping.
“Come on, Watcher-man,” she panted with a laugh. “I don’t want any foreplay.”
“Good,” Giles replied, drawing back. “I wasn’t planning on any.” He reached for her tank top and dragged it over her head, pleased and not at all surprised to discover that she didn’t wear a bra. She was all muscle, lithe and taut, and he exhaled an animal breath of delight. He put his hands on her flanks, caressing up her back for a moment to savor it.
“You are wearing way too much,” she said, amused, and unknotted his tie with swift, strong fingers.
“I agree wholeheartedly,” he growled, and helped her strip his clothes off. When he was bare-chested, she paused for a moment, running her hands up his torso.
“Ooh, you’re pretty,” she said, and then started to work at his trousers. “Can’t wait to see the rest.”
“Yes, I can see you are rather used to boys,” Giles muttered, laughing, and he relished the astonishment on her face as he drove them both to the carpet hard and unzipped her own tight-fitting pants so he could drag them down her legs. “But boys grow up to be men, you see,” he hissed. She was naked in a heartbeat, her jeans and panties thrown to the side, and Giles got up on his knees to finish taking off his own pants. Faith watched, riveted, her eyes dark with lust. Then she grinned.
“Hey, boxers,” she said, licking her lips. “Those’re so cute…” She tried to sit up, having every intention of getting her mouth around the gorgeous cock that he bared to her gaze. His hand was around her throat in the next moment and she grunted hard as he shoved her back down to the floor. Anger blazed in her eyes this time and she grabbed his wrist, but the sight of him naked as he kicked the boxers away made her hesitate, like a mouse hypnotized by a cobra.
“Better do it my way, luv,” he said, amused, “or we won’t do it at all.” Faith laughed at him.
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You couldn’t stop now if your life depended on it.” His answering grin was confident and anticipatory.
“Do you feel like calling my bluff?” he wondered in a soft, dangerous voice. He was moving slowly between her thighs, getting himself into place, rubbing his bare, muscular legs against hers. “Or would you rather let me get on with this, since it feels so good?” His tone was sultry, maddening, and her legs lifted so she could rub her feet along his flanks. Her body was hungry for his cock, and she discovered she was shaking as Giles lowered his hips to touch the tip of his cock to her sex, stroking the length of it along the soft hair, gently between her outer lips. Faith groaned gutturally, grabbing his ribs and digging her nails into his flesh.
“Oh, Jesus,” she panted. He was covering his cock with her wetness, teasing her with the firm, warm head, and a hard shudder started in her belly to spread out to her legs where she gripped his hips with her knees. “Do it,” she gasped, squirming beneath him, rubbing against his cock and trying to entice him to enter. She needed that cock, needed what she saw in his eyes. “God dammit, Rupert, you bastard, do it!” His strong hand grabbed her hair again, baring her throat and making her arch her breasts up with a strangled growl.
“Say please,” he breathed, a feral smile on his mouth, his eyes glittering. “Come on, luv, beg for it. It’s not so bad.” Faith laughed weakly, the burning need in her blood coaxing her. Part of her resisted submitting to him, but another part enjoyed playing his rough game. She reached for his neck, drawing sharp nails down his throat.
“Please,” she purred, scoring his flesh until he bled, and he hissed with pleasure. “Please, Watcher-man. Give it to me.” His soft hiss became a low rumble, and he shifted a little to settle his cock against her opening, and with a smooth, sensuous motion he slid into her, feeling her shudder and grip his cock tightly with a rippling heat. She groaned, craning her head back and closing her eyes.
“Rrrrrrmmmyessss,” Giles breathed, baring his teeth at the delicious pleasure of this slow impalement.
“Shit, that’s good,” Faith groaned, having trouble catching her breath. “Oh fuck, I think I’m gonna, oh yeah — ” He watched her, eager and amazed, as she climaxed from the sweetness of just him entering her. Her legs clamped around his body and he grunted, then hummed with satisfaction. Panting, she collapsed fully onto her back again, her eyes opening to look at him with wonder and appreciation.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said with a grin.
“You sure are, though,” she countered with a laugh, wrapping her legs around him to pull him close. “You get a gold star.” He gave a low, thoughtful hum.
“Wonder if I can soften that sharp tongue of yours?” he mused, and let go of her hair suddenly to plant both hands on the floor with a thump, leaning over her and shoving his cock deep with a fierce, rumbling growl. She cried out, as much from the savagery of his mood as the sweet glory of his cock inside her.
“What happened to fast and hard, Rupert baby?” she teased breathlessly.
“Just making sure you can take all of me,” he said with another grin, and then he braced himself on the floor with his hands and began a deep, hard rhythm that evoked a wild, inarticulate cry from Faith. Giles laughed, purring.
Watchers traditionally had problems finding sexual partners who could endure their tastes and who understood their nature. Slayers and Watchers had a natural bond in this respect, a natural kinship. Buffy hadn’t yet come into this instinctual awareness, nor would Giles ever have willingly been the man to introduce her to it, however much he might want to.
Faith needed no such instruction, and was certainly capable of tolerating his ferocity. She was growling like an animal, clawing into his back and buttocks, demanding more, demanding everything of him as a man. He laughed again, as much as he could while panting and grunting, trying to satisfy her and completely enjoying himself in the process. Her nails found a tender spot, gouging one of his nipples a little too hard, and even as he gasped with pleasure, he grabbed both of her wrists and forced them down to the carpet by her head. “Best keep those to yourself, you bloody tigress,” he breathed, chuckling.
“Just don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t stop, you son of a bitch, oh, Christ, that’s so good!” His grip around her wrists was like iron. It was going to leave dark bruises, and would have been exceptionally painful to an ordinary human. Faith just growled and arched up against him, feeling sweat beginning to pool in the hollow of her throat. She was unbearably hot, and Giles was steadily increasing the speed of his fierce, bucking thrusts.
“Oooh, God, I don’t know if I can hold on,” he groaned, throwing his head back with delight.
“Just a little more, Watcher-man,” Faith breathed. “Just a little more, baby, and then you can let go.” Sweat dripped from his chin onto her lips, and she licked her mouth to taste him. “Oh yeah,” she groaned, feeling it gather in her belly, a diffuse, pulsing heat that was coming ever more quickly into focus. “Yeah, Rupert, come on, baby, don’t stop!” He let go of her wrists, and she threw both arms around his shoulders and tore her nails across his back. He gave a shout of pain and feral joy.
“Oh, Jesus!” he cried. “Careful, damn it, or you’ll make me come sooner than you think!”
“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” she snarled, and he was suddenly looking down into her orgasm rising in her eyes. She grabbed his face, scoring his cheek, clawing over his jaw and under his chin. The pain, the awareness of her own climax ripping through her, the brutal elation of taking a Slayer like this, rose up in his belly all at once and he gave a roar of triumph as his own climax slammed into him like Thor’s hammer into his back. She was howling like a banshee, and he’d never felt so free in his life. He just yelled and growled, letting the orgasm have its way with him and keeping nothing inside.
It seemed like a very long release for both of them, and when it finally washed out of him, he found he had to open his eyes. She was already gazing at him, both of them panting hard, covered in sweat. She grinned at him, and Giles withdrew from her carefully, conscious of her undoubtedly tender sex. She seemed to appreciate the consideration, and rolled onto her side with a sigh. Giles flopped down onto his back on the carpet, his chest heaving, still trying to catch his breath. Suddenly he started to giggle, putting one hand on his stomach and laughing as he gazed up at the shelves of books to either side of them and the FireGard tiled ceiling.
“What’re you laughin’ at, G-man?” Faith asked cheerfully. Giles let his arm thump to the floor, outstretched.
“The fact that that was bloody, sodding marvelous,” he announced to the room in general. “The fact that I feel so damn good that I don’t care that I’m bleeding onto the carpet. The fact that I just shagged somebody in the bloody stacks of my bleeding library, for God’s sake. Somebody will definitely think that’s kinky.” He chuckled, deliciously sated.
“I always said that all you really needed was a good, teeth-rattling fuck,” Faith said, amused. “Hey, have you got a handkerchief or something?”
“Mm?” he said, craning his head back to look at her. He understood suddenly. “Ah. Yes, actually…” He rolled over to reach for his trousers and handed her the cloth from the pocket.
“Thanks,” she said, pressing it against her sex to absorb some of the evidence of their coupling, then leaving it there to continue observing him from her position on her side. Giles grinned wolfishly.
“Feel free to give it back to me when you’re through with it,” he murmured. She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re a disgusting man, Rupert,” she said, then grinned. “I like that. Have I mentioned lately that you’re an incredibly awesome lay?” Giles settled onto his belly to rest his chin on folded arms, looking at her with a smug smile.
“Mmm. Not lately,” he admitted. “But I do my best, madam. I hope that was satisfactory. I’m well aware that Slayers can be quite demanding, and I’m starting to get too old for this.”
“G-man, there ain’t a boytoy in the world who could’ve done what you just did,” Faith informed him with a sated smile.
Faith left after getting her clothes back together, dancing on the way out the door. Giles just shook his head in wonder at her energy, shuffling down the steps, his trousers back on but his shirt, coat and tie in his hands. He spent a few minutes tending to the wounds Faith had given him; claw marks across his back, buttocks and on his throat and face. That was going to be interesting to explain. He grabbed some of Oz’s blankets out of the cage and curled up on the couch in his office. There was no way he was going to make it home after that lovely time with Faith. He turned the lights off and yawned. Thank God it was Friday night. He gave a deep, contented sigh and purred quietly.
She’d given him another nickname before leaving. He wasn’t sure if he were amused or horrified at the prospect of her calling him by it in front of Buffy and the others. For now it just made him feel pleasantly warm and flattered, and he fell asleep easily, looking forward to the look on Buffy’s face. He could practically hear her voice; “Tiger-man?!”
He laughed.
The End
“The Calling”
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Story
Erotica: Giles/Buffy
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (C) 1999 by A. Manley Haight
RATING: NC-17
Originally published in the fanzine “The Watcher’s Passion” in 1999.
Flames are welcome and are, in fact, encouraged for psychological study.
This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy or Time Warner. This story was created for the express purpose of publication in the fanzine “The Watcher’s Passion” and is not available on the internet until May, 2000. It may not be reproduced or redistributed in any form without the express, written permission of the publisher and the author.
It was hard to say what would have been worse, having to go to school while everyone was wondering where Buffy had gone, or this bleak, empty hollow of summer vacation, in which they had nothing to do but sit around and ache.Willow had decided to take a summer school class just to keep busy, and today she walked across the all-but-deserted courtyard toward the main building of Sunnydale High. The day was too bright and too hot, the afternoon sun beating down on the stone and light shirt Willow wore.Her class was done, and she walked down the hallway toward the library. The double doors were silent and still, guarding the lair where Buffy’s Watcher had taken refuge. The library was not normally open during summer vacation, and was not now, not officially. The “closed” sign on the door was to keep out interlopers. She knew it was open to her and the others in their small group.
She pushed the door open and it squeaked loudly in the quiet of the hallway and the room into which she entered. The venetian blinds were drawn on the far window set high in the wall, turning the library into a darkened cave where a creature of despair lived.
“Giles?” she said hesitantly, hugging her laptop to her chest. Maybe he wasn’t here. Sometimes he went out to get something to eat.
He appeared on the upper level from out of the shadowed stacks, his face only partially illuminated by the slats of light from the blinds. He held a book in his hand, and Willow wondered how he could have been reading up there with no light. “Um, do you mind if I stay here for a while?” she asked. “To study?”
“No, Willow,” he said. “Go ahead.” His voice was gentle, but distant, and he disappeared again as she went to the central table and turned on the light there, making an oasis of warmth. It was unnerving to be here, and although it was much cooler than outside or at home, it would not have been her first choice of a study spot these days. But she came, and stayed, for him. They were all worried about how Giles was handling Buffy’s absence. Every few days, he would leave without a word, following a lead that only he knew about. Then, a day or so later, he would return alone, looking haggard. His eyes, once full of the warmth and amusement his English reserve would not allow him to express, were now cold and hurt.
He wasn’t going to be able to endure it much longer. A Watcher and a Slayer were two halves of a whole, bound for life. Nobody knew what would happen when his control — or his hope — ran out.
He came down from the stacks about fifteen minutes later, as if the light had drawn him, and put a book down on the table to lean over it, reading silently. She glanced up at him, but he didn’t seem aware of her presence.
“Have you…have you heard any word from Buffy?” Willow asked quietly. The Watcher raised his head to her, his eyes haunted, and he shook his head silently. “Oh.” He went back to reading, and she went back to doing homework for her C++ programming class on her laptop.
Willow started violently at the sound of a book being slammed shut, and Giles pushed away from the table to begin pacing the room. She just watched him, afraid to speak even though she wanted desperately to do something to calm him. Even so, she wasn’t sure she had the right to do that — to try to tell a Watcher that everything was okay when his Slayer had run away from him.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper of despair. He gestured with his open hands as he paced. “I don’t know where else to look. All the leads I had are dead-ends.” He stopped at the edge of the table, slamming both hands down on it and making Willow jump again. “I can’t feel her,” he hissed. “I should be connected to her, I should always know, but I don’t feel anything.” He ran both hands back through his hair. “I don’t know where she is.”
“She’ll come back,” Willow said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself. “I know she will. She just needs time to sort things out.”
“I’m her Watcher!” Giles roared. “She’s supposed to come to me when she needs to sort things out! She’s supposed to trust me to listen, to understand.” His voice trailed off painfully.
“She’s upset because of Angel,” Willow said softly. “Maybe she’s afraid you wouldn’t be sympathetic…because of what Angelus did to you and to Miss Calendar. Maybe she just didn’t want to hurt you.”
Giles gave a bark of laughter.
“Didn’t want to hurt me?” he repeated weakly. “She left me, Willow. How could she hurt me more than that? What could she possibly say to me that would be worse than letting me know that she does not trust me and does not want me, and that she can’t even tell me to my face? I came to Sunnydale for her. I exist only because of her. If she doesn’t come back…if I can’t find her…I have no reason to live.”
He left the library, distraught, finding no solace in Willow’s presence or his books, and went home with a weight on his soul that was increasingly hard to bear. Darkness was closing in, and he went to sleep that night with an unvoiced sob in his throat.
The sun was killing him, blinding him in light and heat, merciless. He stood in the desert, arms open to the sky, surrendering himself to his fate and his anguish. “She’s gone,” he called out hoarsely, the arid wind and dust choking him. “I can’t find her! It hurts, it hurts! Oh God, please…I can’t do this alone. I can’t be alone. She’s all I have…”The sun flamed, hotter still, and then began to writhe and shriek. A creature was born of it, a bird of flame. It dove for him out of the sun, straight for his heart, and he closed his eyes to let the death come.
The firebird impaled him, filled him with flame, and he cried out in agony and need. Not death, but rebirth. Renewal. He burned, consumed, the ache of his service unfulfilled destroying him in an inferno of wretched grief.
He woke himself with his own cry, tears wet on his face and pillow. His blood was on fire, his gut clenched terribly and he could practically hear his own heart pounding in his chest. Gasping, he sat up, overwhelmed by the pulse of the Call. He’d known it once before, when Buffy’s first Watcher, Merrick, had died. He’d been awakened in the middle of the night, summoned by a force no one could explain or assuage, to cross the sea to her in California. Tonight, now, it seized him again, urging, wanting, torturing him with the unbearable need to find her, to go to her.
But where? Where? He held his head, panting, fighting down the nausea of being so far away from her and not being on the move to join her side.
Sun. Desert. Heat. Firebird. Death and rebirth.
“Phoenix,” he whispered, and tore the covers away to get up with flame in his heart.
**** When Willow came to school the next day, the library was locked. She was surprised for a moment, then knew that he had gone again in search of Buffy. The familiar mixture of hope and resignation ached in her chest, and she went home feeling more empty than usual.She and Xander went to the Bronze, but they didn’t feel like dancing. They huddled on a couch against the wall and sipped drinks and ate tortilla chips.”I guess Giles went off again looking for Buffy,” Xander said.
“Yeah,” Willow said. “I hope that’s why he left.”
“Either that or he really is Super Librarian and he never told us,” Xander said.
“When I talked to him yesterday…” Willow said. “Xander, he was scary. He looked so angry and so hurt. He said…he said if he can’t find her and she doesn’t come back…he has no reason to live.”
“Oh Jesus,” Xander whispered, the words barely audible in the noise of the Bronze.
Giles gave silent thanks for the fourth or fifth time that day that he had decided to buy a new car last month. The Citroen would not have made it to L.A. The white Oldsmobile had done just fine, and he vowed to have the poor thing washed and waxed when he got home.In the middle of the night, LAX looked remarkably like a big, spotlighted spacecraft resting in the middle of Los Angeles, or possibly the home of the Jetsons. It was not deserted, even at this ungodly hour. People with long layovers, international connections, and people stuck because of unexpected incidents all had taken up temporary residence in the terminals, observation dome and the mezzanines in the International Terminal. The first thing he did was get an airport map at the one of the Travelers Aid booths. The blasted place was bigger than Disneyland.Southwest was the only airline running flights to Phoenix anytime soon, and the next one wasn’t until 7:00am. He was forced to hang around the airport for a couple of hours after buying a one-way ticket. He’d taken minimal time to pack, drawn as he was by the painful summons, and had been forced to drive northwest to get to Los Angeles. His mind knew this was the fastest way, but the Calling told him only that he was going in the wrong direction, and had been through sheer force of will that he had fought the urge to change course.
He’d taken the time to shower before leaving, but realized as he sat on the mezzanine in the Tom Bradley Terminal — in a rather comfortable chair — that he hadn’t shaved yet. He took his carryon bag into the men’s lavatory to tend to this, and felt immensely more civilized afterward.
A few minutes later, he was sitting on the mezzanine again with a cup of cafe mocha and a cheese croissant, watching people and airplanes go by. It really wasn’t so bad, and he managed to catch a quick catnap before taking a shuttle to the terminal of his departing flight.
The plane was a small one as jetliners went, a Boeing 737, but wasn’t full, and after the plane took off, everyone moved to take advantage of the empty seats available. Giles wound up in a whole row by himself. He took out Buffy’s picture again, looking at it. She had looked very happy when it was taken — it had been at her sixteenth birthday party, and Willow had given it to him to help him on his trips. He wondered if she was all right, and he felt his throat tighten. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.”Your daughter?” said a low voice from across the aisle. He glanced up in surprise to see a middle-aged woman regarding him kindly. She had a compassionate look. Giles cleared his throat slightly, shaking his head and putting his glasses back on.”No,” he said. “A friend. A student at the school where I work. She’s run away from home and I’m looking for her. I think she might be in Phoenix.”
“I live in Phoenix,” the woman said. “Can I take a look?” Giles handed her the picture and she looked at it for a few seconds. “Hmm, no, sorry. Don’t think I know her. How long has she been gone?”
“About a month,” Giles said. The woman showed the picture to her seatmate, who also didn’t recognize the girl.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” said the man sitting in front of her. “I live in Phoenix, too. Can I see?” The woman handed the picture to him, but he, too, didn’t recognize the girl. “What’s her name?”
“Buffy Summers.” The man chuckled.
“That’s a California name, all right.” The man got up out of his seat suddenly. “Hey, amigos, anybody on this plane actually live in Phoenix? We’re lookin’ for a runaway girl over here.”
“I’m from Phoenix,” said an elderly man from two rows forward, and the picture was passed up to him.
“So am I,” said the woman in the row behind Giles. In another few minutes, everyone on the plane wanted to get a look and the picture was passed around. Even the flight crew was based in Phoenix, and they all wanted to look. One of the flight attendants took the picture up to the cockpit in case the pilots had seen her.
Unfortunately, no one had, and the picture was given back to Giles with only fingerprints and regrets.
“Thank you, though,” Giles said, truly amazed by this outpouring of compassion. He gave a soft laugh. “You know, Americans have a reputation for being uncaring about such things, especially in California where I live now. Thank you, everyone. I appreciate your concern.”
“I hope you find her,” said the man who’d stood up. “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”
“Giles,” he said. “Rupert Giles.” They shook hands.
“Arturo Macias Ruiz. Pleased to meet you.”
“Jane Struss,” the woman across the aisle said, also shaking Giles’ hand.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, both of you,” Giles said sincerely.
They chatted for the whole flight, and for a while Giles was able to forget about his despair. They were both intrigued to learn he was a librarian. Struss was a biochemist and Macias Ruiz was a copper wire salesman. When they landed in Phoenix, Struss gave Giles a hug and wished him well.
“Give me a call if I can help while you’re in Phoenix,” she said, giving him a business card. Macias Ruiz hurriedly dug into his pocket and also handed over a card.
“Me, too,” he said. “I mean it. Day or night. That’s my cell.”
“Thank you,” Giles said, moved by their sympathy. He left the airport feeling better than he had in several days. The Call was strong, fire in his gut, telling him he was in the right city. Maybe this would be the day he found her.
Phoenix was too big a city to search on foot, so he had to rent a car at the airport. He found a Motel 6 not too far down the highway, and took a room to establish a base from which to work. It was the middle of the afternoon, and hot enough to melt the tar in the asphalt. His shoes made a faint sticking sound as he walked across the parking lot to the first floor room he’d paid for.The room was mercifully cool, but he turned on the air conditioner to keep it that way, and let his carryon bag fall to the floor heavily. The Calling told him she was nearby, but not her precise location. A shower and a change of clothes were in order, and then he would take to the streets.
By nightfall he’d had no luck. Tired, hungry and his blood burning, he returned to the motel and laid down on the bed in sheer exhaustion. Another shower and a sandwich from a deli down the road left him feeling almost human, and then he went out again. This time he took the sheathed sword he’d brought with him. The airline had made him check it at the reservations desk instead of letting him take it on the plane with him, but a Watcher answering a Calling late at night in a big city went unarmed at his own peril.He’d reasoned that perhaps if he went over the city in a methodical fashion, he would be able to feel when he got very close. So, he had a street map, and had plotted out the city block by block. He would remain for as long as it took to find her. He drove to the first section and parked the car, intending to do this part on foot.
The Phoenix police were a vigilant bunch, and Giles went to some effort to avoid being seen, since he was carrying a sword on his back. He did not, however, fit the physical description of a suspicious person, and was largely ignored because he was white and obviously not homeless or drunk.
He felt hot, hot in some way that wasn’t the desert, which had begun to cool off slightly now that the sun had gone down. Every breath seemed to bring the scent of his Slayer, his gut and chest aching for her, needing her. She was here somewhere, in this vast city. He knew it with certainty.
No one bothered him that first night, perhaps knowing from the look in his eyes that he would accept any excuse to vent his agony. The more observant noticed the black hilt of the sword over his shoulder, and avoided him in favor of a more suitable target for a mugging or an offer of drugs.
He covered the area he had promised himself, marking off each block on the photocopy of his map. He did not find her, and did not feel any change in the Calling inside him. It thrummed urgently, keeping him moving during the night when his body had long since demanded to rest.
He went back to the motel at dawn. He slept restlessly, part of him wanting to still be out there, looking, feeling for her. No helpful dreams came, and in the evening he cursed and started the process over again.
“There he is again.”The two vampires watched from the nook next to a liquor store as the man they had heard about walked past them in the near-darkness. He wore a sword on his back and moved with purpose and threat, dressed darkly and avoiding the pools of light like someone used to hunting in the night.”Who the Hell is that?” the other vampire muttered.
“I don’t know. Soryung and I saw him last night, over on Twenty-Third. He was marking off the whole district, one street at a time.”
“He’s human,” the second vampire said, sniffing slightly at the blood-warm wake the man had left. “Marking off the district, huh? He’s looking for something. Or someone.”
“Yup. Wonder who?”
“Let’s follow and see.”
Giles kept to his map, fighting the urge to move randomly in the desperation to find her. His nose was full of her imagined scent, something ephemeral that cut through the smell of the streets, warm pavement, car exhaust and the stink of dumpsters in alleys. His need for her went beyond the Calling; it had since the moment they’d met. He was bound to her, first by duty and then by loyalty. His service to her as her Watcher was his entire life. All his actions and thoughts revolved around it. She was a magnificent Slayer, and more than that, she was a good person and he loved her with all his heart. It hurt him to not be with her, and he wondered if she needed him, if she were going through something he should be there to help her with.
He finished the next section that night, still empty-handed and alone. When he got back to his motel room and closed the door behind him, he heard himself make a strangled sound, and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He was surprised in spite of himself. He hadn’t realized he was holding so much inside. He sat down on the bed, head in his hands, letting himself give in to the grief for a few minutes because it felt so good to let it out.It relieved part of the burning ache inside him, but the rest was much deeper, still summoning him to his Slayer. He wiped his nose with tissues and shouldered out of the strap that held his sword on his back, letting the weapon fall to the bed.”God, I’m pathetic,” he muttered with a humorless laugh. “All those years of training and discipline and being so Godawful English and I’m totally undone by this.” He sighed heavily, wishing he had someone to talk to. Then he remembered he still had the business cards of the two people he’d met on the plane flight. The first one he found was Macias Ruiz’s. After a minute of turning the card over and over in his hands, he finally dialed the number.
It rang for a long time before being answered by a sleepy man.
“Hola?”
“Hello, um, I’m terribly sorry to wake you. It’s Rupert Giles. We met on the airplane the other day.”
“Rupert,” the man said in recognition. He made a grunting sound, as if sitting up in bed. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I said day or night. Que pasa? Did you find her?” There was the sound of another person in bed with him asking a muffled question, and Macias Ruiz’s voice was turned away from the phone for a moment. “No, it’s nothin’, amada, just a friend of mine. Go back to sleep. Sorry about that,” he said to Giles. “My wife. So did you find Buffy?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Giles said wearily. “I was wondering, Mr. Macias Ruiz –”
“Please, Arturo.”
“Arturo…I was wondering if you might have some idea where she might go in Phoenix. Where she might be living.”
“Depends,” Macias Ruiz said thoughtfully. “How much money does she have? What kind of background’s she from? Does she have friends or family here?”
“She’s upper middle class,” Giles said. “She might have…oh, about a hundred dollars on her. No credit card. I don’t think she has any friends or relatives here. She’s responsible and hardworking. She was a good student.”
“Then she’s probably in the TANF program or already renting on her own. The welfare laws are really strict in Arizona and if she can work she wouldn’t qualify for public assistance except for maybe a really short time.”
“Not if she could help it,” Giles said. “She’d get a job, doing anything as long as it paid. She hates charity.”
“Renting, I’ll bet, then. I can tell you where the most likely places are, and you could go to the welfare office and see if she’s in the system…”
After about a two-hour nap, Giles went out later that morning and spent another hour stalking back and forth in front of the welfare office waiting for it to open. They were initially reluctant to tell him anything, since Giles could not establish that he was a relative of hers or that he had any legitimate right to her whereabouts.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Giles, but you have to understand that we can’t just give out that kind of information to any random person who walks up,” the women at the desk said.”I know, I know,” Giles said with a sigh. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes under his glasses. “I know it sounds absurd, but I’m probably the closest thing she has to a father. Her parents are divorced and I’m…well, I’m the librarian at her high school.” He exhaled frustratedly. “I’ve been looking for her for over a month. Her mother’s out of her mind with worry but can’t leave because she has to work, so I’ve been searching for Buffy during my summer holiday. Please, Miss, can you tell me
anything, give me some idea where to look?” The clerk looked at him for a moment, clearly uncertain.”You got a driver’s license?” the clerk asked finally.
“Yes,” he said, fumbling for his wallet. He showed her his California license and she looked at it for a moment.
“Where the heck is Sunnydale?” she murmured.
“Out in the middle of bloody nowhere,” Giles muttered. “On the coast south of Los Angeles.” The clerk pushed the driver’s license back across the counter to him and turned to her computer.
“Just a second.” The clerk typed quickly. “How do you spell her name?” A jolt of hope shocked Giles out of his depression and he obliged quickly. “Age?”
“Seventeen.”
“This her?” the clerk asked, turning the computer monitor slightly so Giles could lean over the counter to see. He let out a surprised breath.
“Yes, my God.” He showed the clerk the picture of Buffy he had in his pocket.
“She’s on record,” the clerk told him in a low voice. “Registered for some living assistance on May twentieth but she went off of it a week later. Computer says she got a job here in Phoenix. That’s all I can tell you if I don’t want to get fired.” She sounded apologetic, but Giles laughed with relief.
“Thank you,” he said, reaching over to clasp her hand. “At least I know she’s here. Thank you, Miss.”
“Good luck.”
He went to the planned housing apartments that Macias Ruiz had suggested. They were plain and abused; stark, rectangular structures with a dormitory look to them, but they seemed in functional repair. They were closed buildings, and he couldn’t get inside without a key, so he stood at the entrance of each one, reading the intercom buttons to see if her name was on any of them, or perhaps a fake name that might be hers. A handful looked plausible, and out of sheer desperation he tried them, but no luck.The afternoon went by in a numb haze, and Giles finally returned to the motel to eat and get some much-needed sleep, his blood burning but his heart empty.
The vampire Soryung joined his two friends at the end of Camelback Road.”So you saw him again?” he asked. The shorter of his two companions, Ember, nodded slightly as the three of them began walking.”Over on Red Elm,” Ember acknowledged. “He marked off the district from Coalmine to Arques and from Portal to Route 10. He’s definitely searching, but last night he didn’t find it, whatever it is.”
“That makes two nights in a row,” Soryung said, “and I can’t find anybody who’s seen him in Phoenix before. There’s easier prey on the streets than a crazy man with a sword, but we need to know what he’s up to.”
“I’m betting he’ll start on the other side of Route 10 tonight,” said Pascal, the third vampire. “What do you think? Near Tungsten?” Soryung nodded.
“If he’s being methodical, I’d say yes. Let’s go.”
The three demons went to Tungsten and after a few minutes of waiting near the bus station, their quarry walked past, easily evading the wash of streetlight that illuminated the side of the brick building.”That’s him,” Ember said. “Still got that damn map.”They followed at a distance carefully, separating so they didn’t look like a group, Pascal jogging quietly across the street to flank the human. The smell of the man’s blood was hot and vital, burning with a sweetness that their normal prey lacked. This mortal was brave and fierce, not like the bums and young kids and the hustlers.
Suddenly the man’s body language shifted, and he paused on the sidewalk with his hand on the hilt of the sword he carried. Soryung froze, Ember nearly running into him from behind. The two vampires instinctively pressed up against the side of the nearest building. The mortal hesitated but didn’t quite turn around, an inch of gleaming blade showing where he had almost drawn the weapon. Then he relaxed, slowly, and let go of the sword to begin moving again, wary but distracted. Soryung let out a slow breath.
“What?” Ember asked him anxiously. Soryung was almost three hundred years old. He didn’t scare easily. Pascal was coming toward them from across the street, glancing in the human’s direction but he wasn’t seen.
“He’s a Watcher,” Soryung said. “I smelled it when he stopped — he sensed us. He isn’t a crazy man. He knows how to use that sword.”
“There must be a new Slayer,” Ember said, frowning. “He’s answering a Calling. That’s why he’s here. A new Slayer’s been activated here in Phoenix.”
“Looks like it,” Soryung agreed.
“Why’s he looking for her at night?” Pascal asked.
“Because, you moron,” Ember said, “we only come out at night and therefore so does the Slayer.”
“Oh.”
“If he’s only just now answering the Calling,” Soryung said, “then the Slayer’s just born. She’s weak. If we follow him, he’ll find her eventually and we can kill her while she’s vulnerable. It’s an opportunity not to be missed, and I’ve always heard that Slayer’s blood is the sweetest.”
It was on the fourth night that Giles was walking the next part of his map, when he realized that he had been walking in one direction for several minutes instead of following the map’s course. He paused under a streetlight to read, looking around, and discovered he was almost a half mile from where he should have been.A wave of heat passed through him, as if a hand had closed around the inside of his belly, and he leaned against the lightpost for a moment to catch his breath. It was the Calling, pulling him. That was why he was going this way! She was close! He closed his eyes, trying to quiet himself for a moment to consciously find that summons that had tugged at him subliminally for the past few minutes. He found it — a source of heat and strength and confusion so clear that he could easily have pointed in the direction where she was. His Slayer was hurting, too, her own pain weighing on her terribly. He swallowed hard and set off down the street at a run, following the pull on his soul.
It was Friday, and Buffy was walking home from her waitressing job, unconcerned about her physical safety but feeling sad and lonely as she had every night since she’d arrived in Phoenix. Her heart still ached for Angel and she didn’t know if she would ever get over that gaping wound. She missed her friends and her mom. She missed Giles. Her gut clenched when she thought of her Watcher. How would he have felt if she’d tried to explain to him how much she missed Angel, the person who’d tortured him and killed someone he loved? She wouldn’t ask him to be that understanding. She couldn’t. She’d seen his eyes the night she’d rescued him from the fire in the factory and he’d wept in her arms for Jenny and for his failed revenge.”Buffy?”She whirled around at the voice, the sound of it ragged with hope and anguish. She knew the voice anywhere, in spite of its quietness in the night. Her Watcher looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept or shaved in a couple of days, wearing a dark buttoned shirt and black dockers, leaning with one hand against a mailbox.
“Giles, oh my God,” she said.
“Buffy, oh thank God,” he said, moving toward her. He couldn’t stop himself from taking her in his arms fiercely, quickly. “Thank God I found you.” He let her go again before she could reply, holding her face in his hands. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, her throat tight. “Yeah, I’m okay, Giles. I missed you so much.” She hugged him again, not letting go for a long time, and he held her, feeling the Calling ease to a soft hum as she put her arms around him. Her touch was like fire, engulfing him in relief, and he sighed heavily.
“Oh God, I missed you, too,” he whispered.
She felt something hard down his back — a sword in a scabbard, she realized after a moment. She wondered about it briefly, but the sound of Giles’ heart against her cheek quieted her. He smelled good, warm and male, like hotel soap and the Phoenix streets, and a faint scent of leather from the sword’s strap across his chest. His embrace was desperate and close, his breath quick and shallow in her hair.
Reluctantly he released her and they stood there looking at each other.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“I was summoned,” he said quietly. He was smiling, the joy of being with her again filling the emptiness of the past weeks. “I had a dream, about the desert, and a firebird. Phoenix. When I woke I felt you Calling to me, like the summons I felt that brought me to you in California when Merrick died.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Just out of the blue like that?”
“I’ve been looking for you since you left,” he said, “tracking mystical activity, traveling to cities where I thought you might be. It wasn’t until four nights ago that I had the dream.” She had looked away from him uneasily, as if listening to something. “What is it?”
“Vampires,” she sighed. “Jeez, don’t they ever take a break?”
“The Slayer goes where she is needed,” Giles said. “Always.” He reached back behind his shoulder and drew the sword that Buffy had felt when she’d hugged him.
“Why’d you bring that?” she asked quietly as she felt the vampires getting closer.
“Because I am your Watcher,” he said, his eyes flickering in the darkness. She watched in horror and fascination as he turned up the sleeve of his dark shirt and put the edge of the blade against his skin.
“Giles, what are you doing?” she hissed, shocked. The sword cut into him, a quick slash on the back of his forearm, and he grunted against the pain as blood spilled darkly onto the sidewalk.
“The legends say that when a Watcher is Called to his Slayer in danger, and can fight to protect her, his blood becomes a poison to the demons,” Giles said in a low, strained voice. He bathed the blade in his blood, coating the metal until it, too, was dark and wet. “Let’s see if the legends are true.”
The vampires materialized out of the darkness around them, silent as cats. There were five, more than usual.
“We don’t allow your kind in this town,” one of them said sarcastically, making no effort to disguise his predator’s face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clearly more experienced than the others by the easy confidence in his movements.
“She’s the Slayer,” Giles said.
“We know,” the leader said. “Why do you think we followed you?”
“You may wish to think twice,” Giles growled, in a voice Buffy had never heard from him. “I’m her Watcher and you can’t have her.” He showed them the scarlet blade with his blood on it. One of the other vampires laughed.
“Folk tales,” the demon said.
“Care to find out for sure?” Giles snarled and lunged at him. The vampire dodged, since the attack was obviously intended to merely pierce rather than decapitate him. The blade slashed his shoulder, the Watcher’s blood mingling with his, and his mouth opened in shock before he turned to dust and collapsed. Buffy, equally surprised, almost got cuffed by another vampire before she recovered and kicked him in the chest.
Giles fought like a madman, finishing the enemies Buffy tossed in his direction with sweeping arcs of the blood-poisoned blade. The sword flashed, cleanly separating a head from a neck, or slicing an inch into a stomach with equal lethality. Her Watcher was not particularly discriminating in choosing a part of the body to attack. She slammed the leader against the wall and he had about a second to contemplate the Watcher’s burning eyes before the sword cleaved his head in half horizontally and gouged the brick wall with a clash. Giles swung around to face his Slayer, but there were no more demons, and they both stood there breathing hard for a minute or two before Giles sheathed his sword and leaned heavily against the building.
“We should get out of here before we attract any more attention,” Buffy said, “and you’re hurt.” Giles followed her gaze to his shoulder, where one of the vampires had slashed him with razor nails. That and the cut on his forearm ached dully. “My place is close, come on.”
The apartment was a tiny studio, with just one room and a small kitchen and bath. It was clean, however, and Buffy turned on the lights to reveal a plainly decorated bed with yellow and white sheets.”Sit down before you fall down,” she said, pushing on Giles’ shoulders to make him sit in the secondhand easy chair by the foot of the bed. She slipped the sword from over his shoulder as he sat down with an exhausted sigh, and Buffy went to open the window to let in the cooler night air. There was no air conditioner; a big, square floor fan was the only circulation, and she turned it on low. “Take your shirt off and let me get some stuff to patch you up.”She came back to find him hesitating at the buttons of his shirt. “What?” she said, both hands full of first aid stuff. “You’re not going to get all bashful on me, are you? You’re already Sleepy and Grumpy.”
“Yes, well, pardon me for having some semblance of modesty,” he muttered uneasily.
“You’re bleeding,” she said in a more serious tone, and dragged another chair over next to him to sit down. “Come on, get that shirt off. Do the stiff upper lip thing if you have to.” He sighed faintly and obeyed her by unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way.
“I suppose that’s what I get for trying to rescue you,” he said as she helped him get the shirt down his injured arm. Aside from the self-inflicted cut on his forearm, he’d been slashed up near the shoulder, four gouges in his flesh still bleeding slowly. Buffy made a sympathetic face as she got a good look at it.
“Doesn’t look too bad but I bet it hurts like a mother.” She started cleaning it with a washcloth from the bathroom and Giles tensed. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said after letting his breath out. “I’ve had worse.” He had the ruined shirt in his lap and examined the rips the vampire had made in it, now stained with his blood. There was a long silence, neither one of them wanting to give voice to the emotions that howled in the void between them. “This was one of my favorite shirts.”
“How do you think I feel half the time?” she said with a hollow laugh. “Wet Seal ain’t cheap, you know.” She had a bottle of alcohol and was soaking another washcloth in it. “Okay, now this part’s gonna hurt.”
“Nrrggh!” he protested through clenched teeth as she rubbed the wound to disinfect it, his hand clenching into the chair’s padded arm. He swore luridly in a foreign language.
“Hey, watch it, potty mouth,” she said. “I have delicate ears.”
“Like hell you do,” he replied, grimacing. “And you didn’t understand any of that, anyway.”
“I understand enough to know you weren’t asking for directions to the American Embassy,” she said wryly. He gave a half-shrug and rubbed at his eyes sheepishly. Buffy smiled. “Such a gentleman.” She spread some ointment into the gashes. “Nice pecs.”
“Um, thank you. Comes from having to throw you around all the time.” She chuckled. “We need to get you home,” Giles said. She glanced up at him, then returned to taping the first wound. More silence. A cold chill spread up from his belly. “Or do you not want to?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I want to,” she said, still not looking at him. “But I didn’t come all the way out here just because I was throwing a hissie.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so just watched her for a few moments, studying the way the muscles in her face made her look so much older when she was angry.
“I know,” he said finally, “and I didn’t come all the way out here just to be told where to get off.” She glanced up at him for a few seconds and finally decided that was his English way of announcing that he was ticked off by the way she had treated him.
“I just needed some time to myself,” she said, dropping her gaze again. “To figure things out. Figure out what I’m doing and where all this is going. I didn’t want to burden you with any of it…not after what Angelus did…”
Giles turned in the chair to take her face in both hands gently, making her look at him.
“Buffy, I am your Watcher first and foremost,” he said with quiet intensity. “That comes before everything else in my life. Everything. Of course I’m grieving for Jenny, and I’m angry because of what Angelus did to me, but the truth at the core of my soul is that nothing hurts as much as you leaving me like you did. Nothing hurts like knowing you’d rather be without me than tell me about your own pain. When I’d discovered you’d run away, you might as well have cut my heart out with a knife.” He brushed her hair back softly, the touch gentle in spite of the bitterness in his voice. She looked down at her hands, toying with the roll of first aid tape. “I had hoped you would feel a similar obligation toward me,” he murmured. “The bond is theoretically mutual in that respect as well as in others, but I keep forgetting that you’re relatively new to your destiny as the Slayer, in spite of your exceptional ability. I think I was expecting too much.”
“Not that you ever told me what you expected,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended, and raised her glittering eyes to his. “We’ve never talked about it — the Watcher-Slayer bond. You’ve explained it a little…let me read some of the Watcher Diaries, but we’ve never talked about us. You and me.” They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Buffy turned away to get up, holding one of the washcloths. “Lemme wash this out so I can clean that cut on your arm,” she muttered. She came back holding a glass of water like an awkward peace offering. “Bet you’re thirsty. It’s been a three-digit bakefest here all week. I keep expecting to see a big sandworm crawl out of the sewer.”
“Thank you,” he said gratefully, drinking down half the glass at once. She sat down to tend to his other wound, wiping away blood that had run down to his hand.
“That was freaky what you did back there,” she said after another uncomfortable span of heartbeats. “You didn’t even have to chop their heads off. Just your blood was enough to kill them. Have you always been able to do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The legends suggest that it’s closely tied to the Watcher’s bond with his Slayer, but other than that, I can only guess.” He winced again as she cleaned out his wound with alcohol, muscles in his chest and shoulders flexing.
“Can I ask you something?” she ventured.
“Always.”
“Why didn’t you have this removed?” She traced the black tattoo on the inside of his forearm; the Mark of Eyghon. She’d known he must have one, but had never seen it. He flinched at the light, almost ticklish stroke of her finger on his skin. “It wouldn’t matter now, would it? Now that Eyghon’s destroyed?”
“No, now that he’s gone, it doesn’t really matter,” Giles agreed, not meeting her eyes. He paused. “I wanted to remind myself of who I used to be. The mistakes I had made and the consequences of them. It should not be forgotten. Every day I am reminded, not just of the past, but of the future to which I have committed myself.” Buffy nodded in understanding, but said nothing for a few more moments.
“You think this needs to be taped shut?” she wondered, checking the depth of the cut. He pulled lightly at the edges of it.
“Maybe,” he said. “Do you have closures for that?”
“Yeah,” she said, producing three of them. She dabbed ointment into the wound and then closed the edges together with the tape. “Next time you want to poison some vamps, don’t cut yourself so deep.” He nodded wearily.
“My mind was on other things at the time,” he sighed. She finished covering the cut with a gauze pad. Wide, waterproof tape held it in place on his skin.
“That’s gonna feel good when you rip it off,” she observed wryly, noting the tawny hair on his arm. She was quiet for a much longer moment after she finished.
“What is it?” he asked, turning a little in the chair.
“Just thinking that you got hurt like this because of me,” she said.
“I take such wounds gladly,” he said seriously, and their eyes met again.
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you, um, staying in a hotel around here?” she asked, looking away to gather up the remains of the first aid supplies.
“A couple of miles away,” he acknowledged. “My car’s not very close but we could walk back to it. The room’s air conditioned and you might rather stay there with me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she said, going back into the bathroom to put things away. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’re injured and exhausted. You’re staying here. The bed’s big enough for both of us.” She came back out into the main room.
“Buffy…”
“Don’t ‘Buffy’ me, Giles,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Now get in bed. I’m gonna go change.” She took clothes out of the dresser and went into the bathroom, shutting the door to leave him sitting in the chair, chastised.
His shirt was obviously not wearable, soaked in blood. He sighed and leaned over to take off his shoes. It was a warm night, and he would have loved to sleep nude, but circumstances forbade that. He left his shoes and socks and belt on the floor and turned on the bedside lamp before deadbolting the front door and turning off the main light. He climbed into bed wearing only his trousers, and was in the process of taking off his watch when Buffy came out of the bathroom.
“Ta da,” she said, wearing a very long, oversized shirt, which presumably hid underwear. He tried not to stare, unaccustomed to seeing her like this, which on reflection was strange since he’d seen her wearing considerably less in public at school. She was very beautiful. He’d always been aware of that, but had pushed it into the back of his mind because it was not appropriate.
She came over to get in bed on the other side, and her sudden proximity made him nervous. As she got under the sheets, he climbed out, unaware of her mildly bemused gaze.
“I really should call your mother,” he said, walking toward the kitchen divider where the phone was. “Let her know you’re all right.”
“Giles, it’s the middle of the night,” Buffy said. Giles turned to give her an odd look, and it suddenly slammed home for the first time how deeply she had affected the lives of the people around her.
“She would want to know,” Giles told her quietly. Buffy nodded, feeling ashamed.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Joyce Summers jerked awake when the phone rang, and she rolled over in bed to grope around on the nightstand for the handset.”Hello?” she said sleepily.
“Ms. Summers? It’s Rupert Giles. I found Buffy.”
Joyce sat straight up in bed, wide awake now.
“You found her?’ she gasped. “Where? Where are you?”
“Phoenix, Arizona,” he said tiredly.
“God, is she all right?”
“Yes. Yes, she’s fine. I’m going to bring her home. We’ll be back in Sunnydale as soon as we can. I think she needs to straighten out a few things here first — her job and her lease and whatnot. It may be a day or two.”
“Oh, thank God. Do you need any help? Can I come get you or anything? Do you need money?”
“No, I can handle it. I flew out of Los Angeles so I’ve left my car there. We’ll fly back that way and drive home. Don’t worry, Joyce. I’ll take care of her.”
“All right,” she said, feeling hot tears spill over onto her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Giles. Thank you so much.”
“It’s the very least I could do,” he said gently, and she heard the promise of a much deeper explanation imminent when he returned. “Goodnight.”
Buffy had watched him during the conversation, but only half-listened to his words as he talked to her mother. There was something riveting about him standing there shirtless with one hand in his trouser pocket. She had evaluated his body instinctively once upon a time, but had not given a great deal of thought to it after that. Now, she couldn’t ignore it. The bulge of his biceps started a beautiful line down his arm to his wrist, and as he turned half-away from her, the definition of muscle across his shoulder blade and back made her exhale slowly in surprise. He was not overly muscular or athletic, but the pure maleness of him was unavoidable, stripped of the clothes and polite distance that had prevented her from considering him on a primal level.She realized he had hung up the phone and was looking at her.”So,” she said. “My mom’s okay?” Giles nodded as he came back to the bed.
“She’ll expect us home whenever we can get things settled for you here and you’re ready to leave,” he answered, getting back under the thin covers. He reached out to set his glasses on the night table and then switched the light off. “I told her it might be a day or two. We can always call again if we need to.”
“Yeah.”
He stretched out on his back as Buffy flopped onto her stomach with the sheet half off of her. The floor fan by the bed made a low thrumming sound, stirring a tepid breeze in the room that was still better than the still heat outside in the night. Giles tried to tune out the dull throbbing of his wounds and slipped into a doze relatively quickly. It had been much too long since he’d been at peace knowing Buffy was safe.
He was roused by the shift of the mattress as Buffy rolled over to face him again. She snuggled up next to him in the bed, resting her head on his shoulder and her arm across his bare chest. He tensed, but didn’t move to get up.
“Is it okay?” she whispered hesitantly. Giles relaxed, curling his arm around her shoulders.
“Of course,” he said gently. His skin was hot, smelling faintly of clean sweat and something indefinably personal to him, the scent she always associated with his presence. “Just try to get some sleep. I’ll be here.”
He was lying there thinking about what they were doing, this so-far-reversible closeness. Her fingers were idly tracing patterns in the hair on his chest, so softly she was probably not aware of doing it. The Calling had stopped, but in its place the Watcher-Slayer bond crooned low to him, telling him that this intimacy was good. It was a dangerous, seductive thing, far away from Sunnydale in this strange city, with only the two of them. But she felt so good against him, as if neither of them belonged anywhere else but with each other.
“What’s it feel like?” she asked quietly after a few minutes. “The Calling.” He didn’t answer for a long moment, and she wasn’t sure if he were awake.
“It’s like…a burning ember in your belly,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Like an invisible thread connecting the Watcher and Slayer that tugs at certain moments. Sometimes it’s easy to bear…when you’re doing what you’re supposed to…moving in the right direction to answer the summons. Other times it’s like being gutted with a jagged blade, demanding, screaming at you to obey.”
“To go wherever I am, you mean,” Buffy said softly. She felt him shudder against her body.
“Yes.”
“What about now?” she wondered. “Has it stopped now that you’ve found me?”
“Yes,” he replied in the darkness. “It’s gone now. Now I just feel…the bond I usually feel between us.”
“How am I supposed to feel on my end? How’s the Slayer supposed to feel the bond?”
“It’s not my place to say,” Giles said. “The bond…is. One can’t say what it’s supposed to be, not really.”
“I missed you so much,” she whispered, hugging him a little. “More than I thought I would. I didn’t have anybody to talk to. I mean…I can talk to Will, she’s my best friend. But it’s hard to talk to her about Slayer stuff. She doesn’t really understand. She can’t give me advice about some things. And…and I just missed you…”
“Shh,” Giles whispered, holding her with one arm. “I won’t leave. I’ll never leave you as long as I’m alive. That’s why I’m here, Buffy.”
“What’s it like for you, Giles?” she asked. “What’s the Watcher’s bond like? Please tell me.”
“If you Call me, I will come to you,” he said gently, gravely. “If you tell me, I will do. If you need me, I will give everything. My life and my death are yours, Buffy.” The words would never have been uttered in the daylight, in Sunnydale, but once spoken they brought no regret. “That isn’t just the oath I swore when I became a Watcher, but one that comes from my desire to be your Watcher. You’ve earned that commitment from me and I will fulfill it or die trying.”
“God,” she said. “Oh God, Giles. My resume’s not looking too good right now.” He grunted softly, amused.
“Don’t feel like you should be doing something,” he said. “Other than not running away, of course.” Buffy sighed, knowing she’d walked into that. “I’m here to teach you and guard you. I don’t expect you to know everything already. If you did you wouldn’t need me.”
“Oh, way to make me feel inadequate,” she said.
“You’ve done a great deal for me,” Giles said. “You’ve saved my life more than once. You’ve respected me as a person and shown compassion for a stuffy old Watcher.”
“Except for that part where I ran away from you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Giles, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking about anybody but myself. I’m not the only person who has problems and bad stuff happen to them.”
“You learned from this experience, though, didn’t you?” he said. “Beyond the obvious that running away from problems doesn’t make them go away.”
“Yeah. I…I told you a few months ago that I can’t do this alone…that I needed you and I didn’t want you to leave. You scared me so much…when we went to your house and figured out where you’d gone, all I could see was Angelus killing you. I was angry at you for doing that…for putting yourself at risk like that and going off without telling me. Then I turn around and do the same thing to you. I knew I wasn’t in any danger…but you didn’t. For all you knew I could be dead, or worse. That wasn’t just selfish of me…it was cruel. Giles, I swear, I’ll never do anything like this again. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t, luv. If I thought that, I wouldn’t have remained as your Watcher all this time. Now go to sleep. We have things to do in the morning.”
Buffy was alone in the bed when she awoke, which was normal so her subconscious didn’t make an issue out of it immediately. She rolled over and let out a low sigh, stretching. She’d kicked off the sheet in the night, and it was already starting to warm up in the apartment. Fortunately her window faced south, and the morning sun wasn’t too bad. The fan was still on by the bedside on the floor. Then she smelled coffee, and remembered what had happened last night, and who had slept with her.”Smells good,” she mumbled.”Would you like some?” came the low reply. She opened her eyes to see Giles standing in the shadow by the window, watching her and sipping from one of her dark blue mugs. He looked oddly roguish wearing nothing but his trousers, rough whiskers on his face. It was a bizarre contrast to his personality and the way she was used to seeing him.
“Not yet,” she said, sitting up and yawning. “Thanks.”
“Good morning, by the way,” he said wryly. “I hope you slept well.”
“Yep. Loglike. How ’bout you?”
“Fairly well, considering,” he said. He didn’t elaborate, and she presumed he meant the heat and his wounds and the fact that he’d been uncomfortably dressed. “Are you expected at work this morning?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “I do work Saturdays sometimes, but not this week.”
“In that case, we’re not in any hurry to resolve things here in Phoenix,” Giles said. “You need to notify your employer that you’re leaving, and your landlord, but those are not terribly urgent. What do you want to do about all your furniture and possessions?” Buffy let out a noncommittal breath as she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
“I dunno,” she said. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t want to take it with me, and it’s not worth selling, even if we had the time. Wonder if the landlord would let me just leave it furnished and we could drop off the rest at the Salvation Army?”
“That sounds like a reasonable idea, if your landlord can be persuaded,” Giles agreed, responding since she seemed at ease talking through the bathroom door. “Right now I’d like for us to move to my motel room. It’s much more comfortable in this heat and I want to shower and shave and get some decent clothes on so I’ll feel at least marginally civilized. Um, I don’t suppose you have a shirt I could wear out in public until we get there?” The toilet flushed and Buffy came out, heading for the dresser.
“Hmm, think so. I’ve got a couple of T-shirts that might fit.” She rummaged around for a moment, then fished out a white shirt with a small Nike swoosh on it. She tossed it to Giles, who put his coffee down. The shirt fit surprisingly well.
“I suppose this would be my opportunity to actually be thankful for your generation’s penchant for wearing clothes that are too big,” Giles said dryly, tucking the hem into his trousers. “Pack up what you need to stay over for a couple of days and let’s get out of here. You can shower at the motel and I want to get to the car before the day heats up much more.”
“Roger that,” she said amiably and grabbed her backpack to begin stuffing clothes into it. “We need to check your wounds, and I want to get some lunch after that. I’m totally in the mood for some chicken nachos.”
It was a measure of Giles’ pleasure in her company and his meager diet over the last few days that her suggestion actually sounded appetizing. He smiled to himself, watching her pack, knowing he wasn’t going to get a decent cup of tea in this city, but not caring because it felt so good to be with Buffy again.
She had gone into the bathroom, paused, then just swept everything into a little zippered bag and tossed it into the backpack. Then, standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, she tried to think of what else she might need.
“Well, I guess that’s enough,” she said. “Lemme change and we’ll bail.”
“I don’t see how people can think this is an appropriate climate in which to build a city,” Giles said as they got back to the motel and climbed out of the car. The dry inferno outside assaulted them again as they walked across the shimmering parking lot in the baking sun, which was already threatening another three-digit day.”This from the man whose country of origin invented Spam,” Buffy replied as Giles opened the motel room door and they both went in quickly, savoring the cool shade. Giles put his sword against the wall, gesturing toward Buffy.”You can put that down anywhere,” he said, and she dropped the backpack into a chair. He switched the air conditioning back on and noted that the maid had tidied up the room and remade the bed. “I’m going to bathe,” he announced, retrieving fresh clothes from his own bag on the floor. He put his wallet and keys on the table. “Feel free to take some money if you want to go buy today’s newspaper or something out of the vending machines.”
“Thanks,” she said, faintly surprised by this generosity. “I’ll probably just watch TV. Cartoons, you know.” She smiled at his resigned expression and plopped down on the bed with the remote control as Giles disappeared into the bathroom.
A tepid shower was, at that moment, the most delicious thing Giles had ever experienced. He stood motionless in the spray, hands on the wall, savoring the coolness and hedonism of being naked in the water. His stomach growled as he began to wash himself, and he tried to remember the last time he’d had a decent meal.
He’d peeled the bandages off carefully — wincing as some hair came with it — and inspected the slashes on his deltoid and the cut on his forearm. Both wounds were healing well. He washed them thoroughly but gently, and was careful to keep them out of the direct spray.
He was humming aimlessly by the time he got out and was drying himself off. He laughed quietly on realizing it was “Tales From the Vienna Woods.” He was happy, actually looking forward to the day in a way he hadn’t in many weeks. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than venturing out into the 108-degree heat to have lunch with his Slayer.
He would have preferred to be fully dressed before coming out of the bathroom, but his wounds were located in a highly inconvenient place. He was wearing trousers but holding his clean shirt in front of him uneasily when he emerged. Buffy glanced over at him.
“Hey,” she said. “Feel better?” She tried not to stare at him, at the strength suggested by his broad shoulders and the soft line of muscles across his stomach.
“Yes, thank you,” he said shyly. “Um, would you mind, uh…” He gestured, and Buffy’s eyes lit up with comprehension. She leaned over the foot of the bed to get out the first aid stuff she’d brought with her from her apartment. “It’s quite awkward for me to tend to it myself — ”
“Giles, it’s cool,” Buffy said with an amused smile. She waved him over. “Sit. Stay.” Giles obliged gratefully, still shy. It was so cute, Buffy thought. “Wow, these healed a lot since last night,” she said in surprise as she took a good look at his wounds. They were raw-looking, but already closed. “Do Watchers have some kind of special healing powers? It never seemed like you did before.” She dabbed antibiotic ointment into the slashes first as Giles glanced at her.
“Not usually, no,” he admitted. “I was rather surprised, too, when I saw them in the bathroom. Some of the Watcher Chronicles mention the possibility of the Watcher-Slayer bond giving rise to some special abilities for the Watcher, advanced healing among them. It’s typically only seen when the bond is a strong one, or is under duress. I think both are true in this instance.” Buffy nodded ruefully.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“I’m content to leave till later the conversation about who’s at fault,” he said quietly, and she was silent for a little while, cleaning the sword cut on his arm.
“I called my boss at work and told him I was quitting,” Buffy said at last. “He wants me to come in sometime today and sign some tax stuff. I called my landlord, too. He said pretty much the same thing. Oh, and he’ll let me leave the big furniture if I forfeit my security deposit. I told him that was cool.”
“Well, that sounds like it worked out fairly well. Was your boss angry that you’re quitting on such short notice?”
“I don’t think so. Jamie and Kelly can pick up the slack until he hires somebody else. No biggie. There. All done.” She’d bandaged the wounds more lightly this time, not even needing to tape the sword cut.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. He gestured toward the bathroom. “Your turn.” Buffy bounced to her feet.
“Thanks.” She gathered up a pile of clothes and sundries she’d already assembled and strode into the bathroom and shut the door.
When Buffy came out, she found Giles sitting in a chair at the table reading a newspaper. He looked up and she saw that he’d put his shirt on and shaved. He looked once more like the Watcher she knew, and the sight of it was calming to her. She’d had to do everything for herself since coming here in May. She’d had no one to depend on, no one to talk to or go to for help. She had never realized how much she had depended on Giles to be there for her…and how much he also depended on her.
“Anything going on in the world today?” she asked as she leaned over to brush her hair out.
“The stock market’s up, murder rate’s down, and Newt Gingrich’s sister is a lesbian,” Giles said deadpan.
“Old news about Candace,” Buffy said. “Everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t.”
The sun was an even greater force to be reckoned with here than where they lived in California, and Giles saw as Buffy stood bent over, brushing her hair, that she had a considerable tan. She was wearing a white tank top over pale jeans, and when she straightened to tie her hair back, their eyes met.
“What?” she said, tossing the hairbrush onto the bed so she could use both hands to fix her hair.
“Where do you want to eat lunch?” he asked, unable to give any explanation for why he was watching her so intently. “You said you wanted chicken nachos, and you’re more familiar with Phoenix than I am.”
“Hmm. Well, there’s El Torito,” she said. “They’re pretty good. Or Chevy’s. And there’s always Taco Bell.” She smiled at the expression of distaste that crossed Giles’ face, and sat on the bed to put her shoes on.
“I’d sooner eat at a pig’s trough,” her Watcher said with disdain. “Either of the other places you mentioned is fine with me.”
“Mariachi band it is, then.”
They went to El Torito, which on Saturday at lunchtime was packed. They had to wait almost a half hour to get seated, the waiter got their order mixed up with someone else’s, and the moment Buffy got up from her chair to leave, the power went out.”Brownout,” Buffy sighed as the restaurant was filled with the sounds of people groaning in dismay. “At least it waited until we were done.”"And at least you got your chicken nachos,” Giles said as they left the restaurant. Buffy grinned.
“Musta done something right for a change. Cashing in some of my stored up good karma.”
They drove to the diner where Buffy worked, and Giles waited in the car while she finished her business there. A half hour later, she and her landlord hashed out which furniture would remain in the apartment and what would not.
So, they located a Salvation Army, and went back to Buffy’s apartment to methodically box up the things she wanted to get rid of, which was nearly everything except some of her clothes and the remainder of a box of cookies and two cans of soda. The rest of the food went into the dumpster. They had to make several trips since Giles’ rental car would only take so much at a time, and they spent the rest of the afternoon in the heat cleaning out the apartment.
“Jeez, Giles, couldn’t the Calling have told you to rent a minivan?” Buffy said as they began the third trip down to the car, both of them pausing to take long drinks from the bottled water that she had insisted they buy before getting started. He understood now why it was necessary.
Finally nothing was left but the stripped bed, dresser, chair and the night table. The aging, avocado-green refrigerator had come with the apartment, so it, too, remained. Buffy went back to the landlord’s office and gave him back her keys and signed an early forfeiture agreement for her lease.
“It’s weird to leave it like that,” she said as they went down the stairs and out of the building. Giles ran his hand back through his hair. They were both sweating from the weather and the exertion. “It just looked so…empty.”
“Is that how you feel? Empty?” Giles asked as they got in the car for a final time. Buffy made a rueful noise.
“I guess it’s just hard to admit I made a mistake,” she said. Giles smiled gently but said nothing, and they drove back to the motel.
“God, I need another shower,” Buffy said as they took refuge in the haven of the cool motel room. “I can’t wait to go back to Sunnydale where it’s
cooler.”"I second the motion,” Giles said tiredly, flopping down into a chair in front of the air conditioner and reaching for an unread section of the newspaper that the maid had left neatly stacked. Giles turned the TV on and began channel surfing, having no idea what the schedule was currently like in Phoenix. His subconscious mind had long since tuned out the thought of Buffy naked in the shower.Neither of them ever mentioned the possibility of getting another room with two beds. It would have been simple to arrange and the cost would have been negligible. But it never came up between them, and Giles simply accepted the fact that she would sleep in the same bed with him, and she seemed to expect it. In some sense it was a desire for the closeness. He’d felt desperately incomplete without her, his purpose in life stolen from him by her selfishness and confusion. Yet, from her reaction to his arrival in Phoenix, she obviously felt something similar although had not understood what it was. She didn’t exist to serve him the way he did her, but the bond had a certain reciprocity inherent in it. It was a bond of trust and love, and what she gained from him wasn’t just training and knowledge, but solace and sanity.
Buffy found the TV tuned to the Weather Channel when she came out in fresh clothes and her hair damp again.
“Ooh,” she said. “Satellite radar. Riveting.” Giles, who was actually engrossed in reading the paper, looked over at her with his best ‘don’t start with me’ look, and Buffy giggled. Giles folded the paper loosely on the table and got up, eager to get out of his own clothes and into the shower, preferably warm this time.
“There’s a peculiar film on channel five with what I believe is a very young Mel Gibson and a horde of thugs in stock cars rampaging across the desert, if you’re interested,” Giles offered.
“Road Warrior?” Buffy said, stealing the remote control. “I’m all over that.” She grabbed the box of cookies they had rescued from her apartment, and Giles smiled to himself as he went into the bathroom.
“I have an idea.”Buffy glanced at Giles in surprise, hearing a pleasure and lightness in his voice that had been absent until now. He was wearing a white buttoned shirt and charcoal dockers, and she couldn’t help staring at him this time as he put his glasses back on and ran one hand back through his damp, unruly hair. He was, bluntly, beautiful.”Ideas always get me in trouble,” she joked gamely. “So, what’s yours?”
“Why don’t we go out? You know, celebrate a bit. We could go to dinner, go to the movies…”
“Paint the town red, huh?” Buffy chuckled. “Around here that’ll probably only take about two gallons of exterior latex. Not that Sunnydale’s a bitchin’ disco time, either. Actually that sounds pretty cool. I’d love to just do something fun instead of having to worry about going to work on Monday or doing my laundry…or sitting at home thinking about how much I miss you and my mom and the gang.” Her voice quieted a little on the last sentence, and Giles went over to her easily, comfortable with her affection for once in his life.
“Let’s go, then,” he said with a smile. “The night’s on me. Anything you want.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, looking up at him and returning the smile. “What about your wounds, are they — ”
“They’ve healed enough that I was able to tend to it myself,” he said. Buffy knew that it had to have been awkward as hell for him, but suspected he hadn’t wanted to continue to surrender to the immodesty of having her do it for him while he was half-naked. That, too, was sweet.
“Okay,” she said, getting up. “Let’s go find some paint.”
Buffy informed him that the place to go in Phoenix for steak was Durant’s. They called to make a reservation and then drove off in search of it. Buffy surprised him by being a prime rib freak, smothering it with raw horseradish and downing several glasses of water and declaring the whole time how great it was. She even liked the meat rare, telling the waitress, “Just walk the cow through the kitchen and bring it on out here still mooing.” Giles hadn’t been able to suppress a laugh at that, and neither had the waitress.”One day we’ll have to find out if you like steak tartare,” he said after the waitress had left. “Although it’s rather different from a rare steak, since it’s basically raw ground hamburger. Personally I find it disgusting.” He grinned as Buffy made a face.
They went to the first movie theater they stumbled across, stood in front of the marquee for a minute or two, then decided to watch something fluffy and undemanding. This turned out to be the remake of Godzilla with Matthew Broderick.The audience was rowdy, aware of how bad a movie they were watching, and finally Giles was persuaded to join in throwing popcorn at the screen and yelling out catcalls against the lineage of the producer, scriptwriters and other assorted lunatics responsible for the hideous thing.
“My God, that was an awful movie,” Giles said, laughing as they left the theater.
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed readily, also grinning. “Not even cool bad. Just bad bad. Somebody was getting out some kind of major, kinky Freudian issue with that thing.”
“I think they recycled about half of that film from Jurassic Park,” Giles mused.
“You saw Jurassic Park?” Buffy said, eyeing him. “You’ve never struck me as the type of guy to watch movies. You don’t even own a TV.”
“I go to the cinema by myself sometimes,” Giles said. “To do something that isn’t school or Watcher related. I like it, actually. There’s something oddly liberating about watching a film in the dark, anonymously.”
“Now that’s kinky,” Buffy declared with a wry grin. Giles snorted good-naturedly.
They went back to the motel pleasantly sleepy and stuffed.”One thing I can tell you,” Buffy sighed as she sat down to take off her shoes. “I’m going to love sleeping in an air conditioned room tonight. The warm summer night thing has a certain appeal, but it’s not as glamorous as it looks in the movies when Denzel Washington does it. Does it ever get hot like this in England?”"Not like this,” Giles admitted. “It’s a bit farther north than most of the United States, and there’s a lot of high country. It doesn’t rain there all the time, despite rumors. It can be quite lovely in the summer, but a balmy one hundred and twelve degrees in the shade would be rather out of the question.” Buffy laughed.
Giles went into the bathroom so they could both change clothes. They wanted nothing more than to go to bed, and worry about tomorrow when it came. He had asked her at dinner what she wanted to do the next day, and she had cheerfully replied, “Ask me later.”
Buffy was already curled up in bed when Giles came out. She’d left the bedside lamp on for him and turned the AC unit down a little, which was fine with him since he didn’t like it too cool. Feeling much more appropriate in black sweats and a navy T-shirt, Giles slipped under the covers with her and reached for the light.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked after switching the light off and settling on his back with a sigh. Buffy made a soft, amused sound.
“Yeah, I did, Giles. Thanks. You’re a good Watcher.” He chuckled quietly, listening to the sound of her breathing as they both went silent.
The hum of the air conditioner lulled him into a pleasant, sated doze and he yawned gapingly. They were safe together, protecting each other in their own way, comforted knowing the other was at peace.
Giles wasn’t sure what had awakened him, but as he lay there in the half-light from the parking lot outside, he heard a soft sound from Buffy. He rolled onto his side and touched her shoulder, realizing all at once that she was crying.”Buffy?” he said softly. She rolled over and embraced him, pressing her face into his chest and sobbing. “Hey hey, shh,” he said, holding her to him. “It’s all right. I’m here. Shh.” He let her cry, his heart aching, wondering if she had let any of this out before now. It sounded like it would kill her to hold it in any longer, and he pressed his face into her soft hair, wanting to take the pain into himself so she wouldn’t have to bear it.The sobs eased after a minute or two, and Giles stroked her hair slowly, rubbing her back. He let her hold him in silence for a while, then pulled away from her slightly. “Talk to me,” he murmured. “Please.”
Buffy rolled onto her back, wiping her eyes. Giles leaned away for a moment to get the box of tissues from the bedside table, and she accepted them with a choked thank you before drying her eyes and nose. She sniffled a few times, still not speaking for several heartbeats, and Giles waited, gazing down at her from where he had propped himself up on his elbow.
“The restoration spell…” she whispered. “It worked. Just as I was about to kill him, he got his soul back. But he — Angelus — had already taken the sword out of Acathla and the vortex was opening. He was Angel again, but I had to kill him. I had to send him to Hell to close the portal.”
Giles and the others had never known if the spell had worked. It had seemed to do something, but whether the timing was right was a mystery, and Buffy had left before talking to any of them. Angelus had disappeared. Giles had assumed — hoped — that Buffy had destroyed him before he had pulled the sword and awakened Acathla. This truth was more terrible than he could have imagined. He had come to Phoenix with anger and confusion in his heart about why she had run away. Had it been his fault? Was it something he had done or failed to do? Now he started to understand why she had fled Sunnydale, and knew it really had nothing to do with him.
“My God, Buffy,” he said softly, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. Oh, I wish you had come to me, talked to me. I wouldn’t have turned you away.” Buffy’s hand came up to curl around his and he gripped it firmly.
“Willow must feel awful.”
“She’s terrified you’ll blame her for restoring Angel’s soul,” Giles said, hearing how hard it was for Buffy to talk to him about the personal bond between the two of them. A Watcher-Slayer bonding could be so complex, and theirs had depths they had never discussed. “We weren’t sure it had worked, and we were afraid it might work in the wrong way. It seems we were right.”
“It’s not Willow’s fault,” Buffy said in a distant voice. She sighed. “It’s my fault. It’s because I had sex with him in the first place that he lost his soul and did all those terrible things as Angelus. If I’d just avoided him like you warned me to from the first, none of this would have ever happened, and Miss Calendar would still be alive.”
“Buffy, you are not to blame for that,” Giles said softly. “You didn’t know that making love to Angel would cause him to lose his soul again. I don’t think even he knew it, because he would never take a risk like that, knowing what he did about the evils he committed while he was Angelus. If anyone could bear the responsibility for that, it would have been Jenny, and she’s already paid the price for her mistake.” He sounded sad, but angry, too, and Buffy was quiet for a moment.
“You’re mad at her, aren’t you?” she said gently.
“She deceived us about who she was, even after becoming involved in our affairs,” Giles said bitterly. “She kept information from us that would have prevented Angel from losing his soul. She placed you in the position of being the one who caused it and thus burdened you with guilt that was not rightfully yours. I was tortured because of it. She was murdered. But mostly I’m angry that her actions and her secrets destroyed your relationship with Angel and created a rift between you and me. She knew enough to know that a Watcher and his Slayer should not be so separated.”
“And now that she’s dead you can’t even tell her how angry you are,” Buffy mused softly. Giles sighed heavily.
“That’s one of the problems with death. We can never rebuke the dead…or apologize to them.” Buffy was silent, letting Giles stroke her cheek.
“Giles, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Angelus. About Jenny. About…about what he did to you…” She started to cry again and Giles bowed his head to her temple, brushing his lips against her skin and holding her. “I’m sorry…”
“Shh, it’s all right. I don’t blame you.” He kept his mouth pressed to her forehead, holding her and soothing her as she wept. She smelled good, her hair like some kind of island fruit, her skin like warm soap. He hated the distance that kept them apart, the distance that had let her run from him because she feared his anger. He loved her so much sometimes he thought his heart would burst, and as she quieted beneath him now, he brushed her tears away with gentle fingers.
She was looking at him, her eyes flickering in the pale light from outside the window, silently searching his heart and soul with her gaze. He held her eyes, allowing her to see what he was, the grief and the protectiveness he knew was on his face just then. She reached up to touch his jaw, and the distance between them closed forever as he leaned down again to brush his lips against hers.
Her mouth opened, inviting him, needing him, and the kiss deepened quietly as her hand slipped around the back of his neck and he sought her tongue with his own. His hair was soft under her fingers, the smell and taste of him hot and male. A ball of warm lead had suddenly made itself known in the pit of her stomach, and she thought, /Oh my God, what am I doing?/ The thought that followed this immediately after was, /He tastes so good…/
Giles made a low sound in the back of his throat and wrenched himself away from her with a gasp.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered in the darkness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…Christ.” He was out of the bed in the next moment, throwing the covers away to get up and pace across the room.
In another time and place, Buffy might have been more hesitant, but the sight of him leaving the bed brought a sharp stab of panic to her gut and she left the bed like a phantom haunting him. He was standing with both hands tangled in his hair, leaning forward against the wall as if wishing he could rewind the past two minutes. She put her hand on his warm back and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“I didn’t stop you,” she said softly. “It’s okay. It really is.”
“Buffy…” His voice was strained, filled with longing and guilt.
She used her strength to force him to turn around, pushing him up against the wall roughly to make him look at her. For an eternal second neither of them spoke, his brilliant eyes dark in the low light. She closed her hand around the waistband of his sweats, felt and heard him flinch.
“Come back to bed,” she said, and pulled on his pants. He obeyed silently, trembling hard, and she threw him down onto the bed on his back. She climbed in after him, shoving him down when he tried to rise, able to see the desperate, terrified need in his face for an instant.
“Please,” he whispered, and Buffy bent down to kiss him hard, hearing in his plea the heat of something unspoken; forbidden and buried deep inside the part of him that he never looked into. Even she was surprised by the soft whimper he uttered and the ferocity of his response as he welcomed her with his open mouth and embraced her with both arms like a starving man. One of his sleek, graceful hands slid into her hair and then gripped hard, holding her mouth to him savagely. The show of strength tore something loose in Buffy’s consciousness and in the next instant the kiss became brutal. Her tongue dared him to fight back, to show her his passion, and he bit her lip sharply in reply, making her growl. She broke away to lick and kiss down his neck, sucking lightly and then nipping him. She was already straddling him, and now lowered herself to sit directly on his groin. “God,” he purred. “Oh, God…”
“Flatterer,” she said, amused, and devoured his mouth again.
He was tasting sweet, female heat in her mouth, her lust a scent that filled his belly with fire and suddenly made him achingly, completely hard. It was a delicious erection; undemanding but unquestionably ready. Buffy groaned into his mouth, a surprised, amused and eager sound. She must have felt it, his cock hardening under her. His loose sweats would not have disguised it even slightly, and on recognizing the closeness of a woman’s heat, his hips rose involuntarily, seeking entry, making her feel his readiness for her.
“Is that a surface-to-air missile in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Buffy asked as she broke the kiss with a giggle. She saw his answering smile, shy and fleeting, and his hand was still on her neck as she sat up to regard him from a higher perspective above the bed.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Giles sighed, running his hand slowly back through her silken hair.
“Why?” she said, amused. “Because you’re old enough to be my dad?”
“Thank you for reminding me,” he said with resigned sarcasm.
“If you were sixty and I was forty, nobody would think it was weird,” Buffy said. “Older men are always robbing the cradle. I mean, come on, Angel was more than two hundred.”
“Yes, well, this geezer has some morals,” Giles said, still wry. “You’re a minor, for God’s sake. I could go to jail, in California and Arizona.”
“So who has to know? Nobody’s damn business, anyway, if a Slayer and her Watcher want to fool around.”
“This is more than fooling around for me, Buffy,” Giles said softly, stroking her arm. “I can’t wake up tomorrow morning and pretend this didn’t happen.”
“I can’t either,” she admitted, swallowing and looking away for a moment. “I wouldn’t use you, Giles. I’m not like that.”
“I know,” he said, “but I want you to understand that I’m not going to be casual about this just because I’m older. That’s not age-related. It has to do with how I value what I’m about to give you. This is a gift, Buffy, something we give to each other. I know you know that already, but I’ve usually been slow to grant it to others because it’s so precious to me. I’ve regretted the times I was cavalier about it.” Buffy reached down to touch his chest, rubbing through his shirt gently.
“A lot of things will change,” she said, “but a lot of things have already changed between us…things that can’t go back to what they were. I was thinking about it last night, while we were at my place and you let me sleep against you. Giles, there’s nobody who could understand our relationship, not what it is or what it could be. I’m not sure if we really even understand it, but I want to know.” She bent down over him until their foreheads touched, her weight resting firmly on his groin and he made a soft sound and arched against her reflexively. “I want this, Giles, I want you.”
She put her hands down on his chest and kissed softly at his mouth, nuzzling him, licking gently as he parted his lips to meet her tongue with his. He reached up to hold her, one hand in her hair at the back of her neck, the other around her shoulder. She was passionate, more than he’d ever expected, more than he would have dared to believe from a girl as modest and sensitive as she was. He heard himself groan hungrily, wildly. He protested with a catlike yowl in his throat as she pulled away. “Take this off,” she said, tugging at his shirt.
He sat up enough to grab it behind his back, desperate to obey her, to feel her hands on his bare flesh. She helped him, dragging it past his shoulders and off of him, throwing it carelessly on the floor. Her hands returned to him immediately, palms finding the curve of his pecs, fingers trailing through the light hair on his chest. “God, I’ve wanted to touch you since I saw you on the phone with my mom yesterday.” He hummed softly at her caress, reaching up with his hands to touch her mouth and jaw lightly.
“You were staring at me,” he said breathlessly. “I saw you. I thought…you were lost in thought about something else…home, perhaps. Your friends. You were really looking at me? Thinking about me?” She was running her hands over his ribs slowly, exploring, then trailing back up to his collarbone.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “You were…you looked so good, Giles. You really did. Something about you that just made me want to touch you all over, feel you.” His hands covered hers on his stomach, not hindering her, but following her caress with one of his own.
“I can feel it in your hands,” he whispered. “How much you want to. How much you’re enjoying it.” She found one of his nipples and tweaked it lightly, quickly, and he gasped hard, his grip closing around her wrists.
“Sorry,” she said, but he could hear her smiling. “Did that hurt?”
“S-surprised me…is all…” he panted, then swallowed tightly. “Felt it straight through my loins like a bolt of lightning, God that was sweet!” His outburst made her grin with delight.
She returned hesitantly to his nipples and began to stroke them softly, fascinated by the way he arched and gave a low purr.
“I didn’t know men could be sensitive like this,” she mused.
“I think I could be sensitive on my bloody elbow if it were you touching me,” Giles sighed, smiling at her. He shifted his hips a little, taking advantage of the opportunity to rub his erection between her legs where she sat on him. She gasped softly and closed her eyes. “Like that, don’t you?” he murmured, grinning.
“Well, I never…I mean, Angel wasn’t like this,” she confessed shyly. She wasn’t sure it was wise to mention a previous lover while with him, but he just chuckled.
“Playful, you mean?”
“Yeah. It was always so deadly serious. He wasn’t really the playful type.”
“And you’ve never had the chance to really relax and experiment in your previous sexual experiences,” Giles said, finishing her unspoken thought. She nodded, mildly uncomfortable, but her Watcher touched her mouth lightly. “If you’re expecting me to be angry or shocked because you’ve had other lovers besides Angel, you’ve got a long wait ahead of you,” he said, amused. “And maybe you didn’t expect me to be a playful lover.”
“I didn’t expect you to be a rough one, either,” she said wryly.
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s interesting,” she qualified teasingly. She yelped as Giles rose up and suddenly flipped her over onto her back, pinning one of her wrists to the bed and straddling her thigh.
“We can go lots of directions with ‘interesting,’” he murmured, and kissed her again, slowly, deeply, enjoying the dominant position above her. She ran her free hand up his arm, along the line and bulge of his lithe muscles. His teeth found her throat sharply, giving her an idea of his strength, and she gave a soft cry. He brushed his lips down the front of her nightshirt, grazing the edge of her breast.
She raised her knee carefully to nudge his testicles and the firm shaft of his cock in his sweats. He purred and shifted his body so he could rub himself against her leg aggressively, effectively masturbating. The hard proof of how wanton he could be made her shudder, and Giles smiled down at her. “You want to touch me, don’t you?” he said, taking her hand and moving away from her knee so he could press her palm into his groin. “Go on. It likes to be touched.”
She curled her fingers around the shape of his cock through his sweats, fascinated by its hardness and warmth, and by the way he bowed his head and pushed into her grasp with a soft groan.
“I think I like to touch it,” she teased. He chuckled breathlessly, and then hissed softly when her hand moved back to cup his testicles. “Is that okay?” she asked anxiously, wondering if she’d hurt him. She knew that men were usually sensitive there — she’d kicked enough vampires in the crotch to learn that.
For an answer, Giles covered her hand with his own again and gripped hard, much harder than she would have if it had been her decision. He growled softly and she felt his whole body tense in ecstasy. He bent down to nuzzle her throat, letting her hand go so she could fondle him freely.
“I like a firm touch,” he murmured. “Don’t squeeze too hard, but a general pressure is very nice. I want to find out what you like, though.” She felt his warm breath through her nightshirt as he moved down her body, resuming his previously interrupted exploration.
“Oh, make something up,” she said unsteadily. “I’m sure I’ll like it.” He chuckled again, then suddenly seized one of her nipples with his lips. Her shirt was between them, but she cried out in surprise and pleasure.
“I’ll see how creative I can be, then,” he murmured, grabbing the trailing edge of her shirt and pulling it ferociously up over her head, wanting it off of her. She let him take the shirt and throw it on the floor, but felt self-conscious under his gaze and tried not to instinctively cover herself. He recognized her embarrassment and stroked her stomach lightly. “A woman’s body is a glory,” he said quietly, seriously. “You’re so beautiful.” His hand was gentle and reverent, not the lewd grope she had half-expected. She wondered where that expectation came from. Angel, too, had been awed by her. Other boys she’d been with hadn’t been as sophisticated, but they had also seemed amazed by her nakedness rather than lecherous. And hadn’t she felt the same way about them? Amazed by their bodies and their masculinity?
Buffy reached for his face, caressing down his throat and across his shoulder, loving his warm, soft skin and the edge of his muscles. She held his neck as he bent down to devour a nipple luxuriously, the tip of his tongue exploring the soft nub, finding the edges and tickling lightly. She giggled even as she arched against his mouth, and he sucked gradually harder until she complained.
“Ow,” she said, still laughing. He let go immediately.
“Sorry,” he said, amused. “I’m trying to find out where your tolerances are.”
“Ooh, that sounds like some kind of a challenge,” she said, brushing both hands down his chest to his groin again. His cock flared into her touch eagerly and he hummed. He started when she suddenly dug into his sweatpants, seeking out the bare heat of his penis and cupping it curiously.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, startled. “Oh, wait a moment, let me…” He pulled away from her so he could get rid of his sweats. They joined his shirt on the floor on the other side of the bed.
“Hey, good idea,” Buffy said, and shed the rest of her clothes as well, kicking them out from under the bedcovers.
“Indeed,” her Watcher murmured, straddling one of her muscled legs again to begin nuzzling her shoulder, taking in her scent. He grunted as her cool hand found his cock again, this time bare, and he had to kiss her mouth again deeply, searching for more of the sweet, private trust that he could feel in her grasp.
She pushed on his chest to stop him for a moment and he looked down at her.
“Um, we can’t, um, I mean…I’m not on the pill or anything and…” She trailed off as Giles’ fingers touched her lips gently.
“I know,” he said softly. “It’s all right. We don’t have to do that. We can stop if you want to.”
“No, don’t stop,” she said, touching his arms. “Please. I want to…just…we have to be careful and I figured most guys would, you know, go for the brass ring.”
“Their loss,” Giles murmured, leaning down to kiss between her breasts, “when there’s gold all around for the taking.”
“You sweet talker, you,” she giggled. She gasped when Giles’ mouth moved up suddenly to take her throat in a passionate, painless bite. She felt his teeth just graze her skin as he drew back.
“You are gold,” he said in a fierce whisper as he half kissed, half licked down her neck. “And milk and honey and fire in my blood. My God, I love you.”
“You love me?” she said, sounding faintly surprised.
“Yes,” he hissed fiercely against her shoulder. He rose up on his knees to hold her face in his hands. “Yes.” He bowed his head to hers. “Damn, yes.”
“Giles…” she breathed.
“Shh, don’t say anything. Don’t answer. Just tell me if you want to make love, and that’s enough from a Slayer to her Watcher.”
“Please. Yes.”
He kissed her softly, gently, on the mouth. More than the other ferocious, hard kisses, this one conveyed an emotion that made Buffy shiver; worship. She had never expected that from anyone, had never seen any evidence of it in her friends and associates. Admiration, yes. Pride. But there was something deeply, almost painfully private about what her Watcher’s mouth told her without using words. He brushed his lips down the side of her jaw, not biting or even kissing, just feeling her, letting her feel his softness. His low voice broke the reverie after a few minutes.
“Mmm, Lord, I forgot. I think I’m supposed to demand to see a copy of your most recent tests for sexually transmitted diseases, but I’ll settle for your verbal testimony.” Buffy giggled.
“Nothing to worry about except for the pregnancy thing,” she said. He was still nuzzling her throat. “And the fact that sometimes I laugh when I climax.”
“Do you really?” He sounded intrigued.
“Yeah,” she confessed. “Guys always think I’m laughing at them. But I’m not, I swear.”
“I believe you,” he said, chuckling. “It just means you feel good, and you trust the person you’re with. I’ll do my best to make you laugh. I’m clean, as well, although I think I’m safe enough from getting pregnant.” He reflected briefly on how lucky he had been to come out of his youth with his health intact, all things considered.
“Don’t you just hate sex in the modern age?” she sighed.
“Not as long as it means I get to make love to you,” he said, realizing that he was not merely lucky, but blessed, to have arrived at this moment as a whole man, body and spirit, and when she grinned at him, he just laughed with contentment.
“Mmm, naked Watcher,” Buffy said, contemplating Giles’ extremely available state. She rose up to embrace him around the waist, and had her mouth around his cock before he could suck in another breath. All he could do was curl his body around her and hold her shoulders, breathing hard against the hot delight that filled him.
“If I’d known you wanted so much to see me naked, I’d've offered months ago,” he panted when he could find his voice. She laughed in her throat but didn’t let him go. He brushed some of her hair out of the way so he could watch her pleasuring him. It was hypnotic and deliciously gratifying. That she would so hungrily take this part of him and give him such unbelievable pleasure made heat flame up his spine. “Better slow down, luv,” he groaned. She let go of his cock with a final suck, glancing up at him and then licking the crown softly.
“What for?” she teased. “We going for the Guinness Book record?”
“I want to savor this,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time and I’m fairly eager.”
“So be eager,” she said. “This isn’t the last time we’re going to be together, is it?”
“No, not if I can help it,” he said fiercely.
“Then you can savor some other time,” she hummed, returning to kiss the head of his penis, delving into the hole at the tip with her tongue. Giles moaned deep in his throat. “This feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Christ, yes!”
“Then enjoy it, Giles. Enjoy it and just come when you’re ready.” She consumed him again and he gave a rough cry of joy, throwing his head back to thrust reflexively into her mouth. For an instant he was afraid he had choked her, but she just chuckled and held his hips. He put one hand out for balance, finding the headboard of the bed. He couldn’t completely suppress the urge to thrust, pushing against her hands and seeking the warmth of her mouth with shuddering breaths.
“I’m sorry, I can’t…can’t be still…” he panted.
“I got an idea,” Buffy said, letting go of his cock for a moment and pulling him with her. She sat with her back to the headboard, coaxing him to rise up on his knees in front of her, straddling her thighs. “Put your hands on the wall,” she said. He obeyed, suddenly understanding, and she grabbed his buttocks to pull his cock to her mouth, where she took him inside again.
“Oh!” he gasped, bracing himself on the wall to push slowly against her sensuous tongue. She was teasing and nibbling him, flicking her tongue up the shaft, then turning her attention to his balls for a little while, nuzzling them, all the while fondling his ass. It took a minute or two for Giles to find coherent thought again, and he let out a long, deep growl. “Oh God, Buffy, that’s sooo good…”
She was rubbing her hands over his buttocks, finding his ticklish spots, finding the spots that made him purr and writhe. She’d noticed that he wore a pair of trousers extremely well, and now was getting to feel why. Letting go of his cock for a moment, she explored his firm balls, the soft skin behind them where they joined his body. He seemed to like that and spread his legs slightly to allow her better access. She stroked his perineum, intrigued by its swollen warmth. “You can apply a little pressure there,” he murmured, his voice rough. She glanced up at him and saw him gazing down at her, his eyes dark with pleasure. He was still rock hard, and as she dug her knuckles gently into his perineum, he moaned quietly.
“What’s that feel like?” she asked, fascinated.
“Tickles my prostate,” he replied, his eyes closing. “It’s quite nice.”
“I’ve read that men like that,” she mused. She wasn’t paying much attention to where she was stroking, and brushed her finger across his anus. He flinched violently and his breath caught. She started and withdrew, realizing where she had touched him. “Whoa, sorry — ”
“No,” he panted. “No, go ahead. It’s all right.”
“You sure?” she said. He laughed.
“Quite sure, unless you’d rather not.”
“Fingers are no big deal,” she said, amused. “But if you want my tongue there, we’re gonna have to negotiate.” Giles chuckled.
“Fair enough.” He shifted a little on the bed to make it easier for her, and her fingers returned to begin stroking him there again, curious of the silken quality of the skin. He gasped sharply, unable to stop himself from bucking. “Urrrmm, suck me, please?” he whispered. “Please?” Buffy licked quickly up the shaft of his penis before taking it in her mouth again, more than glad to oblige him. The sound he made was a mixture of amazement and raw bliss, tapping deeper and deeper into his soul.
She wriggled her finger gently, still sucking on him and enjoying the hard length of him in her mouth. He was thrusting slowly, making low sounds in his throat. “Mm, that’s so sweet, Buffy. God, you have no idea…” She let go of his cock just enough to speak.
“You want me inside?” she asked softly. Giles nodded.
“Slow and easy,” he said. “Without lubricant it’s uncomfortable.”
“Oh, well, I can fix that,” she said. “I’ve got some Vaseline in my bag. Want me to get it?”
“Mmm, yes,” he said. “Yes, I’d like that.”
He sat back to let her climb out of bed, watching her unashamedly as she strode across the room to her bag and rummaged around with her derriere facing him. She didn’t have time to be modest, concentrating wholly on something else now, and when she turned around to prance back to the bed with the Vaseline, he smiled appreciatively.
“What’re you looking at?” she teased.
“The greatest vampire Slayer to walk the earth in a thousand years,” Giles murmured as she squeezed back into bed between his legs so he was straddling her again. He put his hands back on the wall, trapping her between them. “My Slayer.”
“Damn right,” she said, uncapping the small jar. She scooped out a blob on her finger. “This much?” He nodded.
“That’s good,” he said, and spread his legs a little to help her. His erection had waned, now a sensuous thickness that rested against his thigh. Buffy leaned forward slightly to kiss the shaft. “Don’t worry about that,” Giles said. “It’ll come back. I just want to concentrate on this a bit more.”
“I’ll shut up now,” she promised.
“No, it’s all right. I like talking when I make love,” he said. “Silent sex just seems so…silent.” Buffy giggled. “I’m ready,” he said gently.
“You sure you want me to do this?”
“Try it and find out,” he said wryly.
“Ooh, more challenges,” she said and he gave a soft laugh. She put one hand on his hip to steady him, then reached under his testicles, gingerly seeking the right spot.
“Ah yes,” he sighed. “Yes, that’s it, that’s much better.” He exhaled slowly, trying to relax as much as possible. “You can put your finger inside. You won’t hurt me, don’t worry. Just push firmly and be careful of your nails. If I want you to stop I’ll say so, and if I do, just freeze and don’t jerk away.”
She took him at his word, nodding, and pushed her lubed finger against his sphincter muscle, finding it much stronger than she’d expected. He gasped softly, but didn’t tell her to stop, so she kept nudging, and suddenly the muscle gave way and her finger sank almost to the second knuckle before she could stop. His gasp this time was deep and harsh, like a drowning man, and one of his hands dropped down to the headboard to grip fiercely.
“I think we just found ‘interesting,’” she whispered.
“Oh, you’ve found much more than that, Buffy,” he groaned, delighted. “You’ve found what makes me scream.” He swallowed hard and she felt muscles inside his body clench to grip her finger, then release with a shudder. She sensed it was involuntary, and looked up at his face to see his jaw clenched and his bronze eyes meeting hers with a trusting openness that even Angel had not shown her.
“What do you want me to do?” she whispered. “Tell me what you like. I want to make you scream, Giles. Show me.”
“See how deep you can go,” he said, nodding his chin slightly. “Move in and out. Find a rhythm with me.”
She buried her finger as far as she could, still amazed by the silky texture of the skin inside. The Vaseline made it very smooth, and she started a slow, thrusting movement, completely inexperienced in this sort of thing but fascinated by how far into her Watcher’s emotions she had come just with this act.
He answered her effort with a soft groan, and she held her breath as he began a gentle, intense rocking that seemed to attempt to devour the finger she had given him, and also pleaded for the strength of her resistance. She gave him the latter, watching with wonder as his body seemed to dissolve into a sensuous, primal dance. One hand on his hip let her feel his rhythm, the tension that his body held prisoner. His cock had grown hard again, its presence before her begging for her mouth, the utter maleness of it drawing her to suckle him with a sudden lunge. He gave a shout of passion and fury, slapping his hand against the wall.
He was lost in the seduction of her power; everywhere their bodies touched felt like the heat of something men were not meant to know. His bond with her was a naked flame in his soul, a kind of Calling no Watcher could have refused. He could hardly bear the sweetness of what she was doing to him, her hot, wet mouth teasing him, her slick finger driving him half-mad. She was matching his thrusts, her body keeping time with him, providing a counter-rhythm that built like a path to the gods.
Whatever modesty might have remained in him was burned away in the next moment by the sudden, powerful addition of a second finger to the one she had already put inside him. He gave a shocked yelp, almost a laugh, and felt her flinch in surprise.
“Oh, Jesus, Buffy,” he panted. “Fuck yes, oh God fuck me like that, please!” She responded immediately by devouring his cock to the root and nipping him quickly, both of her fingers pushing hard and deep. He snarled and clawed his hands down the wall, thrusting into her mouth. “Come on, luv,” he growled. “You have a Slayer’s fire. Show it to me! Let me taste it!”
She lurched forward, away from the headboard, wrapping one arm around his waist to hold him close with the strength that he relished, her mouth and fingers doing nothing less than owning him. She had ceased to be an uncertain young woman seeking to please her lover, and had once more become the person he had always known; passionate, possessive, brutal with her kindness and unable to refuse a fine, male Watcher who demanded her attention. It was a dangerous business, summoning the fires of Heaven.
To bare his soul was a thing he’d never done. Not for friends, not for Jenny, not even to save his own life at times, and somehow he had won those trials without that surrender. His Slayer was searching for it — his soul — taking no excuse, no fear, no anger as a reason not to show it. He gave a howl of mortal terror, mortal need. Could he trust her with this? Did he dare refuse her?
He realized with a wave of searing incredulity what was pounding in his body. She was summoning him. The bond they had forged many months ago as a Watcher and Slayer had become more than a cable of steel and fire between them. It was a deep and mysterious ocean; the stars haunting him at night; the bay of a wild wolf in the darkness speaking to him of things ancient and half-forgotten. “Oh my God,” he wailed, the awareness torn from him mercilessly. “God, Buffy, it’s the Calling…you’re Calling me.”
She wouldn’t let go, of his body or his soul, and she summoned up the very last remnants of his devotion and surrender. He trusted her, and it hurt like he was dying, the sensation of his own fear ripped out of him at long last as he turned himself over to her completely.
In the heartbeats that followed, he knew only that she owned him and that he was also her master in some profound way. He screamed in triumph, pounding the wall with one fist and burying himself in Buffy’s throat without any care for harming her. She accepted it with the easy strength he had always known, and he felt her teeth scrape against his cock for a brief, sharp moment before the orgasm faded, draining from him like a flood out of a tidepool.
The aftermath was like awakening from a breaking fever, his body trembling, breath hard and fast in his chest as he struggled to hold himself upright with both hands on the headboard. His heart was hammering so hard he was afraid it could hurt him. Buffy released his penis gently, licking him clean. She still had her arm around his back, and where their skin touched it was hot and slick with sweat. He gasped as she slowly withdrew her fingers from inside him, and couldn’t stop a whimper at the great feeling of loss.
Giles sank to the bed, half sitting on her thighs, gulping to breathe. The feel of her hand running through his damp hair made him shudder.
“Giles, are you okay?” she whispered. He raised his eyes to her, saw her concern — and the power in her eyes. Oh yes, she had called the gods to earth and taught him secrets. But unlike Prometheus, he held not fire in his hand, but the innocence he had lost so long ago. His life, the earth, was cleansed of all taint and all sin, to be seen through the eyes of a man made pure once more.
He lunged for her desperately, kissing her, caressing her face and hair and shoulders. She hesitated at first, probably uncertain about the fact that he would taste himself in her mouth, but his tongue met hers eagerly and then she relaxed, devouring him recklessly. He found she was sweating too, and he tasted salt as he kissed her cheek and jaw and neck.
“Oh, Buffy, oh my Slayer,” he whispered, breaking away to hold her face and press his forehead to hers. “Oh God, I can’t…you’re going to have to give me a moment. I can’t…take all this in at once…”
“Just lie down,” she said softly, smiling at him and brushing his hair back with her fingers. “I gotta go wash my hand anyway.” He laughed breathlessly.
“Yes. Go on,” he said, and with great effort, climbed off of her and dropped heavily to the bed on his back. The bed shifted as she got up, and presently he heard the sounds of her washing in the bathroom.
There was low thunder off in the distance, and Giles turned his head toward the curtained window, half-expecting to see heat lightning. Only the dim glow from the parking lot outside came through, bathing the room in a cool light that washed over his body. He closed his eyes with a contentment that made everything in the world a pleasure. Even the knowledge that they would have to return to the Hellmouth brought no pain; he would still be hers, and she would still know his heart.
Buffy came out of the bathroom and paused to lean against the wall, just watching him for a moment. He was sprawled naked on the bed, midnight shadows and the glow from outside showing his flat belly trembling with rising and falling breaths, the length of his arm stretched out across the bedcovers, muscles fine and sleek. He looked toward her as she approached, his dark eyes open to her the way his body had been a few minutes ago. Beautiful, so beautiful even when perfectly still and spent. She climbed into bed with him, sitting by his hip and trailing one hand slowly across his stomach. He twitched slightly, ticklish, and she stroked the line of a vein up the shaft of his soft penis.
“Made you scream,” she said smugly, grinning at him. He grinned back with a soft laugh, reaching up to rub her arm sensuously.
“That you did,” he said, his voice deep and relaxed.
“Sure you’re okay now?” she asked. She was enjoying the soft hair of his groin, cupping his balls tenderly. His eyes closed briefly, then opened again with mischief in them.
“Yes, I think so. It was so intense. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. I was very rough with you. I’m sorry.”
“Giles, I’m the Slayer. I have the Brown Hornet’s Super Powers, remember? You didn’t hurt me.”
“Good,” he whispered.
“You’re something, you know that?” she said, finding a scar on his abdomen and tracing it curiously. “How does a guy so shy and stuffy turn into a gorgeous tiger in bed?” He chuckled, stroking her collarbone.
“I’ve always worn my stripes openly,” he said, and she cocked her head at him. “But you’ve been colorblind until now.”
“Nice colors,” she said, and bent down to kiss him, slow and gentle. Then he started to laugh in his throat and she pulled away. “What?”
“You’re marvelous,” he said, rising up to push gently on her shoulder until she lay down on her back. “I just want to touch you for a while, convince myself that this is happening.”
“If it’s not, I’m gonna be real pissed when I wake up and have to go to work,” Buffy said with mock annoyance. Giles was nipping at the taut skin of her ribs, circling his tongue around her nipples until she slid her hands into his hair and groaned.
“I think I’m going to have some fun,” he purred, working his way down her abdomen, and she realized what he meant with a shock that flashed up her spine.
“Giles, you don’t have to do that,” Buffy said breathlessly, stroking his hair. “I mean, I don’t demand equal time or anything — ” She gasped sharply as his lips brushed over her hipbone.
“I want to,” he whispered against the soft hair of her sex. “Please. I like to do this and I want to give you this pleasure…”
“Just tape my mouth shut anytime then,” she said, still breathing fast as he touched her thighs to coax them a little wider and his hot breath was on her. “Just hope you can take funny looks from the people next door in the mor — oh God!” She cried out as his tongue found her softly, the feel of it almost startling her off the bed. Her hand clenched reflexively into his hair, and he grabbed her wrist to put it down on the bed beside her, but followed the rise of her hips with his mouth. She realized after a moment that he was laughing low in his throat.
“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asked, making the question a gentle tease against the lips of her sex. Buffy panted for a moment before answering.
“No,” she admitted. “Well, I guess if I’m taking the purity test, I’d have to say yes, but believe me, it was never this good.”
“I’ve hardly started,” he murmured, amused, and licked her slowly, lightly, making her moan and arch her back.
“Threats will get you nowhere,” she scolded weakly.
It was true that a couple of boys had done this to her before, but where they had been curious and uncertain, her Watcher was quite sure of himself. Rather than merely curious, he was fascinated, seeking out every texture and trying it with his tongue to see how she responded and so he could learn her.
This technique definitely had rewards. He eventually brushed his tongue softly over her opening, tasting the innermost, silken skin there, and it felt as if he had somehow touched a part of her that wasn’t intended to be found. She shuddered hard, the pleasure of it like a hammer, an urge beyond simple stimulation. Her body gulped to breathe and she didn’t quite know what was happening. Giles’ hand found hers on the bed, holding tight and giving her an anchor. He had not stopped licking her, not after finding this amazing spot. He buried his mouth against her and licked firmly, recognizing her reaction even if she didn’t. “Oh God,” she panted. “Giles…oh my God – ” The orgasm that slammed into her was like a ship running aground, something huge and heavy and unavoidable that made her cry out in astonishment and fear. She was covered in sweat and trembling when it left, and Giles nuzzled her sex gently.
“All right?” he asked quietly.
“I…think so,” she panted. “Whoo, somebody put that in a bottle and sell it.”
“I gather you don’t normally come like that?” Giles asked, amused.
“You mean like freight trains derailing?” she said with a grin. “No. Especially not…not that soon.” Her Watcher hummed quietly and kissed her sex luxuriously. “It’s okay. You can be smug.” He chuckled.
“Can’t give me all the credit,” he said.
“You can stop if you want to,” she said. “I usually only come once. It’s okay.”
“It’s up to you,” he said. “I told you — I like doing this. I’d like to try one more, if it’s all right with you.”
“This is a macho thing, isn’t it?” she said with a grin. He grinned back.
“If you like.”
“I guess a guy who wields a sword and kills vampires for a living is entitled,” she said, lying back.
He was more aggressive this time, teasing her vaginal opening again, pushing his tongue inside until she bucked. He couldn’t get enough of it, loving the taste and scent of her that seemed to scratch an itch deep inside his most primal core. Her clit was sensitive, hot against his tongue as he stroked it lightly and she groaned. He sucked on it experimentally, being careful, and she surprised him with a sharp, guttural swear word. “Don’t stop,” she growled. “Don’t stop don’t stop oh yeah oh God — ”
Giles winced slightly as she let out a full-throated yell, thinking of their neighbors on the other side of the walls, who had already been more than tolerant tonight. Then he thought, /Ah, hell with it./ She started to laugh, wild giggles that made her hold her stomach. He withdrew from her when he sensed she’d had enough stimulation, and stretched out on his side to watch her. He wiped his mouth idly, licking his lips, and Buffy curled up on her side to snicker into her pillow. Finally she heaved a deep breath, the wracking giggles subsiding, and looked at Giles with an apologetic smile.
“Told you I laugh when I come,” she sighed. Giles smiled back at her.
“I love the sound of your voice,” he said.
“I still can’t believe you like to do that.”
“You like sucking on my cock,” he pointed out.
“That’s different,” she said.
“Is it? It feels and tastes good. I love the way you respond to it. I like to use my mouth.” Giles shrugged. “I’ve always liked it. I loved the idea of it long before I ever got close to a woman sexually.”
“You’d do that all night if I let you, wouldn’t you?” she said with a grin.
“If I thought my jaw muscles could take it, yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “But truthfully I think we should try to get some sleep. We’re in no rush tomorrow but I’m exhausted, and so are you, I think.”
“Sleep sounds good,” she said, and he moved his arm so she could snuggle up beside him. There was none of the awkwardness of the night before in her apartment. He sighed deeply with pleasure and satiation, and she draped her arm across his chest casually.
“Good night, luv.”
“G’night, bunny muffin.”
She grinned as Giles cracked up in the darkness with a strangled giggle.
He awoke to the hum of the air conditioner cycling on again to blow cool air through the room. His exposed foot was cold, and he shifted it under the covers. The movement caused him to come into contact with a solid shape on the bed next to him. He opened his eyes.”Hey,” Buffy said brightly.”Hey,” he said sleepily. “Good morning.”
“Only technically,” she said wryly, and he looked over at the clock, which read 11:56. “You’re even cuter now than you were in the dark,” she observed, and he looked back to her with surprise. She was fully dressed, her hair bundled up on her head and still a little damp at the ends. He settled back against the pillow, regarding her quietly for a moment with one arm behind his head and the other resting on his stomach.
“You flatter me,” he said softly. “Any regrets?” She thought about it.
“No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so.”
“You could have better than the likes of me.”
“Sez you,” Buffy replied easily, and she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth warmly. She tasted like toothpaste, and he hummed softly. “Bleah,” she teased, “go brush your teeth.” Giles harumphed and threw the covers back to climb out of bed, only belatedly realizing that he was still naked — and had a very insistent, hard morning erection. He hesitated halfway across the carpet, then realized that turning around would be worse, and padded the rest of the way toward his waiting shower.
“Oh Lord,” he muttered, and her giggle followed him into the bathroom.
When he came out of the shower, Buffy was lying on the bed reading the Arizona Republic. More exactly, she was reading a small portion of it. The rest of the newspaper was spread all over the bed around her. He walked over to her, still very naked.”What’s so fascinating?” he asked. She looked up, and he was amused to note that the first part of him she looked at was his penis, which was fully relaxed from the hot shower and hung down quiescently. Then her gaze traveled appreciatively up to his face. His fine mouth quirked in a wry smile, her open pleasure in his body creating a warm sensation in his belly.”They’re going to auction O. J. Simpson’s stuff,” she said, her answering smile mischievous. Giles moved some of the newspaper out of the way and sat down on the bed with her, rubbing her back slowly and reading idly over her shoulder.
“I think we should go back today,” he said. Buffy turned over onto her back to gaze up at him. Her hand snaked out to begin stroking the soft, dark hair on his thigh.
“Yeah,” she said. “But I want to go to breakfast first. Just you and me. We might not get another chance.” Giles smiled.
“All right, but I think we’ll have other chances.” His eyes dropped to her hand where she was caressing him. “Thank you for last night,” he said softly, covering her hand with his. “You are so magnificent.” She didn’t respond directly, but he could see in her shining eyes that she felt the same way about him.
“Something happened in the Watcher-Slayer bond, didn’t it?” she said. “I felt something…I wasn’t really sure what happened. It’s like…like I own you now. No, that’s not it.” She sighed, puzzled. “We own each other? Does that make sense?”
“I have always been yours, Buffy,” he said quietly, seriously, “but you haven’t been ready to accept that burden and that gift until now.” He put his palm on her stomach, feeling her warmth, and her body shuddered under him. “Last night I surrendered to you. I’ve never done that for anyone, ever. Not like that. I did it because you demanded it. You were ready and you summoned it from me.” He let out a slow, shaking breath. “I could not help but answer, and truthfully I’ve wanted to for a long time now. You gave me a lot of yourself, too; I understand that extremely well.”
“I held back with you,” she admitted. She looked worried, as if he might be angry, or perhaps she was wondering if it meant she didn’t trust him. Giles only smiled.
“I know. I expected that. It’s because you’re the dominant one of the two of us.”
He had been thinking about how this conversation would go while he was in the shower, and had presumed that her response to this idea would be one of surprise and possibly naivete. He was quite wrong. She merely looked at him for a long moment, serious and thoughtful.
“So where do we go with that?” she wondered. He smiled very slightly.
“It’s dangerous for me to forget that you’re the Slayer,” he said, as if talking to himself. “There are moments when I almost can. An ordinary girl would be looking to me for instruction and approval. An older woman might look to me with discomfort or confusion. You…oh, I wish you could see your face in this moment as I do,” he whispered, fascinated. “You look to me as if you intend to know every last cry and shudder and laugh I might ever utter.” Her eyes were calm and intent, not flinching away from his words or what they meant. He took her hand tightly, to give himself strength to ask a question that had burned inside him since the moment he had met her. “Are you looking for a man who isn’t afraid of you?” he asked softly, his grip fierce. “A man who can hold you down without flinching?” Her hand tightened around his and his breath caught.
“Angel couldn’t do it,” she confessed, almost inaudibly. There was pain in her eyes; disappointment, need, an ache for something distant that she couldn’t name. “He was a vampire…I was afraid that since he couldn’t…”
“That perhaps no one could?” he finished gently. She nodded. “A vampire is not where you are meant to find dominion,” he continued gently. “You are meant to be their master, to be able to destroy them without remorse or pity.”
“It’s supposed to be a Watcher, isn’t it?” she said, looking faintly puzzled. “Watchers can dominate Slayers…if Slayers let them.”
“Yes,” he said. “A Slayer is attuned to her Watcher, as he is to her. She cannot ever fully accept anyone but a Watcher, in trust or in love.” There was something in her expression that intrigued him. “What is it?”
“No offense…but you’ve never seemed to me like the kind of person who could dominate me, Watcher or not. You’re just…”
“Not aggressive enough?” he wondered, and chuckled at her hesitation. “I was careful with you last night, Buffy. Careful with myself. I know better than to try to turn the tables on a Slayer without warning, especially when you don’t trust me fully yet. I surrendered to you last night…but that domination between a Slayer and her Watcher is a reciprocal relationship. It’s not about you being in control all the time, or about me being in control, either. It’s about trust, and sharing power. Taking pleasure in both the submission and the control. There’s ecstasy to be found there for us, Buffy. I’ve tasted it…in my dreams and fantasies, and last night with you. I want to know more. I need to. I’ve lived all my life hoping that I could touch this.”
Buffy sat up suddenly, still holding his eyes. He was still, waiting, even though his entire body was alive with awareness of her.
“I don’t want to mess this up, Giles,” she said, touching his face and stroking his smooth skin where he had shaved so recently.
“It’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Just relax and don’t rush it. Every step of this is a delight. It should be savored and enjoyed. There’s no hurry. Teasing only makes it sweeter.” She grinned then, mischievous and joyful, and kissed him on the mouth, quick and sensuous.
“Then let’s blow this joint and go get some breakfast.”
“I think I have to put some clothes on first,” Giles said. “Laws and everything.”
“Bummer,” she said with a sly grin as he got up from the bed. She watched him dress, fascinated by his grace.
He wasn’t accustomed to being observed in this. It seemed somehow more intimate than actually being naked and making love, and he usually found it embarrassing. Yet there was something in her eyes as she sat on the bed and took in his body and movements. She wasn’t smiling anymore, nor was she thoughtful. She was openly appreciating him physically. That, too, was strange. He wasn’t unattractive. He knew that, but he also knew he wasn’t the kind of man to draw stares. Under her gaze, however, he felt beautiful. He felt gorgeous and wanted, and when he zipped up his pants and started to put a belt on, she got up from the bed and came toward him.
He paused as she touched him, both of her hands on his bare chest, rubbing up his body. It was not meant to please him, but her, and his belly flinched as she stroked him lightly. She looked up at him and he expected her to pull him down for a kiss. Instead she engulfed one of his nipples with her lips and tongue. The intensity of the response it provoked in his body shocked him, and he groaned, his hands finding her shoulders. She let go just as it started to become unbearably sweet, and he panted deeply to regain his composure. She was smirking.
“Jesus, Buffy,” he breathed. “I’m not going to make it out the door if you keep that up.”
“Just teasing you,” she said, her mouth twisting into a grin at his outraged expression. “You’d better finish getting dressed.”
She turned away as if to clean up the mess she’d made with the newspaper, but Giles grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him roughly. He couldn’t stop himself from taking her mouth savagely, and for an instant he was ashamed of himself. In the next moment, however, she was bruising his back with her own embrace, holding him to her tightly and ravishing his mouth. He took his fill and then let her go, smiling.
“You’re going to drive me mad,” he said, looking like this prospect pleased him no end.
They packed all their things into the car and checked out of the motel. The desk clerk suggested several restaurants on the way to the airport, and they found themselves enjoying a luxurious, Sunday brunch complete with huevos rancheros, french toast, and all the bacon and fresh fruit they could handle.She read the Arizona Republic out loud to him all the way to the airport, and the day’s heat seemed to be not so bad, as if the two of them had personally lessened it by taking so much of the light and warmth into themselves. Buffy was practically glowing, and he kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked through the airport, not caring about what other people would think. They were all strangers, glimpsed once and gone forever. All that mattered was the delight in his heart and the pleasure in her eyes when she climbed over his lap on the airplane to take her seat at the window. Airline pretzels and Coke in a plastic cup had never tasted so good, and when they landed in L.A., he was actually reluctant to get off the plane.As he stood up to get their baggage out of the overhead bin, she touched his leg. It was a brief, sensuous stroke down his thigh. No one would have seen it, and it was a common enough gesture, but he looked down at her and had a sudden, wrenching flash of how much he enjoyed his life with her in it. If the world had been a slightly different place, they might never have met, and he would have lived out his life without her.
He held out his hand, and she took it, letting him help her to her feet in the cramped space on the plane. He made the people behind him in the aisle wait so she could precede him. She took her own heavy bag with easy strength, and he kept his hand on her shoulder as they left. The captain was saying goodbye to people as they debarked, and Giles knew that the man’s smile at him was for a father and daughter. Somehow, that misunderstanding made him feel all the more fortunate for the truth between him and his Slayer.
He reclaimed his car from the long-term parking at LAX, and without pause they set out down the coastal highway toward home. She made him stop in Laguna Beach for something to drink and a bag of peanut M&M’s, feeding them to him one at a time to stop him from muttering about the price of gasoline in California.
They talked about a number of things, but one of the turns in conversation took Giles totally by surprise.”Have you ever seen ‘Lolita?’” Buffy said. Giles glanced at her sidelong with wide eyes.”Um…I’ve read the book,” he said after a moment. Buffy was smiling wryly.
“I’m talking about the movie. With Jeremy Irons.”
“No, I, uh, can’t say that I have.”
“It’s pretty similar to what we’re doing,” she mused. “Forty-ish British guy who comes to America and falls in lust with the daughter of his landlady.”
Giles cleared his throat.
“Lolita was a lot younger than you are,” Giles said pointedly. “Twelve, in fact. She was a child, practically a baby. In the book at least.”
“She was fourteen in the movie,” Buffy said. “I just think it’s kinda funny, the comparison.”
“I don’t,” Giles muttered, and Buffy chuckled.
“C’mon, Giles, I’m rattling your cage. Sheesh. I haven’t even read the book.”
“You should,” he said. “It’s very good, actually extremely readable for a piece of Western canon literature. ‘Great Expectations’ may be considered great art but I thought it was a deadly bore and I never could figure out what was going on. Anyway, ‘Lolita’ isn’t really an appropriate comparison to the relationship between you and me. The circumstances are totally different. I’m perfectly capable of having a meaningful relationship with a woman my own age, and have, in fact. It’s just…I’m a Watcher and you’re my Slayer.” His voice had softened, as if it came from somewhere very deep inside him. “This is actually very common…historically speaking, especially between Watchers and Slayers. In other centuries and nations, it was normal, even expected, for young girls…young women…to marry men much older. But times and cultures change and what was once normal becomes suspect. We like to believe we live in a more enlightened age. All cultures believe they are more enlightened than their predecessors, but it’s not that simple.”
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
“Does that surprise you?” he asked, a little sharply. “Considering my age, your age, and our situation?”
“I guess not,” she said, puzzled by his suddenly mercurial temper since she had raised the subject. Giles sighed.
“Buffy…look, I’m sorry I said that. I suppose maybe I am a little uncomfortable with your age, in my more lucid moments.” They exchanged a wry look. “But I think I’ll get over it.” Buffy laughed.
“Considering that we’re so close to L.A., that’s probably some kind of miracle,” she said. “Anyway, I’m old enough. I’ll be eighteen in a couple of months. Heck, if we lived in Tennessee we could be married and have two young’uns already.”
“You’re not worried about what people will think about us being lovers?” he asked. “We’ll have to be cautious.”
“Giles, we live on the Hellmouth in Southern California. We are not the weirdest thing going down here.”
“Touche.”
“There’s no way I’m telling my mom, though. She’d completely freak.”
“Probably,” Giles agreed with a sigh. “I wish we didn’t have to keep it a secret.”
“I know, me too. But I really think we should only tell the guys.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“You really think we could hide it from them?” she wondered.
“Good point.”
“Does the book ‘Lolita’ have that stuff at the beginning where he calls her the fire of his loins?” she asked after a couple of minutes. She saw Giles’ small smile as he gazed straight ahead, driving.
“‘Light of my life. Fire of my loins. My sin, my soul,’” he said in a low voice. “Yes. That’s in the book.”
“So am I the fire of your loins?” she asked mischievously. She loved the grin that spread across his face as he glanced at her.
“You just be glad I’m not the sort of man who likes to do it in public,” he said, “or I would have stopped this car some miles back.” Buffy chuckled and rubbed his thigh. He made a soft sound of pleasure and shifted in the seat. “God, don’t do that, luv,” he pleaded. “You wore me out last night and I want to be fully recovered before we try that again.” She tried to look petulant but failed.
“Okay, but I’m not a patient woman.”
“I’m looking forward to that.”
Giles had called ahead to let Buffy’s mother know they were coming back from L.A., and she had obviously been waiting for them anxiously. As soon as Giles’ white car pulled up to the curb, the front door to the house opened and Joyce came running down the sidewalk. Buffy was hardly out of the car before being bearhugged by her mother.”Oh, thank God you’re all right,” Joyce said. “Buffy, I missed you so much.”"I missed you, too, mom. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
Giles had come up behind her carrying her bag of possessions slung over one shoulder, smiling faintly at the reunion. Joyce caught his eyes as she and Buffy let go.
“Mr. Giles,” Joyce said by way of greeting. “Please, come in, you must be worn out after that drive.” His car did look rather the worse for wear, covered in a thick layer of road dust the color of chocolate powder, with bugs on the front grille.
“Thank you,” he said graciously, and accompanied them up the walk. She offered to take the bag he was carrying, but he declined politely.
Joyce made them all an early supper of sandwiches and soup, and they talked at length. Buffy had to catch up on everything that had been going on, and she and Giles hadn’t really talked about those things yet. She expressed incredulity, then guilt, on learning that the Slayerettes had taken up her sword in her absence, going on patrols at night and occasionally even killing a vampire.
The question of how Giles had known where to find Buffy finally came up, and he and Buffy tried to explain the Calling that Watchers felt from their Slayers.
“Why did it take so long?” Joyce asked. “Why didn’t she…summon…you when she first ran away?”
“I don’t know,” Giles said honestly. She could see in his face that this fact was a source of great pain for him. “I don’t know why I didn’t feel it earlier. Perhaps she did not, in fact, summon me until the time I actually felt it. Perhaps there was a reason she needed to be alone for a while. We can only speculate.”
“I see,” Joyce sighed. She jumped up suddenly. “Ooh, I forgot. My laundry. Excuse me a minute.” She scurried up the stairs, leaving Giles and Buffy alone in the living room.
“Well, I should go,” Giles said, and Buffy sighed.
“Yeah, I guess so. Just feels weird for you to leave…like you’re supposed to stay or something.” They both got up and went to the door.
“I know what you mean,” he said, and hesitated with his hand on the doorknob as she touched his chest. They just looked at each other for a long moment, and Giles smiled faintly, contentedly. Buffy stood up on her toes to kiss him on the mouth, a gentle, sensuous gesture between lovers. He let himself respond fiercely for just a moment, knowing he wouldn’t be able to leave if he let it go on too long. He was embracing her when she released his mouth, and they hugged. “I’ll see you later,” he said softly.
“Okay,” Buffy said, and she closed the door as Giles left.
End Story I in the Calling Series
The Renewal of His Vows
Story I of the Watcher’s Crucible Series
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Story
Erotica: Giles/Buffy-Willow-Xander-Oz (sort of)
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (C) 1998 by A. Manley Haight
RATING: NC-17
Flames are welcome and are, in fact, encouraged for psychological study.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of consensual sexual behavior between minors and an adult considerably older. These actions, if accomplished in real life, would violate sections 261.5 and 314 of the California Penal Code and in each case are punishable by up to a year in prison and a civil fine not exceeding $10,000 (in other words, don’t try this at home.) This is a work of fiction, and I am not in any way advocating any of the activities described herein. If this subject matter makes you uncomfortable, you may choose not to read this story but I will not be held responsible for any response you may have.
ACADEMIC NOTE: I have tried where possible to be accurate in my Latin translations, but I make no claim that they are all correct. I debated translating the rest of the incantation into Middle English but decided that would be too difficult, even though I think it would have been interesting to sound it out loud because Middle English has a terrific cadence to it (find an untranslated copy of the Canterbury Tales and a pronunciation guide.) If you have a correction to my Latin, I’d be glad to know about it. For those of you interested in such facts, this is the first Buffy story I ever wrote.
This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox Television, or AOL Time Warner. This story may be distributed only with prior permission of the author, and may not be posted to any archive, ftp site, or web page without the written permission of the author. This story is distributed for the individual personal entertainment of persons of legal age for viewing sexually explicit material in areas where such viewing is legal, and is not subject to purchase or sale by anyone.
Giles had wrapped himself around his pillow in his sleep, dreaming the dreams of a man whose life was touched by great power and whose education was steeped in the arcane. There was seldom a night when his dreams did not speak to him, offering information, insight, advice, from that deepest part of himself where the truth was known.The Slayer often came to talk to him, and tonight did so again:
“Giles?”He lifted his head. Out there she was a normal girl in many ways, flawed, at times confused and torn. Here, in this place, her will was pure and he listened carefully.“Yes?” His voice was quiet, attentive. They were in a cemetery, one of several in Sunnydale. The headstone beneath him was cold, the night air very still. The Slayer alone was a source of heat, burning with invisible power.“We’re not keeping up with them,” she said. “The demons are getting stronger. The vampires are getting smarter. You’re vulnerable.”“So are you,” he said. “We will always be. We’re mortal.”“I’m as strong as I can become right now,” she said. “It’s your turn. You need to take what’s yours.”“I don’t understand.”
“It’s time for you to renew your vows.”
He awoke with a start in the darkness of his bedroom, and sat up in the bed.”Good Lord,” he whispered. He glanced at the clock, then decided to get up anyway. He wanted to be at the school early. He needed to talk to Buffy.
They were all looking at him expectantly. He had asked them to come to the library after school, and of course they had. Only Buffy looked resolved rather than curious. Giles had already told her about his dream and the particulars of what he wanted to do. She, as usual, had given him a slightly different perspective on it. There was a strange calm in her face, the same acceptance he had often seen in her when faced with the nature of their commitment. Sometimes she seemed to resent it, weary of the strain and the death and the grief. Other times, like now, she was someone else, the girl who talked to him in his dreams.”So what’s up, Giles?” Xander said. “Why did you want to see all of us like this?” Oz was also present, as was Cordelia.”Is there another demon coming through the Hellmouth?” Willow said. “Did somebody break a glowy thing or open a box or say a bad word three times in a row?”"No,” Giles said. “Nothing like that, although this is very important.” He glanced back toward the door but they were not likely to be interrupted. He hadn’t wanted to risk anyone overhearing what he was about to discuss. “I have already spoken with Buffy about this. I was reluctant to involve any of you, but she convinced me that I should ask you and that you would probably be willing to help.”"Sure, we’ll do anything for you, Giles, you know that,” Oz said. The others nodded and made sounds of agreement. Giles’ gaze dropped briefly down to a thick book he was holding.”Um, you’d better let me explain before you make such a blanket statement, although I certainly appreciate your willingness.” Willow made an open-handed gesture.”Lay it on us.” Her choice of words seemed to make Giles hesitate again, but he cleared his throat.”Last night I had a dream which gave me a very clear message,” he said. “When you have studied ancient lore and old magic as much as I have, your dreams take on a meaning that’s wholly different from the usual ramblings of the subconscious.”"You mean like how sometimes I dream I’m driving a car even though I haven’t learned how to drive yet and the brakes don’t work and that’s really just a metaphor for the fact that I feel helpless and out of control of my life?” Willow asked.
“Uh, yes, it’s rather like that,” Giles said. “But the symbolism is usually more direct and the instructions more plainly given.”
“Instructions?” Xander said.
“I’ve been instructed to renew my vows as a Watcher,” Giles said.
“Cool, like being inaugurated?” Willow asked. “I didn’t know Watchers had to take vows and stuff.”
“Being a Slayer is as much birthright as it is conscious determination,” Giles said. “Being a Watcher requires more, because it is much less of a power you’re born with and more a power that is acquired through study and practice and training. Buffy and Faith would be what they are even if they never knew that vampires existed at all, although that would leave them vulnerable and would deprive the world of their gifts. I am what I am because I chose to become a Watcher and took on that power after careful preparation and oaths to the Council and to myself. It is my destiny…but even a destiny must be embraced.”
“So you have to perform a ritual?” Willow said excitedly. “And we get to be witnesses or participants or something?”
“Yes, actually,” Giles said. “I must perform a ritual, and witnesses help to increase the power of the ceremony. You must understand, this is not something to be undertaken cavalierly. In fact, many Watchers never renew their vows, even though their loyalty remains firm and they continue to serve their Slayers until their death.”
“We’re getting weak,” Buffy said from her motionless seat in one of the chairs at the table. Everyone looked at her. “Haven’t you guys noticed lately? The demons are getting more powerful and the vampires are getting more organized and more cunning. And what are we doing to make up for it? Squat. If we don’t do something they’re going to win.”
“Exactly,” Giles said, grateful that she had spoken. His own nervousness was wreaking havoc with his voice. “This ritual doesn’t merely reaffirm my commitment to be a Watcher. It’s a deepening of the nature of it. Most of the time, Watchers are permitted to resign from their service if they wish to do so and can cite cause. After this ritual, I would be forever bound to this duty. Failure to fulfill it would cause me great physical and mental anguish. Only the Council would be able to break me from it if I became somehow unfit to be a Watcher…and that would entail my death. In exchange for that deeper commitment, I will become more powerful and better attuned to Buffy. I’ll be physically stronger, with better stamina and reflexes, better able to control distraction and pain, more focused in the rituals I perform. I’ll be more sensitive to Buffy’s whereabouts and her state of mind. Some Watchers even report an ability to communicate with their Slayers at a distance. The potential benefits are staggering. I want to do this.”
“So we do this ritual and balance things out, right?” Willow said, more quietly than usual. She had picked up on Giles’ seriousness, and she knew better than some of them the ways that ritual magic could go wrong. Giles’ mouth tightened, and he lifted the book in his hand.
“I brought this so you wouldn’t think I was inventing what I’m about to tell you.” He went to the edge of the table and presented the book, turning it around to face them. It was open to a particular page. They all got up from their chairs and crowded in to read. “This is the Watcher’s ritual handbook, preserved and amended for all Watchers as a reference and a guide. I’m sure I’ll be expected to submit an amendment if I go through with this.”
“Wow, cool pictures,” Willow said. Giles inhaled slowly and took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was probably better in the long run to be utterly blunt about this, however embarrassing the details were.
“The ceremony is essentially a ritual masturbation.” Four heads snapped up to stare at him with wide eyes. Buffy just kept reading; she hadn’t seen this book before.
“Gross!” Cordelia said. Buffy glared at her.
“Not you, Cordy,” Buffy said. “Just Giles.”
“As I said, gross.”
“That’s really not very good for his self-esteem,” Willow said. “I really think we should be more supportive.” At Xander’s look she went on. “Really, it’s not that weird, I mean, a lot of the older rituals involve sex or naked people. It’s an attunement with the life force and the forces of the universe and it’s a focus for the ceremony.”
“Such rituals must be undertaken with the purest of intent,” Giles warned quietly. “There is great power in the sexual impulse. It’s easily corrupted or misused and that can destroy or distort the results of the ritual. It shouldn’t be done casually or by the inexperienced.”
“Um, Giles, we’re not really that experienced,” Oz said. “In ritual magic, I mean.”
“You don’t have to be,” Giles said. “I’m the one performing the ritual. Buffy will help but she’s not the focus and the, uh, sexual aspect of this ritual is mine only. This ritual was originally written to be performed alone, hence the rather personal nature of it. Witnesses, as I said, greatly enhance the results and increase the likelihood of success. All the rest of you would have to do is witness. Oh, and anoint some water.” Their eyes widened again and Giles realized what they were thinking. “Oh, um, you just have to, uh, dip your fingers in it.” Willow was studying the book intently now, half-listening. “The only other person required to be involved is my Slayer, and Buffy has already agreed to do whatever is necessary. No one else is obligated and I certainly would not attempt to compel any of you to participate.” He took a deep breath and spoke quietly again. “One more word of caution…what I’m proposing is, in fact, highly illegal in most states, including this one, and if we get caught, I could go to prison for committing indecent acts against minors.”
A pause.
“But the more witnesses you have, the better the ritual, right?” Xander said.
“The witnesses must be suitable, but yes,” Giles said.
“What’s ’suitable’ mean in this case?” Oz asked.
“People who are emotionally close to the Watcher and his Slayer, people who have chosen to risk themselves not only to further the work against evil but to save the lives of the Watcher and the Slayer. Friends who choose to participate in the ritual as a service to me because they wish to see the benefits of it.”
“What if we gawk?” Willow asked, looking up with perfect innocence. Giles flushed and her mouth quirked. “Uh, I just mean, does it corrupt the ritual if we, uh, enjoy it?”
“No,” Giles said, rubbing his eyes to avoid looking directly at her. “As long as your desire is not to harm me or to see harm come from it.”
“Oh, I don’t think any of us would want that. Would we?”
“I still think it’s gross,” Cordelia said, her arms folded. “I mean, that’s just so pervy, some old guy doing it in front of us.” This time Buffy kicked her under the table. Giles put his glasses back on, apparently unmoved by the uncomplimentary remark, but he held her eyes.
“Cordelia, if this makes you uncomfortable or you find it revolting, then you shouldn’t be involved. Your ambivalence and emotional negativity would damage this ritual and could cause me great harm. I asked you here fairly, because you have risked your own life to help me and Buffy in the past, and because I consider you our friend, but if this is difficult for you, then don’t feel embarrassed to withdraw. You may leave now if you wish. It’s only because of Buffy that I invited anyone to get involved.”
Giles’ voice was not normally so steady when he was discussing something personal or embarrassing in nature. The simple fact that he was being so calm about this spoke of the gravity of the issue, a seriousness that went much deeper than he had so far been able to convey. His gaze was even on Cordelia, neither accusing nor angry, just intent.
“Maybe you should go home, Cordy,” Buffy said to her gently.
“No offense, Giles,” Cordelia said, getting up with her purse. “Really. I’m just too grossed out.” She started to move but Buffy’s voice stopped her, the tone sharp and low this time.
“Cordy, if you tell anybody about this, anybody at all, I’ll kill you.”
Cordelia had frozen, looking at her. It was hard to tell if the threat were seriously meant, but Buffy’s eyes were fierce. Her loyalty to Giles was undisputed. Cordelia’s demeanor changed subtly and she glanced at Giles hesitantly.
“I won’t tell,” she whispered, and went quickly out the door into the school hallway, and Giles rubbed his eyes again.
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked her,” Buffy said. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Giles said. “I didn’t think she would want to and frankly I’m more comfortable with her gone.”
“So what does this ritual entail?” Xander said.
“It’s really cool,” Willow said. She was still reading, bent over the table with her nose about five inches away from the book. “Full of neat incantations and anointing people with oil and stuff. You have to draw the double triangle, one with black chalk and one with white chalk, and put white candles at the points except for one red candle that has to be in front of his, uh, his –”
“That’s the point of entry into the hexagram,” Giles said, a little reproachfully. “The last candle to be lit. The fact that I’m supposed to face that way doesn’t have anything to do with my, uh, with anything else. I have to be, eh, naked. Buffy will anoint my body with oil while I recite part of the incantation. Then she recites another part while I, um, finish. It’s relatively simple in execution, but the preparations must be made conscientiously, and everyone involved must be sincere, including me.”
“Or else what?” Xander said.
“The ritual could fail,” Willow said, “or it could hurt him.”
“At best it would fail,” Giles said. “With this group I think that’s the worst that will happen. Greater damage comes from the presence of evil or resistance in the group, and I don’t think that’s the case here.”
“The book says that even if the ritual’s done right it doesn’t always work,” Willow said. Giles nodded.
“The power comes only if the commitment is sincerely felt,” Giles said, “not just with the conscious mind, but with the body and soul. Not all Watchers choose to undertake this level of their duties. Not all of them are capable.”
“So obviously you choose to,” Xander said, “but are you capable?”
“I don’t know,” Giles said honestly, his face still and intent. “I do know, however, that if I don’t try, we will lose the war and will all be killed inside of a year.”
There was another short pause.
“I say we do it,” Oz said. Willow just nodded, biting her lip.
“Then let’s do it,” Buffy said.
They settled on a time to meet. It was going to be at Giles’ house, the safest place to conduct the ritual without fear of discovery or interruption. It was one week before finals, before the winter break would begin and they would all be free of school until after the first of the year. The teens constructed a story for their parents about a Friday night study for a test with the school’s dedicated librarian, followed by a party and a movie.It was winter, and the nights were colder and colder. It didn’t snow here, not in this part of California, but it was desert, and still cold enough to freeze the water in the gutter and make going outside highly unpleasant. Vampires didn’t feel the cold like mortals did, and they still came out at night if they were newly risen or had sufficient motivation. There would be a patrol the evening before everyone went to Giles’ house. Buffy would arrive early to help Giles get ready, and Faith offered to go on patrol.Giles had studied his book carefully, digging up all the information he could that the Council had provided over the years about this ritual and the significance of renewing his vows. The more he read, the more certain he felt of it. The dream had led him in this direction, and now he felt it pulling at him, drawing his soul irresistibly until he had come to the final understanding that this destiny was not just his life’s work, but a sacred purpose for which he had been born. He wanted nothing more than to show his loyalty as completely as was possible, even though it would mean this very private and intimate display.
The phones in the house all had the ringers turned off, the answering machine set to pick up silently. They could always cite noise from the party or being at the movies to explain any failure to answer the phone. Giles had moved furniture in the living room until a big space on the floor had been cleared. The Persian rug had been rolled up and was leaning upright in a corner. A fire was burning in the fireplace, sending shimmering, orange light across the polished, hardwood floor.Buffy had come over early, as planned, to find him having shed his jacket and vest in the warm house. He was wearing tweed slacks, a dress shirt, and tie; the same clothes he had worn to school that day. She stood at the end of the sofa for a moment, watching him as he stood in the middle of the floor, holding a fat stick of black chalk and studying the area to decide where to begin the hexagram. He looked restless and intense, brow furrowed behind his glasses.”You could have changed into something more comfortable,” Buffy said. Giles didn’t look up, but shifted his position in the middle of the room, mentally measuring off the space.”I’d just have to take them off again,” he muttered. “Didn’t see much point.” He knelt and began one of the triangles, drawing the wide line with a steady hand now that he had decided.”Yeah, I guess there is that. So what do you want me to do, now that I’m here early and everything?” she said. He did look up this time. She looked a lot more comfortable than he felt, wearing a yellow T-shirt and jeans under her overcoat.”Oh, there’s, um, a pot of water on the stove in the kitchen,” he said. “It’s been filtered, but it needs to be boiled and then cooled again. Everyone will wash their hands when they arrive, and then dip their fingers in the purified water, as I discussed.” Buffy nodded. He had explained this ritual to her in detail and they had spent the past week memorizing the incantations. This water had to be prepared the same day as the ritual, before midnight, or it was no good.”Gotcha,” she said, and bounded into the kitchen to do as he said. “Hard boil or soft boil?” she called from the other room.
“Hard,” he said, concentrating on the second line of the black triangle. The white candles and lone red one were in a row on the table at the end of the sofa, away from the heat of the fireplace. A box of matches lay beside them. The pale gold oil was in a glass bottle. Giles sighed quietly to himself, stepping delicately over the line he had just drawn. He was barefoot; one concession to what he was going to do later this evening. It wouldn’t do to smudge the chalk. He started work on the last line in the black triangle.
There wasn’t a great deal of water, and it boiled while Buffy watched. Then she set it aside in the covered saucepan to cool. When she came back into the living room, Giles was sitting on the end of the sofa, slumped like a man at the end of his internal energy reserves. She came over to sit next to him, not speaking.
“Thank you for doing this,” Giles said quietly. He had finished drawing the hexagram and was fiddling with the white chalk. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“No, it isn’t, Giles,” his Slayer said. “I mean, granted it’s kind of weird, but we don’t exactly have normal lives, and this is part of what we are. Obviously we shouldn’t tell anybody else, like my mom. She understands me being a Slayer but I don’t think she’d understand this.” Giles nodded.
“Agreed.”
“You’re my Watcher, Giles. I owe you more than just my life. You’ve been my friend, someone I can confide in. People my age usually don’t really understand things like loyalty and duty. They’re just words grownups use and don’t understand, either. You’ve taught me what they mean, because they’re part of everything you do. Now you’re going to show me again. Of course I’m here, Giles. I owe you.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice still soft, looking at her for a long moment. He remembered the Slayers he had trained before her, wondering who would come after, and knowing with a deep pain in his gut that he would never meet another one as remarkable or whom he liked as much as Buffy. He took his glasses off and tossed them onto the table by the couch, sighing deeply. Buffy took the chalk out of his trembling hands gently.
“Are you okay?”
“Just nervous, I think,” Giles said. “They should be here soon.” His Slayer was rubbing his arm soothingly.
“I don’t mean to sound like a guidance counselor or anything, but you know sex is a normal function of the human body,” she said sagely. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Giles stifled a laugh. “Maybe you should have some tea or something. Calm your nerves.” Giles shook his head.
“I can’t eat or drink anything but water until afterward. I’ve been fasting for two days. The Watcher’s book strongly recommends it for purification.”
“So you’ll be scarfing a pizza later,” Buffy said.
“Probably,” he admitted.
He made her recite the incantations again, all of it, not just her part. Then they rehearsed again. He wasn’t worried. She knew it. They both also knew from experience that during powerful rituals, they stopped reciting verse and began to speak from somewhere deep inside, as if another voice had taken over and was speaking through them. It would be the same this time.
The rehearsal was studious and filled with concentration, like all the times before, but Buffy was more deeply moved by the content of this ritual than she had ever been by any of the others they had done. Most rituals were summons of power, focuses of energy. The renewal of a Watcher’s vows contained passages of profound devotion and commitment and passion, telling the tale of the Watcher’s duty through the ages without really making reference to specific times, places or people. It was an oath of fealty, a promise to himself, to an ideal. It was a declaration of the most private and innermost soul of a Watcher, and just reading it in Giles’ book the first time had made tears roll down her face.
/He would do this for me, for people like me,/ she had thought. /He’s right. I don’t really understand what this kind of loyalty and duty means. I wonder if I ever will./
Then they ended the rehearsal, and Giles got up. He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the overstuffed chair in the corner, just outside of one point of the hexagram.
“I need to be quiet for a little while,” he said. “Prepare myself.” Buffy nodded and sat on the couch in silence, skimming through his Watcher’s book while they waited for the others to arrive.
It was an interesting book, the Watcher’s ritual handbook. It was dense, every word counted, every illustration serving a concrete purpose. It was not meant to merely be studied, but used, and she knew that there was more information in it than she could really understand. She had glimpses of layers, of a complete whole, that was outside of her full vision. The section that dealt with the vow ritual was extensive and filled with elaborate descriptions of archetypal symbolism. There was one part she kept reading over and over, as if it had something important to say, but she couldn’t really put her finger on its essence. She wondered if Giles understood it:
‘The ego’s proper role is not one of mastery, but service — to the Master Within. You are a magician, but you can be magical. The ego will resist this transition, because it feels like death, but the true result is balance. Renewing your vows is only the beginning of the crucible. By attempting it, you signal your desire to become a magical being. By succeeding, you know that you are ready. Let go of the familiar, the safe, and trust the universe of which you are a part. You do not control — but command.’
Giles closed his eyes, his outward stillness slowly reflected inwardly as well. He searched for that ball of anxiety that had lain within him since the day he had realized he was going to do this. Past this, buried far down deep, was another heat, the coil of his desire, the center of his maleness and passion and need. He did not get in touch with this part of himself as much as he should. He knew the familiarity of simple release; that was a natural enough part of him on many nights. This, though, was more than animal release, and it needed to be summoned fully for this ritual to have meaning.He was aware of his hands on his knees, the hard floor under him and the distant, quiet snap from the fireplace. He couldn’t hear Buffy, but he felt her in the room as a general sensation of presence across the floor on the couch. He turned away from the outside distractions, controlling his breath, slowing his heart until the sound of his own pulse began to speak to him of the primal urge he seldom acknowledged.
“Buffy?”Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t expected him to speak again until after everybody else had arrived. He was still sitting on the floor across the room with his eyes closed. He seemed calm, but there was an indefinable tension in his face and shoulders, like something slowly winding up inside him.”Yeah, Giles?” she said, keeping her voice low. His own had been deeper than usual.”There’s something else I need you to do for me. I just realized it now.”"Sure, Giles. What is it?” As she watched, his opened his eyes and looked at her. Her breath caught in her throat briefly. He didn’t look like the formal, genteel librarian she was used to seeing at school. Right now he was her Watcher, straight to the core, as if he had never been anything else.”I need…” His voice wavered and he paused, then forced himself to say it. “I need your permission to be a man. I’m a lot of things to you, to your friends whom I’ve asked to be here tonight; a teacher, a mentor, a guardian. I can’t be that tonight.” He paused again, drawing a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was filled with intense emotions that she always knew had to drive his actions, but which she had never seen or heard before. “This is for me, and I must be the man that I am and nothing else. I’m a Watcher, Buffy. This is my life and my soul. But I also need you to tell me it’s all right for me to love what I’m about to do, to take pleasure in myself, in my body. That’s also what this ritual is about; to appreciate my mortality.”"Giles,” she said gently, “you don’t need my permission for that –”"
Please,” he said fiercely, surprising her. His jaw clenched for a moment and then he went on more quietly, but still desperate. “Buffy, please. I’ve never had permission for this, not from anyone in my whole life. When I was a young man I was a hooligan, undisciplined and ignorant of anything outside of myself and yet also utterly unknowing of any depth or power of my own that I might possess. I was a man, but I didn’t understand what that meant. The way I was raised, the society into which I was born, didn’t allow me to know my own sexuality except in the most superficial way. I’ve worked very hard in the past few years to learn about this part of me, fighting against all the times I was told that my own needs were not important and that giving to others was all-consuming. I need to be selfish, Buffy.” His eyes were bright, entreating. “This ritual will benefit all of us, but I also
want this, for myself, and I need you to tell me that’s all right.”
Buffy got up from the sofa. She was astonished by what he had told her, astonished by his passion and the sound of grief that she could clearly hear in his voice. She was intimidated by it, by the raw pleading in his eyes, but her own obligations to him as his Slayer and her friendship with him told her right thing to do. She knelt down in front of him, and kissed his forehead.
“Giles, it’s okay,” she whispered, resting her own temple against his for a moment. She realized that he was crying, his cheeks wet suddenly, and she held his face. “Oh, hey, it’s all right. Giles, it’s okay. Shh.”
“I’m sorry, I…” He pulled away from her a little, looking away and bringing one hand to his face to wipe the tears away. “I’m just…afraid.” He gave a half-hearted laugh, as if to deny the confession even after having made it. “Seems silly.”
“Giles, I know this is hard for you,” Buffy said, her voice even and quiet in her way of being serious. She sat on the floor with him, hands on her own knees. “You’re right; most of the rituals we’ve done have been for me or for the Watcher-Slayer binding, but this one’s for you. You could even do it alone — it’s been modified in the book for the presence of the Slayer and witnesses if possible. But the basic form of the ritual’s for self-knowledge, not necessarily to improve your power as a Watcher but to deepen your commitment and start you on the path from practicing what you’ve learned, to living it. The ritual we’re doing tonight is for you and you alone, Giles, even though we’re here helping. Please don’t be ashamed of it. As your Slayer I give you permission.”
He gave a shuddering sigh, then nodded, looking away.
“I keep trying to give you more credit for your perceptiveness,” he murmured, “but you keep surprising me.”
“Just think,” she said. “If I’d never met you I would’ve turned out like Cordelia.”
“That’s not funny,” he scolded wearily, but she saw the smile in his eyes.
Xander felt Oz bump into him from behind as he stopped suddenly in the middle of the walk up to Giles’ front door.”What’re you stopping for?” Willow asked, hopping from one foot to the other, her head covered with a knit cap and her hands firmly embedded in her jacket pockets. “It’s cold out here.”"Have you really stopped to think about this?” Xander said.”Can we think about it inside?” Oz said.”We’ve come over to Giles’ house on the weekend to watch him jerk off. I mean, is that perverted or what? Jeez, why don’t we just rent a porno movie and get it over with?” Willow turned him around and pushed him toward the door.”It’s not perverted,” she said as Oz followed. “It’s Watcher-Slayer stuff, which by definition is never perverted, weird, freaky, or out of town.”Willow knocked, and Buffy answered the door.”Hi guys,” Buffy said. “Come in but be super quiet.” She mimed zipping her lips and they all followed suit as they crossed the threshold into Giles’ house.Xander was the first through the door, but Willow pushed past him as he hung back in the foyer. The house smelled of oakwood smoke and old leather and some other smell that she couldn’t consciously identify but which she would recognize later in life as a man’s warm, musky scent. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, casting a flickering glow across the living room and she went closer. There was a big interlacing hexagram drawn on the hardwood floor, one triangle in black chalk, the other triangle white. It was a shape sometimes called the Star of David, although was considerably older even than that ancient use.
Giles was sitting cross-legged on the floor outside of the chalk hexagram. Willow knew the pose very well, having done it herself countless times. A floorboard squeaked under her shoe and Giles’ eyes opened.
The first thing she noticed when he looked up was that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. It made his face more sensual, and the firelight in the room warmed his skin to gold. The next thing she noticed was the hot, fiery look in his amber eyes, wholly unlike anything she had ever seen in this usually distant and formal man.
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “You’re here. Please, sit.” He gestured toward the couch on the opposite side of the room. Buffy herded everyone else in the same direction as Giles got to his feet. “We can eat afterward, but is anyone thirsty?” This question seemed more than just hospitality. Oz raised his hand hesitantly, wondering why it was relevant. “Ah,” Giles said, sounding satisfied. “Let me get you some water, then, before we start.” He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Buffy to explain.
“The book says the witnesses are supposed to be comfortable,” she said, “without distractions from outside or from ‘the material body.’ Apparently that means that if you’re thirsty or you hafta go potty, you’d better do it before and not after.” Willow made an “aha” sound. Giles came back with the water, which Oz drank a little guiltily.
“Thanks,” Oz said, putting the empty glass on the table beside the couch. “Um, should I be here?” Oz said. “I mean, if evil creatures can contaminate the ritual…”
“Werecreatures are part of the wild natural magics,” Giles said. “They’re not inherently evil the way vampires and demons are. It’s all right, Oz.”
“Okay.”
Giles sat on the floor again, near his chair, with Buffy close by. Oz and Willow were on the sofa, Xander sitting on the floor in front of them. It was warm in the room and they had shed their coats and gloves and, in Willow’s case, her hat. The white candles were in their places at five points of the hexagram. The single red one had yet to be placed, sitting on the far table with some of the other things they would use. Giles drew a deep breath.
“I know all of us have been through a lot in the past couple of years,” he said, “and most of you have seen things you never though you would see. You know that Buffy and I are connected in some way, as partners, as a teacher and a student, but also in a more ephemeral way that gives us some advantages.” He shifted a little where he knelt on the floor. “It’s more even than that, and I want you to try to understand before you witness this, to put some perspective on this if you’re still trying to really, um, wrap your head around it, as Buffy said to me earlier.
“The bond between a Slayer and her Watcher is a bond of complete trust. It must be. We are soldiers and we must guard each other’s lives and souls with everything we are. This closeness is deep, each of us committed to the other in a sort of…of pairbond that sometimes is closer than lovers or family. By being here you’ve chosen to honor that, even if you don’t totally understand it. Thank you.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said softly. “Thanks, guys.”
“I’ve already given you a general outline of what to expect,” Giles said. “I can’t be more specific because frankly the manifestation and the results of this ritual vary, from what I’ve read of other Watchers going through it.” He took a deep breath before continuing, having debated in his own mind how much they needed to know and how much he was willing to tell them. “This ritual is part of an ongoing process that Watchers undertake throughout their lives. In the beginning one is a student, a learner. We read, and listen to other teachers. Then we begin to apply what we have learned; we become magicians, practicing the arcane and spiritual arts we have been taught, gaining experience. The next step is the hardest. It’s the transition from being a magician to actually becoming a magical creature, on both the physical and the spiritual plane. This transition is difficult and often results in a period of despair and terror, which most mystics call the Dark Night. The ritual I’m performing tonight is the first step into that transitional period. The reason most Watchers do not attempt it is because they are afraid. They are afraid to make the commitment…afraid to step into the abyss.”
They were silent for a long moment, embracing this idea, confronted with the strange truth that Buffy’s Watcher was afraid of something, trying to comprehend the enormity of the process he was describing to them.
“There is one more consideration,” Giles said. “This ritual summons powerful magics. There is a good chance that at least one vampire in this area will feel it and respond by trying to home in on the source. We are, however, living on a Hellmouth, where there is already a great deal of mystical activity, and I’ve warded the house to confuse the location, but we should be prepared later if we go out. The wards should certainly hold long enough to prevent them from locking on to this house until the ritual is done. Buffy and I can take care of them if they show.
“Anyway,” Giles said quietly, “the first thing we need to do is anoint the water I’ll be drinking, so go wash your hands. It’s symbolic as well as practical, so be thorough. Off you go.” They all got up except Buffy, who had already done it earlier. “Is everything else ready?” he asked, glancing at his Slayer. She nodded.
“The oil’s on the hearth with the washcloths so it’ll get warm,” she said, gesturing behind her. “And the water’s right here. Ready when you are with the matches.” Giles nodded once, satisfied that she had done as he asked. The others came back and returned to their places.
“Any questions so far?” Giles asked. At their negative response, he continued. “If you absolutely must leave the room for any reason, do not ask permission and do it as quietly as possible. Go upstairs into my bedroom and wait for someone to come to you after the ritual’s over. Try to remain calm, or take a nap so you don’t disturb the energy flow. You must not leave the house, partly because of the wards and also for your own safety if the ritual does summon vampires. Do you understand?” They all nodded.
“This is the water you must anoint,” Giles said, taking the metal cup Buffy handed him. “The old ritual calls for iron or brass, but steel has been deemed equally suitable in modern times. All you need to do is touch the water — put two fingers in. I’ll drink it later as part of the ritual. It symbolizes the power of the witnesses and their relationship with me.”
He knelt on the floor in front of Willow and recited the blessing.
“I know these people as my own.
I have taken them into my heart,
And they have taken me.
As I have served them, so they now serve me.
Let their offering be from love and strength,
And let my acceptance be from respect and thankfulness.”
Willow’s hesitation and curiosity were a sharp contrast to Giles’ calm intensity. “Go ahead.” She reached out, encouraged by his gentleness. “Magus,” Giles said as her fingers touched the water. “Magician.” Willow gasped softly as the water seemed to heat around her fingers. He offered the cup to Xander, who hesitated after seeing Willow’s reaction, but Willow nodded, and he put his own two fingers into the cup. “Bellator,” Giles murmured. “Warrior.” Xander’s wide eyes met his. Oz leaned forward slightly to offer his own hand solemnly as Giles held the cup up to him. “Magicus Lupus,” Giles said, and Oz’s eyes flashed to him in surprise. “Magical wolf.” He sat back to offer the cup to Buffy, their eyes meeting. She obeyed without hesitating. “Lamicida,” he murmured. “Vampire Slayer.”
“Magister Lamicidium,” Buffy said, naming him as he had named the others. “The Slayer’s teacher.” She touched him lightly on the forehead with her damp fingers, right between his eyes, and his eyes closed briefly.
Across town, the vampire Trick paused in speaking to another of his kind and lifted his head.”What is it?” the other vampire, Rojas, asked. He was newly risen, and still uneasy in how to live this new life, even though it felt good and safe.”I thought I heard something. Thunder.”"So? Maybe it’s going to rain.”"I was just above ground a few minutes ago,” Trick said. “It’s a cloudless night.” He turned to Rojas. “Get Osborn, Hans, Terry, and two others, and meet me up above.”
Giles got to his feet, and Buffy turned away to put the water to one side. It was time for her to light the candles…and for Giles to take off his clothes. Giles went back over to the chair where he intended to leave his clothes piled. He reached for his already loose tie, and met the eyes of the three teens on the sofa. His gut clenched and he looked away.”Damn, this is difficult,” he whispered. Buffy glanced up from where she had lit the first white candle on the hexagram.”Giles,” she said, and he looked at her, his breath leaving him shakily. “Remember who you’re doing this for.”/She’s right,/ Giles thought, the tie slipping away down his chest as he drew it off his neck, and he dropped it into the chair behind him without looking. /I have everything to gain by this. I’m doing this for my own benefit, to claim the greatest honor I have ever been offered; the chance to be the Watcher Buffy deserves./He unbuttoned his dress shirt without hesitating further, his hands shaking the whole time, and shrugged out of it with the sensation that his flesh was being seared by the gazes of those in the room with him.”Xander?” he said quietly.”Uh huh?” Xander said without looking up.”You have to look,” Giles said. “That’s what witnessing means.”"Oh. Right.” Xander forced himself to meet Giles’ eyes, found them gazing back at him understandingly.
Buffy had finished lighting the five white candles and sat back on her heels to watch Giles disrobe. She hadn’t really known what to expect at this point in the ritual. She had never really thought about Giles as a naked person. Granted, they all were at some point, while taking a shower, changing clothes, in some cases making love as she had with Angel. Her Watcher, however, was merely another adult male in her life who dressed and acted conservatively and with a certain quality of personal decorum that discouraged lewd thoughts. Maybe that was as it should be most of the time, she reflected. After all, that was a pretty shallow reason to be first attracted to someone, wasn’t it?
She had never been sure exactly how old he was; she’d never asked and he’d never offered. His behavior during that incident where the adults had all reverted to age sixteen made her think he had been that age during the early 70’s, which made him mid-forties. Her experience seeing naked men that old was basically nil. Even Michelangelo’s David was a young man, and the men who posed for Playgirl were all young, probably in their twenties or maybe early thirties.
So, in a way, she had been waiting for this moment, to answer that question in her mind as well as to answer how she would react to it. She honestly didn’t know. Was she supposed to be aroused, or not? Would it mean anything if she were? This ritual wasn’t about sex, not really, so obviously it wasn’t required that anybody be aroused, except maybe Giles, considering that having an orgasm was a necessary component of the ritual itself.
He had shed his dress shirt, baring a chest and shoulders that held muscle bulk if not sharp definition. She remembered the first time she had seen him in that white undershirt, when he’d been traipsing around with her own mom reliving his teenage years. He had muscular biceps, which had surprised her distantly. Older men weren’t supposed to be muscular, were they? She thought of Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was in his fifties by now. So, if Arnold can do it, why not Giles? Because he was a librarian?
He was also, she realized as if for the first time, her Watcher.
The undershirt came off and she could see the hard muscles the shirt had only hinted at. They were not a body builder’s muscles, not the result of weightlifting or any deliberate work to build them up. It was the body of the man who trained with her, who took the physical punishment she dealt out to him in her efforts to become a better fighter. It was the body of a man who could fight with a quarterstaff, who had beaten the shit out of Ethan Rayne — a fact she had learned later after relentlessly questioning him about how he had broken the spell on Halloween.
He was very shy right now — his body language said that loudly as he hesitated before slipping out of his trousers. Even so, she knew when his green boxers came off that he was not ashamed of his body, just embarrassed to be naked under pretty much any circumstances. He certainly had no reason to be ashamed. He was well-proportioned, with broad shoulders and fine, graceful hands. The muscle definition in his legs was sharper, apparent when he walked over to the hexagram to enter from the open point where a candle had not yet been placed. He knelt inside the design, resting on both knees and closing his eyes for a moment to let out a slow breath.
/What’s he feeling right now?/ she wondered as his eyes opened. /I can’t tell, and that scares me./
He glanced at her, then held out his hand for the red candle. She passed it to him along with the matches, and he leaned forward to set it carefully on the point of the triangle. He struck a match and moved to light it. His hand was shaking too much and after a moment, Giles let his hands drop to the hardwood floor, leaning his weight forward on them with a taut sigh of frustration. The dropped match burned itself out after a moment.
/He’s so nervous he can’t do it,/ she realized. /God, the poor thing./ She started to reach for the matches to do it herself, but Giles’ head snapped to the side to fix her with a stare and she froze.
Giles closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and then held it for three heartbeats. When he exhaled again, his trembling stilled, and he righted himself to strike another match. The candle took the flame readily, and he gave the matches back to Buffy.
He met the eyes of the three witnesses who had come to do this for him. He had been afraid of what he would see there, but the reality made him exhale in surprise. There was no shock, no fear, no disgust. What he saw was acceptance and curiosity. In Willow’s eyes he saw compassion — she wanted to help him do this, wanted to be here for him because he needed it. Xander had seemed unsure at first but now he was watching calmly. Oz was gazing at him with a strangely sagacious neutrality, the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth as if he had learned a new respect for the Watcher in the past few days. Giles looked at Buffy, and saw the commitment and calm in her face. She was not afraid. He swallowed hard, realizing how blessed he was to have such friendships.
Trick stood above ground in the night air, inhaling deeply, listening, trying to detect what had caught his attention before. Next to him, Hans and Osborn were also still and quiet. They were the oldest of the seven of them. Rojas stood to one side nervously — he didn’t feel anything, but the sky was clear just as Trick had said.”I smell magic,” Osborn said finally.”We’re on a Hellmouth,” Hans said. “I always smell magic.”"This is different,” Trick said.”The Slayer?” Terry asked. Osborn considered, analyzing the faint tingle along his nerves.”I think not. It’s…different.” He snorted in frustration.”I’ve felt this before,” Hans said after a moment. “In India, years and years ago. I’m trying to remember what it was.”"We may be too far away from the source to get a good fix on it,” Trick said. “Unknown magic makes me nervous. Let’s spread out and cover the town. Maybe if we can get closer we’ll get a better idea what it is.” He gestured, and they all went off in different directions.
It was time to start the incantation, and Buffy turned slightly to get the warmed oil from the hearth. She opened the bottle and moved carefully into the hexagram so she could pour some of it across Giles’ shoulders. Then she covered her hands with it and the scent of cedar, aloeswood and rose oil filled the room. There was something else, a warmth like cinnamon, and Buffy started to rub his shoulders, spreading the oil across his skin slowly. His eyes closed as she covered his muscled back and buttocks, her touch smooth and calm.She took more oil and anointed his face carefully, avoiding his eyes, the strokes of her hands more symbolic than actually trying to cover every spot with the oil. Then, he began to speak, his low voice strong and clear.
“From the dawn of time we have Watched the Signs.
Since the birth of evil, we are warriors against the Dark.
This is my service, freely given,
With honor, with pride, with blood.
I do this for the hearts of the living.
I do this for the souls of the Damned.
We shall not falter against the Night.”
Buffy drew both hands back through his hair, oiling it lightly, spreading it on his throat and neck. “
Conscientia,” Giles said. She felt him swallow against her hands.”
Knowledge of good and evil,” Buffy replied, surprised to find her voice was also clear.She moved around to the side so she could rub the oil into his chest and stomach, feeling his nipples harden under her fingers. He breathed slowly but his heart was racing and she was gentle to try to ease his nervousness. His legs were strong; she could feel it in his thighs as she spread oil there. She moved to his arms, using both hands to cover them down to his hands, massaging slightly and finding the tension she had not heard in his voice. He spoke again as she rubbed his palms.
“The ages pass and the world changes.
The sword cannot stay all enemies.
Steel breaks. Things fall to dust.
I alone am eternal.
I am the sword.
My body.
My will.
My strength.
My honor.
I am the sword that shall redeem the world.” Giles closed his oiled hand into a fist, as a man might grip a weapon. “
Ius.”"
Justice,” Buffy intoned.From one quiet moment to the next, his gently closed hand clenched, the tendons in his arm and neck standing out, muscles bunching. He was not here in this house anymore, but very far away, remembering how he had felt on the day the call had begun inside him, summoning him to cross the sea and become the Watcher to a Slayer just born. He gasped and his face contorted into an expression of sweet agony, a pleasure and torment both that looked like it would tear him apart. The first word was a cry of pain:
“O, by all that is holy, I am burning!
This ache in my soul draws me across the sea,
Over the sacred land unfurling.
I seek the Slayer.”
His eyes opened as if he had become suddenly, profoundly aware of his Slayer beside him, and he sought Buffy’s eyes, his own naked and vulnerable. He remembered this moment, too, from when they had first met — that first instant of terror and astonishment and panic that no other Slayer had ever provoked in him. He had known even then that this bond was unusual. It held him prisoner with his own secrets. It was a prison he had never wanted to leave. He spoke the required words from the most inner core of his soul.
“She knows my name, in my heart of hearts.
In her name all my moments are lived.
In my dreams she is Truth.
By her side I am whole.
I will kill.
I will die.
Does she know?
It has a name.”
His voice was deep and hard, telling her, promising her. “
Fidelitas.”"
Fidelity,” Buffy said quietly as she laid her hand on his chest over his heart, and he bowed his head solemnly as a deep silence descended on the room. After a moment, he raised his head again, as if listening.
“I hear thunder.
It speaks to me and I understand:Fly through the Darkness, panther quick.
Run Watcher, and feel your ancient blood!
Control is the watchword, but beware the death
Of the duty’s trap.
A man is more than his scholar’s books.A Watcher’s blood is a hot blood,
I will not take a leash or a chain.
Centuries of war have fed this flame,
And scatter my enemies before me.
My breath is smoke, my belly coiled.
I will bathe in the blood of Hell’s minions.
Dracul the dragon is not their power.
He belongs to the Watcher’s aegis.
The beast is howling at the gate.
It is me.”
Buffy’s hand, slick with oil, slid down between his legs, slowly anointing his thickening cock and warm testicles. Giles groaned low, the sound strangled and hungry. He could barely speak the word required of him, but finally he breathed it out. “Furor.”
“Passion,” Buffy said drawing her hand back up through the soft hair of his groin. Her face was tense with concentration, not thinking of his sexuality in that moment, but the stress of this ritual and his emotional nakedness. He met her eyes again, and lifted his hand to hers.
“I am yours beyond death, my soul ever bound to you
Through all trial, all fire, all loss.”
She pressed her oil-slicked palm against his and he twined their fingers together.
“We are one in battle,” he promised. She had to free that hand to reach for the water the witnesses had anointed, but closed her other hand in his again as she lifted the cup.
“Take these friendships, these bonds, blood to your own and soul to yours,” Buffy said quietly. “Drink of this and know them.”
He opened his mouth to receive it, tilting his head back as she brought the cup to his lips. He gasped and made a soft sound in his throat as the water filled his mouth. It tasted of heat and power, burning him from within as he swallowed. Buffy didn’t hesitate even at his flinch, and he gulped the rest eagerly once he understood. The witnesses were good. He shuddered as the cup was taken away, and Buffy’s other hand was tight in his. “Name the Watcher,” Buffy commanded.
“Aegidius!” Giles roared, leaning his head back to give it his full voice. The sound filled his house, and the candles flickered violently. The hexagram answered his cry, the white chalk burning to a blinding brightness for an instant, the black chalk deepening to a jet beyond any true color. It lasted only a breath, but the power that had been awakened and focused in the symbol was impossible to ignore, sharing the room with them in warmth and promise.
Trick paused at a lamppost as a hot wind passed through him. More magic. Something was definitely going on and they were running out of time to find it. He wondered if the others had found anything. He considered the unpleasant possibility that there was more than one source, and that their forces would be spread too thin to deal with it if it turned out to be a threat.He waited to see if the heat would stop shifting long enough to show him a direction. He kept still, concentrating, listening, smelling the slow breeze.There. He turned his head, feeling the source flicker. A general direction, but it was enough. He set off down the street again, growling.
Buffy held Giles’ left hand firmly as he drew a deep breath for the next part of the ritual. He closed his free hand around his cock gently, eyes closed, breathing in the slow rhythm that would help him concentrate. She began the next incantation, letting her voice take the rhythm until it matched Giles’ breath.”When the world was young and the seas ran hot,
Evil walked the land as its dominion.
The skies were black, the sun cast no shadow
On a world ever shrouded in Darkness.
Hell on Earth.As the eons passed and the way was made
For mortal creatures to claim their birthright,
Great wars were waged as each struggled to live,
But the power of evil was fading.
Light prevailed.The land grew fertile and the seas ran pure.
Seasons came and went with the cleansing rains.
Lightning struck and gave life to the world
And men stood up to forge their iron plows.
We lived free.But the last demon to leave this plane would
Not go so easily. He drank the blood
Of a mortal man, and the man drank his.
The demon took his body, his soul lost.
Evil lives.A Slayer is born, a champion of men.
She lives to fight the Dark, she knows their scent.
She takes them one by one. She smells their fear.
She will stand between Hell and the living.”"Rise, Slayer!” Giles cried out. He growled deep in his chest, his head thrown back as his hand moved slowly around his slick cock. His breaths were hard and hot, his body’s private ritual mingling with the greater one, and his hand was gripped like a vise in Buffy’s own.”The first Slayers were lost too quickly, and
Humanity began to lose the war.
She has strength, but lacks knowledge. She has much
Courage, but lacks a soldier’s discipline.
She needs help.”Buffy covered Giles’ hand with her other one, unharmed by his powerful grip only because of her own strength. His own sweat mingled with the oil on his body, his conscious mind lost to the room, aware only of her hand in his and the rising flame in his own body. His nostrils flared, smelling power. His hand on his cock was still slow and intense, but she could feel something building, feel the tension winding up in his body and spreading out into the room. He was ready. The power was ready. He gulped to breathe as she finished the incantation, hoping he wouldn’t finish first.
“A Watcher is born, the Slayer’s teacher.
He carries the war to the demon’s mind,
Guards the Slayer with his body and soul.
For her, he will travel the dark abyss.
Rise, Watcher!”
He spoke over her as she finished, his voice rising in a shout of triumph and command:
“I am the Watcher! I take the power that is mine.
I am the Watcher! In my blood it is written!”
It was sweet beyond anything he had ever dreamed, the climax hot and bright and delicious. It shocked him even as it swept him up and he felt it gathering in his loins, preparing to burst free. “Ah, God!” he cried out, and outside the house there was a hard clap and roll of thunder on a cloudless night. He came in the same instant, long, hard surges that splashed the floor across the hexagram’s boundaries. The carnal delight of his own orgasm overwhelmed him and he growled, licking hungrily at the semen on his hand and between his fingers. “Oh my God,” he groaned, finally putting his hand down on the floor to lean on, and the distant thunder’s echo died to leave the house quiet except for the snap of the fire in the hearth.
The seven vampires met again at the corner of Prospect and Minnesota.”It’s somewhere in this area, then,” Trick said, and Hans nodded.”I smell magic,” Terry said. “Strong magic.”"I can’t pin down the exact place,” Hans said. “It won’t resolve. It keeps shifting; one moment it’s that house, the next moment it’s the house down the street.”"Even if we find the house, we can’t enter,” Terry said.”Then we’ll lie in wait,” Trick said. “We’re used to that.”
“Did it work?” Buffy asked softly. She reached out to stroke Giles’ hair where he was bent over on the floor, panting. Buffy was exhausted, as if she had run a marathon. Giles’ head moved into her touch for a moment, like a cat seeking attention, and then he started to laugh breathlessly between pants.”Yes,” he panted. “Yes, oh…”"Are you okay?”Giles sat up, still caught between laughter and breathing.”I…it’s euphoric,” he said. He looked down at his hands in wonder, a smile flashing across his face. “For a moment…I felt like I was made of light…”"Hey,” Willow said. “The candles went out.” They all looked.”Oh,” Giles said with surprise. “So they did.” In the next moment he noticed his own semen on the floor in front of him, and glanced at Buffy. “Um, would you –” She handed him the washcloth. “Thank you.” He leaned forward to wipe the hardwood floor clean. “Damnable stuff stains,” he murmured.”Do I want to know how you know that?” Xander said before he could stop himself, and Giles’ pale eyes flicked up to him.”No,” Giles said, his mouth quirking.
“So it worked,” Oz said, matching Giles’ wry smile. Giles nodded as he wiped the last bit from the floor, then himself absently. “So…now what?”
“We shall see,” Giles said. “It will take some time before the effects fully manifest.” He felt like he could sleep for a month, and as he got to his feet, he remembered something he had read in the Watcher’s ritual handbook:
‘You may feel afterward like immediately going to sleep, but this urge should be resisted. It is a transitory feeling, and in an hour or you will feel extremely energetic and want to move about, perhaps even spar with your Slayer. Your body requires this initial time to adjust to the power you have just awakened, and you should remain awake to properly attune yourself during this fragile time. After the initial adjustment in the first four or five hours, your body will tell you when you need to sleep.’
He stepped out of the hexagram, ignoring the boundaries now, still holding the washcloth he had used. He wouldn’t have expected Buffy to take it back in its present condition.
“Hey, Giles,” Buffy said, and he turned slightly.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to just go to bed? We can all go; it’s cool. Maybe you should get some sleep. You look totally whacked.”
“No,” Giles sighed. “As much as I would like to right now, the handbook advises against it. If the experience of other Watchers is any guide, in an hour from now I’ll be a rampaging banshee.”
“I think I’d pay to see that,” Oz said.
“Just let me bathe and then we’ll do something about supper. Buffy, would you please destroy the hexagram as I instructed? Willow, you may help her if you wish. Please feel free to put some music on afterward. There’s tea and juice in the kitchen — just help yourselves.”
He went upstairs, quite naked, and Buffy had already started to wipe through the hexagram. She was using her hand, starting with the white triangle first and rubbing out the solidity of the chalk. Willow got up to help.
“Well that didn’t take long,” Xander said with some surprise. “Buck naked, has an orgasm, and he’s back into librarian mode within a minute.” Oz shook his head and Xander looked at him.
“Did you see his eyes?” Oz said. “Wolf’s eyes. Believe me, I know.”
“I don’t know about his eyes,” Xander said, “but that was, without a doubt, the freakiest thing my young and impressionable little peepers have ever seen.” They all laughed after a moment, a little guiltily.
“Did you see how he was licking his hand after he, uh…” Willow swallowed, hoping someone would take up the sentence for her.
“Yeah, that was cool,” Oz said with a slight grin, and they all looked at him. “What? I do it.”
“Ew,” Willow said, laughing.
“It tastes good,” Oz said defensively. Buffy choked on a laugh, then tossed Willow another damp washcloth. The two of them began cleaning up the chalk from the floorboards, putting the candles aside.
The smell of cedar and cinnamon lingered on him. Giles could smell it strongly now as he stepped into the shower to begin washing the oil off of his skin and hair. He had never felt so pure in his life, as if every sin and bad memory and worried thought had been cleansed from him to leave only a simple clarity behind. The tile in the shower interested him and he put his hand on it for a moment, contemplating its smoothness and shape and the smell of clay. Then he breathed a laugh.
/Is this what living is?/ he wondered.
/Has my life been muffled until this moment?/
He heard music when he came down the steps — the radio, playing “Winter” from the Four Seasons. He smelled jasmine tea and microwaved hot chocolate, and heard them all talking in the room below. He paused on the steps, leaning on the divider between the upper and lower levels of the house, just smiling and taking it in quietly. He felt no shame, no embarrassment.Buffy looked up and saw him on the stairs. Their eyes met and for a moment she thought she could see what he had described before. He almost looked…radiant. She felt magic pouring off of him like heat from a flame. His expression was pure contentment, and he smiled at her. She jerked her head at him with an answering smile.
/Come on down and join the party./Giles came the rest of the way down the steps and across the floor. He still looked shy, hands in his trouser pockets, but without the sensation of separateness. He had once been apart from these people in some important yet indefinable way. That was no more. They all looked up at him, at first hesitant because they didn’t know how to act, but on seeing him they smiled back, responding to his love for them in that moment.It struck him then, what he had done, the trust he had been given, the power that even now drove him to his knees as Oz moved to catch him. Buffy ran forward and the others gathered around him.”Giles, are you all right?” Buffy asked, taking his arm as he reached out. His other hand was gripping the sofa’s arm, and he straightened a little as Oz helped him sit up.”My God,” he murmured. “The power of it…I didn’t know…”"Here,” Buffy said, reaching back to take a cup that Willow put in her hand. “Drink this. It’ll help.”"Oh,” he said, a small sound of surprise, as Buffy handed him the porcelain cup. That simple gesture made his throat tighten, and lifted it up to smell it. “Mint,” he said, and his jade-gold eyes met hers in pure startlement. “How did you know I…” His voice trailed off when he realized he was about to say — that he often drank mint tea after pleasuring himself. It had long been a habit, a personal quirk he had never really understood but had indulged. Buffy’s mouth twitched as if she knew what he was thinking.
“The Watcher’s ritual handbook,” she said. “Page five hundred and ten. Apparently you’re not the only one.”
“Indeed?” he said. “How did I manage to miss that?”
“Drink,” she instructed, and he obeyed, still regarding her over the cup’s edge. “It’s an endnote. Says it helps Watchers recover their virility faster. Who knew Watchers were such horndogs.” He almost choked on the tea, then glared at her. On the couch, Willow was trying desperately not to giggle.
“Buffy,” he warned.
“Oh come on, Giles,” Buffy said, slapping at his arm lightly with the back of her hand. “We tease you because we like you.” He smiled then, shyly burying his gaze in the tea again to avoid having to look at her. The tea tasted extremely good, and his body craved it urgently. Finally, he just gulped half of it down, knowing full well the implications of that considering what the mint was for. Buffy let out a strangled giggle, and Giles started to laugh.
“Bloody hell,” Giles chuckled and drank the rest of the tea with relish. “Thank you,” he sighed.
“So who wants to eat pizza and go to a movie for real?” Buffy said.
“Oh my God, I’m starving,” Giles said, putting a hand on his abdomen. Xander shot his arm up.
“I second the motion.”
“We can all go in my van,” Oz said.
“Then let’s split,” Buffy said. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”
Buffy was entertaining herself watching Giles eat. She hadn’t realized how right she would be when speculating earlier that Giles would scarf a pizza — an entire pizza — by himself. After watching him eat everything in sight but pineapple and anchovies, she had new respect.”You’re going to be sick as a dog later,” Xander told him through a mouthful of his own pizza. They were all crowded into a booth.”I feel like I could eat a horse,” Giles said. “I haven’t been this hungry in all my life.”"The Garden Plaza is just a couple of blocks away,” Buffy said. “You guys want to walk over there and see what’s showing? We can pick something at random if we have to. I’m wired.”They all agreed to this, and when they were done eating, they all set off down the street, walking briskly in the cold night air.
“I might have known,” Trick said from their vantage point in the shadows of houses. “The Slayer and her Watcher.” They had followed the source of the magic, waiting for an opportunity to catch it in the open.”I remember now where I’ve felt this before,” Hans said. “It was the Watcher in Bombay in 1871. He renewed his vows and he and his Slayer cleaned up that entire city in the ten years following. That’s why our kind doesn’t go to Bombay anymore…bad luck. I had the brains to get out while I could.”"We have to take them,” Osborn said. “We can’t let them become that powerful. At the very least we have to kill the Watcher.”"You’re insane,” Terry hissed. “With a Slayer there? There’s no way I’m trying that. If you want to get your ass killed by a Dragon Watcher, go ahead, but I’ll have none of it!” He backed away to leave but Hans held his sleeve tightly.”We have to kill him now while he’s vulnerable,” Hans said. “He just did it tonight. If we can get to him before the power stabilizes, before he knows how to control it, we have a chance.”"He’s right,” Trick said. “I’d rather not try it while his Slayer’s with him, but if we wait to catch him alone it will be too late. We won’t be able to take him then. He’ll be too strong. They don’t look as if they’re expecting any trouble tonight — we might catch them by surprise.”
“Maybe the Rocky Horror’s on,” Willow said. “It’s not midnight yet, but we could wait.”"I want to see Titanic,” Oz said.”Again?” Xander said. “Jeez, didn’t we already see that three times?”"The sinking part is really cool,” Oz said. “When the lights go out and the ship breaks in half.”"So, you’re supposed to be able to kick demon butt yourself now, huh?” Buffy said to her Watcher conversationally.”So goes the theory,” Giles said, pushing his glasses up. He restlessly put his gloved hands up on his head again as they walked, then swung him arms a few times. “God, I have so much energy,” he said. “I feel like I want to just run and run and never stop, like a racehorse kept in a stall too long.”"Guess you don’t feel like sleeping now, huh?” Willow said on the other side of him. Giles shook his head vigorously, as much to vent his energy as to express his answer. His breath fogged in the cold air, faster than most people would usually have been breathing. He swallowed hard.”I don’t know if I can keep still long enough to watch a movie,” he admitted. “I feel so good — I just want to
move.”"Well quit moving so much into
me,” Buffy said, whacking him playfully on the shoulder as his fidgeting bumped him into her for about the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes. Suddenly Giles halted in the street. So did Buffy, and the others stopped to look at them in surprise.
“I couldn’t possibly be so lucky,” Giles murmured. Buffy was already looking around. She felt them. “Show yourselves!”
From the curb, a big vampire launched himself over a mailbox with a roaring snarl. Six more appeared behind him, growling as they advanced with their predator’s faces.
“I feel your magic, Watcher,” one of them said. “You’re a fool to come out tonight.”
“Trick,” Buffy murmured. “So not nice to see you again.”
“More fool you,” Giles said in a low voice. “Come taste the magic if you dare.”
“Giles,” Buffy said under her breath, “are you sure you –” She didn’t have a chance to finish the question as the lead vampire and one of the others came at them. The other two hesitated for a moment, then joined them. Trick held back to watch. Buffy had her stake out already and engaged the leader before he reached Giles. Osborn growled and circled her. He didn’t want to fight her tonight; his target was her Watcher.
Hans had reached the Watcher and flashed out a hard fist, aiming for the Watcher’s throat. Nothing fancy with this. Just kill any way possible. They’d find easier prey for feeding.
His fist was stopped in midair by the Watcher’s hand, the grip like steel, and Hans met the mortal’s amber eyes with a surprised snarl. The Watcher growled back at him, a rumbling, dangerous sound that no human could make. Giles took advantage of the vampire’s startlement by kicking him hard in the stomach and punching him in the face with his free hand. The vampire went down hard as one of the ones who had held back ran up with rage in his face.
“No!” Hans croaked. Terry took the Watcher’s backhanded fist full in the jaw and spun to the pavement with a grunt. Behind him, Osborn was also on the ground, thrown there by the Slayer. He was scrambling to his feet just as Buffy staked Terry in the chest and the vampire vanished in a cloud of dust.
In the next breath, Buffy was fighting two at once, keeping an eye on the others with Rojas. Trick was holding back, which she had learned was his style since he didn’t like to risk himself. She knew he was well-named, though, and kept track of his position to make sure he couldn’t take advantage of one of them being distracted.
Willow had thrown holy water on Rojas to distract him, to give the Slayer and her Watcher a better chance. He seemed weakest of the group, which was true. Being undisciplined, he turned on them in his pain and rage instead of going after Giles as he’d been told. Oz and Xander had him now. He struggled and threw Oz to the ground.
“Stake!” Xander gasped. “Willow, hurry!”
“I got it, I got it!” she panted. Oz took it from her and grabbed the vampire just as he turned on Xander. Rojas was caught off guard, and collapsed into dust with a wail as Oz drove the stake home.
Osborn had murder in his eyes and even though the Slayer stood between him and the Watcher, he had no intention of stopping to try to kill her.
“Osborn, no!” Hans shouted, backing away from the group. “Trick, he’s too strong!” One of the vampires fighting Buffy broke off his attack and ran away, leaving Buffy to kill the remaining one.
“He has to die!” Osborn shouted. Buffy tried to trip him but he leaped past, colliding with Giles and they both went down in the street. Giles got a foot under him and flipped the vampire backward over his head. Osborn landed with a thud and was up again in a heartbeat, going for Giles’ throat. Giles grabbed his foot and jerked him off his feet again, then rolled to get up. He had landed another punch on the vampire when Willow, Oz and Xander came running up to Buffy.
“Shouldn’t we help him?” Willow asked. Buffy just stood there, watching, with her hands on her hips. Hans was long gone, once again displaying the caution that had kept him alive in Bombay those decades ago.
“In a minute,” she said. “He looks like he’s having fun.”
The mailbox got in the way and Giles flipped the vampire over hard onto it. Osborn hit the metal on his back and kicked out with both feet, knocking the Watcher to the ground. He leaped down but encountered the Watcher’s feet again and went sprawling.
“Okay,” Buffy said. She ran forward before Osborn could get up and grabbed him by the hair. “Playtime’s over.” She staked him as he grabbed her and his hand fell away to dust. “You want some, Trick, or are you just chaperoning?” Buffy asked.
Trick smiled and started to reply, but Giles was on his feet again in the next moment and took a threatening step forward to stand at Buffy’s side. He let out a harsh, bass snarl in Trick’s direction, a dragon’s warning, and the smile faded from Trick’s face.
“Just babysitting tonight, Slayer,” Trick said to her, still keeping his eyes on her Watcher, who had bared his teeth. “See you again some time.” He backed away toward the curb and in another moment had melted into the shadows and was gone. Buffy was looking at Giles incredulously.
“Did you just growl?” Buffy said disbelievingly.
“What?” her Watcher said, his brow furrowing.
“Growl,” she repeated, “a sorta low, rumbly, humans-don’t-have-the-vocal-cords-to-make-that-kinda-noise growl.” Giles looked taken aback.
“I…don’t know,” he said. “I may have.”
“I didn’t know you could make noises like that,” Oz said, a slow grin spreading across his face as he came up behind them.
“I didn’t know I could either,” Giles said, now looking very perplexed.
“What was that you said earlier about maybe vampires being attracted to this and maybe we should be careful going out tonight?” Xander said, his hand on his chest over his pounding heart.
“Wow, Giles kicks ass,” Willow said.
“I wasn’t even thinking about it,” Giles said. “I just…reacted when they came at us. I knew I could fight but I had no idea I’d be this strong…” Buffy feinted at him suddenly and he blocked the strike with his forearm. She pushed against him for a moment and he matched her strength.
“You’re almost as strong as I am,” Buffy said. “Jeez, Giles, we’d better keep you away from the state fair.”
“So how ’bout that movie?” Xander said.
“I think I can sit still for a while now,” Giles said. He started to take a step, and suddenly hesitated, reaching reflexively for Buffy’s shoulder to steady himself. “Or perhaps lie down,” he amended, and dropped to his knees heavily before falling unconscious against Buffy’s shoulder. She caught him, concerned, and they all knelt in the street.
“Oh my God, is he okay?” Willow said, reaching for Giles’ arm. Buffy held him easily.
“He said the power fluctuates,” she said quietly. “It has peaks and dead zones. He’s not used to it yet and I think fighting off vampires was overdoing it for his first day.”
“Then we were lucky,” Oz said soberly. “He might have been killed tonight.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said. “We were real lucky. Let’s get him home.”
From the shadows, Trick was still watching them, seeking any information that might help him understand the Watcher’s vulnerabilities. He saw Giles’ collapse, and realized he had timed their window wrong in attacking. This was the kind of thing that happened when they acted like traditional vampires, Trick reflected, reacting instead of making things happen. Proactive, that was a good word for a modern vampire.
“Damn,” he murmured. “Almost. But next time I’ll be better prepared.”
End Story I in the Watcher’s Vows Series
“Autumnal Equinox”
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Story
Erotica: Giles/Buffy
A Blast Furnace Production
Copyright (C) 1999 by A. Manley Haight
RATING: NC-17
winner of the 2000 Cookie Award for “Best Smut”
Flames are welcome and are, in fact, encouraged for psychological study.
This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or Time Warner. It may not be reproduced or redistributed in any form, electronic or otherwise, without the written permission of the author and the publisher. This story is distributed for the individual personal entertainment of persons of legal age for viewing sexually explicit material in areas where such viewing is legal. Okay to archive at Bethany’s World of Fan Fiction.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Although I am not an herbalist or any kind of expert on herbal or holistic medicine, I have researched it on and off over the past few years. I’m taking some liberties in this story, so if it looks like I’m making something up, I probably am.
I’m also proceeding from the presumption that Giles and Jenny were not romantically involved, and have taken some other liberties with chronology.
“Hey, Buffy, you okay?” Willow reached out to touch her best friend.“Yeah, yeah I think so,” Buffy said quietly, putting her hands on the lab table to steady herself. “Just got sorta dizzy there for a second.”“It’s been a couple of days since you said you weren’t feeling good,” Willow observed. “You sure you’re not coming down with that Hong Kong flu?”“Jeez, I hope not. That’s all I need. Blowing chow for three days.”“Maybe you should tell Giles,” Willow said. “It might be, you know, less flu-like and more curse-like.”
“Good point,” Buffy said. “I do feel kinda funky. And my dreams have been really weird.”
“Dreams?” Willow said. “Prophecy dreams?”
“If they are, I’m in big trouble.”
“Hey, Giles!” she called out brightly as she and Willow entered the library after school that day.“Oh, hello Buffy,” he said, emerging from his office. “Hello, Willow.”“Buffy’s not feeling well,” Willow explained. “We think it could be a magic thing, or a spell or something.”“Indeed?” Giles said, attentive now. He came over to them and put his book down on the table. Buffy held still as he held her face and looked into her eyes one at a time. “Do you have any particular reason to think so? Unusual symptoms?”“Well, no, I don’t think so,” Willow said. “I mean, Buffy didn’t really give me a list or anything. I’m just being paranoid.”
“There is a flu virus going around,” Giles said, “which I’ve already had. I could have given it to you, or you could have easily caught it from someone else in the school. Closed environments like this are ideal breeding grounds for infectious disease.”
“That’s so cheerful, Giles,” Buffy said. A wave of dizziness flooded over her in the next breath and when she came to, Giles was holding her up and Willow had run up to her side to help.
“Get a chair,” Giles instructed, and Willow dragged one over from the end of the table.
“Sorry,” Buffy murmured, trying to put her hand on the table so she could push away from Giles, whose body was disturbingly warm and close.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “It’s quite all right. Here, sit down.” She obeyed gladly. “Willow, would you get Buffy a glass of water from my office?”
“Sure thing,” Willow said and rushed across the room. Giles was holding her wrist, taking her pulse.
“How long have you been having these dizzy spells?” he asked her.
“That just started yesterday,” Buffy said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.
“And before? What symptoms and how long?” Willow had come back with the water.
“Here, Buffy.”
“Thanks,” she said, sipping at it. “About three days ago I felt sorta weird when I woke up. Hot, like feverish, but I didn’t have a fever. Mom said it was probably just the Indian summer –it’s been hotter than usual this month and maybe I was too warm when I slept. That seemed to make sense and I didn’t feel bad otherwise, so I went to school.” Giles’ cool palm came to rest on her forehead, sending a shiver through her body.
“You feel like you might have a fever now, though,” Giles mused. “Go on.”
“Well, around lunchtime I started feeling kinda trembly, like the low blood sugar shakes or something.”
“And you were really hungry,” Willow said. “Remember? You actually ate the cafeteria dessert.”
“Ew, yeah,” Buffy said, making a face. “That was weird.”
“Ignoring magical sources for the moment, dizziness and nervous disorders can be signs of a head injury,” Giles said. “Have you struck your head recently, or been in a situation where you couldn’t remember the past few minutes and might have been hit, during a fight perhaps?” Buffy considered, thinking back.
“No, don’t think so. I haven’t been having memory problems, as far as I can tell. I don’t think I’ve hit my head lately, but then, would I remember?” she joked.
“Do you mind if I check?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Ha ha,” he said dryly, slipping his hands into her hair to feel carefully around her head for signs of a bump or some other trauma. He had a gentle touch, compassionate but not invasive, and Buffy found herself relaxing in the chair. “You seem to be all right,” he said after a minute, and withdrew his hands. “Your head at least.” He crouched down to study her face although he didn’t seem to really be looking at her. “Has your increased appetite persisted?”
“Yeah, but I’m never actually hungry, you know what I mean? I feel like I should be eating something, but I don’t really want food. Nothing I eat is satisfying.”
“Hmm,” Giles said. Buffy was looking at him, trying to figure out what he was studying her for. “Let me see your tongue.”
“My tongue?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. Buffy shrugged and opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out. Giles made another thoughtful sound and stood up again.
“So?” Buffy said. “Spots? Stripes? Bugs? What?”
“I don’t want to speculate yet,” Giles said, although from his expression, he clearly had an idea forming. “So, dizzy spells, fever, unusual appetite, trembling. Anything else?”
“Well…I’ve been having strange dreams.”
“Dreams,” Giles said, frowning slightly. “What kind of dreams? Prophecies?”
Buffy glanced at Willow uneasily.
“Well…they’re, um…Will, could you, uh…”
“Oh. Watcher-Slayer stuff,” Willow nodded. “Gotcha. I’ll see you later for our study jam then…unless you’re sick. In that case, you know, stay home and drink fluids and stuff. Hope you feel better, Buff.”
“Thanks,” Buffy smiled, and Willow left.
Giles, who had been gazing at the floor, lifted his eyes to Buffy, one hand leaning on the table and the other in his pocket.
“Are they erotic dreams?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes steady. Buffy gaped at him.
“Giles!”
“Tell me the truth,” Giles said. “A Slayer to her Watcher.” Buffy looked away, then let out a long, deep breath.
“Yeah,” she said.
“About anyone in particular?” The pause was longer this time.
“Yeah.”
“All right. Tell me more about this fever,” Giles said, pulling up a chair and turning it around to sit in it facing the wrong way with his arms folded on the back. “It seems to have become a literal fever but what you described initially was more psychological, yes? I could see you had more to say but you didn’t want to talk about it in front of Willow.”
“I’m not sure I want to talk about it in front of you, either,” Buffy said wryly, not meeting his eyes.
“Buffy, all I want to do is help you,” Giles said calmly. “I’m not here to be judgmental about your dreams, or your desires. Dreams can be very important messages from our inner selves. These things are very personal, especially at your age, and everything you tell me will remain absolutely confidential, even from your friends.”
“You promise?” she said, looking up from fiddling with her silver and lapis ring that her mother had given her for her birthday last year.
“You have my word.”
“Okay. Well…it’s like…that first time, three days, ago, when I woke up I wanted something, but I wasn’t really sure what. It wasn’t until later in the day that I remembered the dream.”
“The, uh, sexual dream, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you characterize that initial sense of wanting something as sexual or was it more nonspecific?” Giles wondered.
“I guess maybe it was kinda sexual…but not physical. More like mental sexual. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, some,” Giles said. “Sexuality is as much mind as it is body. Really, there’s no dichotomy. Some people focus more on the carnal aspects, and others prefer the psychological components. You’re saying this seems less hormonal and more strongly linked to your personality or your psyche?”
“Yeah, that’s a good way of putting it. I mean, there’s definitely a physical element, it’s just not the major thing.”
“Hm,” Giles said, looking amused. “I’d say that’s unusual for people your age, to have an appreciation of the more abstract aspects of sex. At least, I know it would be for boys.” Buffy rolled her eyes.
“Tell me about it. I know girls are bad, but the boys are way worse. Sometimes I don’t think there’s anything else in there but testosterone.”
“That changes with time,” Giles assured her, still amused. “In fact I’ve been told that women don’t reach their peak sexual maturity until they’re in their forties.”
“Get outta town.”
“Well, I couldn’t really confirm it from personal experience,” Giles said shyly, glancing away briefly. “Watchers are supposed to remain celibate, you know.”
“Yeah. Bummer.”
“It’s not all bad,” Giles said with a slight shrug. “No emotional risks, no health risks.”
“Yeah, but no jollies, either,” Buffy said. Giles’ smile looked knowing this time.
“I know this may sound hard to believe, but one’s sexual understanding changes quite a lot as you grow older. It already seems complex to you now, but a lot of that is rooted in confusion and uncertainty. Our bodies and our minds are very intricate and very sublime. There’s so much to learn and it never stops. I know that your generation looks upon my generation as beyond sex or no longer interested in it. That’s not true at all. Our expressions of it have changed, not just to the outward world, but within ourselves. If we choose to take the time to reflect and know ourselves, there’s an infinite well of pleasure to explore that doesn’t require another person.”
“You realize that sounds like the most elegant rationalization in the world, don’t you?” Buffy said with a teasing smile. Giles just grinned.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s true. Incidentally, I would appreciate it if you would keep this conversation to yourself, as well. I’m only telling you this much because you’re my Slayer, but this is very personal for me, too.”
“Oh, no problem,” Buffy said. “My lips are buttoned and Velcroed.”
“Who have you been dreaming about?” Giles asked her finally, gently. Buffy sighed again and rubbed her face tiredly.
“I knew you were gonna ask me that eventually. Fine. It’s you.”
Giles closed his eyes for a moment and rested his head on his folded arms. She caught the smile on his mouth. “You think that’s funny?” she said, not sure how to interpret Giles finding this situation humorous.
“Not exactly,” he reassured her, looking up again with a half-shrug and adjusting his glasses. “I suppose it’s flattering in a strange sort of way, and I actually half-suspected it.”
“And that’s because..?”
“The Watcher-Slayer bond is very personal, very intimate in many ways,” Giles said. “You already know this to be true. It’s not surprising that your subconscious mind would interpret that bond sexually at some point. In some respects it’s symbolic of our union on a more ephemeral level. Also, it’s a natural way for humans to think of intimacy. Sex is an intimate act, sometimes the only way some people know how to be intimate.”
“So what do I do? Is this magic? Am I nuts? Will it go away? No offense, Giles, but it’s way strange.”
“I have a few ideas,” Giles said, “but I don’t want to share them yet since I don’t want to suggest anything to your subconscious. I’d like to give it some more time. You should keep notes on the symptoms, and keep a journal of the dreams. Even if you don’t want me to read it, make sure you keep track of details since they might be important later. If something happens, or you want to talk to me, call me. Day or night, it doesn’t matter. I’m your Watcher and that’s what I do.” He smiled at her and she relaxed a little.
“Okay. Thanks, Giles.”
Buffy gave up letting her body determine when she should eat. It just wasn’t reliable, so she ate habitually and didn’t really taste or enjoy any of it. Willow and the others worried, but trusted Giles to solve the mystery. Buffy, for her part, wouldn’t reveal the nature of her conversation with Giles in the library two days earlier, citing “Watcher-Slayer stuff.” That was good enough for her friends, for the time being.“At least it’s not the Hong Kong flu,” Willow said at lunch, trying to console her increasingly tired-looking friend. Buffy obviously hadn’t been sleeping very well.“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “This could be worse, though. Can’t tell yet. But I’ll bet it beats hurling, whatever it is. One good thing, I can eat school food and not care.”“See?” Xander said. “There’s always a plus.”“Now if I could just eat burgers and fries and not get fat, that would be a plus.”
She was mostly successful not thinking about the dreams while she was at school, since there was sufficient distraction. At home, though, at night, when she was in her bedroom studying or reading, they would invade her as vividly as if she were still in the dream. The provocative, male smell of Giles’ skin. The heat of his body. The sweet taste of his mouth and the fantastic, aching pleasure of his cock inside her.“Not good,” she muttered, dropping her pencil into the center of her textbook. “Not good.”
That night when he came to her in her dreams, his touch was flame and his mouth made things rise in her she had never known. He was sweet and gentle, rough and hard, demanding but doing so with such trust that she never felt afraid. She understood on some level that it was a service to her, something he was doing for her benefit, even though he was so wild and hungry. She tasted his own need in his mouth on hers, his own trust of her, and she surrendered to him without fear or doubt.
She woke with a gasp, her entire body and soul aflame with the hunger for him, desperately wishing he were close so she could wrap herself around him and feel his devotion and male hardness. She’d never needed him so much after one of the dreams, her sex aching painfully, ready for him. She was going crazy, she had to be. She reached for the phone at her bedside and hit the first speed dial button.It rang several times, longer than she’d expected, and her heart sank with the thought that he might not be home for one reason or another. Then the phone was picked up.“Urm, hello?” She knew the sound he had made was just sleepiness, but it sent a flash of sensual heat down her spine to the pit of her stomach.“Hi,” she said quietly. “It’s me. Sorry to call you in the middle of the night like this. I know this is weird and everything, and I’m probably overreacting or something, but I just needed to hear your voice…”
“Shh, slow down, slow down,” he said gently. “It’s all right. Take a deep breath.” She obeyed, feeling calmer already just because of his voice.
“I had another dream,” she said. “About you. You wanted to know if anything new happened,” Buffy said, trying not to think about her Watcher at home, in bed, sleep tousled and wearing God only knew what. Pajamas? Sweats? Nothing? Oy, don’t go there.
“Yes?” He sounded sleepily eager. “Did you learn anything?”
“Maybe. You said something to me in the dream. Up ’til now you haven’t. Well…you have, but not anything, um, really meaningful, if you get my drift.”
“I think I do. So what did I say? What were the circumstances?”
“We were, um, you were, uh, making love to me. Right before you came, you said ‘this is your death, the death of summer, the death of ignorance. I free you.’ Now tell me that isn’t creepy.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then a low sigh. “Giles?”
“Are you sure that’s what I said? The death of summer? The death of ignorance?”
“Giles, trust me. I remember weird things.”
“I was afraid of this.” She heard him grunt, the sound of someone sitting up. “I’ve been researching possible causes for your situation,” he said. There were sounds of books being moved around. “I’ve got something around here –ah, here it is.”
“So you know what it is? You figured it out?”
“I’m afraid I have. Have you been paying attention to the time of year? What day it is today?”
“Uh, no. Is that relevant?”
“Extremely, in this case. Today is the autumnal equinox, the first day of autumn.”
“The death of summer part. Gotcha.”
“Yes. Do you remember what I’ve told you about the seasonal cycles and the symbolism of the solstices and equinoxes?”
“Hm, let’s see. The equinoxes have the same day and night length, and the word means ‘equal nights.’ The solstices are the longest and the shortest days, and it means ’sun stands still.’”
“Right, and what about the cycle itself?”
“Winter’s first, representing birth and beginning, spring is childhood and growth, summer’s maturity and strength, and autumn’s death and transformation. Oh, jeez, Giles, does that mean I’m gonna die?”
“No, not at all. Death is merely another word for change, transformation from one kind of existence to another. The esoteric symbolism of this cycle can be more sublime, however. Summer is also called the Great Renunciation, the point at which one surrenders the pursuit of personal goals alone and devotes one’s energies and life to service to a higher goal. Some interpret this as a shift from selfishness to selflessness, but it’s actually just a shift in focus from the earthly plane to the spiritual plane. The motive is still properly self-serving. In your case, it’s your acceptance of your destiny as a Slayer and your commitment to serve mankind in that capacity, and your own personal needs are secondary. This is a choice you have made.”
“But we’re talking about autumn here, right?”
“Indeed. This season is also known as the Great Passing. It can be a literal confrontation with death, but more often it is a confrontation of one’s own fear, a reconciliation of the necessity of change versus the fear of the unknown. It is the death of ignorance and innocence, and the return to the beginning to start the cycle over at a higher level.”
“Great. So I’m doing the Obi Wan Kenobi thing.” Giles laughed.
“In a way, I suppose, yes. This cycle has a particular significance with respect to Watchers and Slayers, though. That’s what I was looking for in one of my books here. I want to read something to you from the Watcher Chronicles. It’s in Dutch but I’ll translate it as best I can.”
“Lay it on me.”
“‘A Slayer must know the Great Passing or she cannot leave behind that which keeps her power immature. She will know the burn of desire, the need to sate the body’s most ancient hunger in a man’s embrace, the need to sate her soul’s most ancient trial by allowing the destruction of the hidden veil. Only her bonded Watcher can quench this fire, only he can be the death of her ignorance and childhood. His is a place of trust, of love, of pleasure. Through their bond she will know safety and he will know service. She will know the truth of a trust deeper than any other, and he will know the truth of his own heart.’”
Buffy was silent for a few seconds.
“That is heavy duty, Giles,” she said at last, quietly. She heard him sigh deeply.
“Tell me about it,” he said. “You understand what it means, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I have to let go of my childhood and the hope that I’ll ever be a regular teenager or a regular adult, and I’m supposed to turn to you to satisfy the different needs I’ll have as a Slayer. I don’t quite get how the sex comes into it, though.”
“Leaving behind such important things takes great trust and courage,” Giles said gently. “You’re meant to turn to me to express that trust and receive my support. It’s my role in our relationship. I’m also meant to find that trust in you, the trust to confess my fears, who I am, all the things I will never be able to share with anyone else because of the duty I have undertaken and my bond with you. Lovemaking represents the ultimate possibility for trust and surrender, not just you to me, but me to you. It’s possible for people to have sex without sharing themselves like that, but you and I are intended to deepen our bond this way. You will leave behind your fear by trusting me with your most private self, and I will forever close the distance that I have kept between us for three years.”
“Is this common? For Slayers to go through this, I mean.”
“Yes, very. In fact it’s generally considered a necessary step in the Slayer’s maturity and the closeness of her bond with her Watcher.”
“So why didn’t you tell me before that this might happen?”
“I didn’t know how you would react, given the differences between us, not just in age, but other things. I saw no need to alarm you before seeing how it would manifest when it finally happened.”
“So we’re supposed to have sex, aren’t we? Whoa. That’s really heavy.”
“Not just ‘have sex,’ Buffy,” he said softly. “Make love. It’s a profound, private lovemaking.”
“Do I have to do it?” she asked. “Is it dangerous if I resist?”
“No, it’s not inherently dangerous, and yes, you can refuse if you wish. It will, however, make it much, much harder for you to continue maturing in your power as a Slayer, and might lead to friction in the bond between us as Slayer and Watcher as you continue to assert your independence and the nature of my training changes. Statistically speaking, Slayers who refuse this rite have a tenfold chance of being killed within three years of the urge’s inception. The Great Passing is intended to help create a level of personal understanding for both of us that allows us to continue working together as our battles become more difficult. I hesitate to ask you this, but I am responsible for seeing to your well being. Have you been pleasuring yourself to relieve some of the urgency of this? I think you would find it helpful, if you decide to refuse the rite.”
“Jeez, that is pretty personal,” Buffy said with a sigh. “Um, actually no. I’m scared to.”
“Why?”
“Why? Duh, because it’s you.” He chuckled, a low, sleepy sound.
“I suppose I can understand that,” he said. “You don’t have to be thinking about me, though. You could think about Angel, or Xander. Or Brad Pitt.” She giggled.
“Well, see, uh, that’s the part that scares me,” she admitted, her smile fading. “I want it to be you.” There was a pause.
“I see,” he said after a moment. He didn’t sound angry or displeased, and that made Buffy’s gut clench, too. He sounded…intrigued.
“Would you, um, would you want to?” she wondered. “Make love to me, I mean. If I decided to.”
Giles was silent for a few moments, and then she heard him sigh quietly.
“Yes,” he said, very softly. He sighed again, the kind of sound people made when thinking very hard and dealing with conflicting emotions. “Yes, I would. Very, very much. I know you didn’t expect me to say that.” He breathed a laugh. “I don’t think I expected myself to say it, either.”
“Wow,” Buffy said, not sure what else to say in the face of this revelation. She swallowed hard. “I didn’t know you felt like that.”
“I don’t think I have before,” he admitted. “What I mean is, I can’t say I’ve ever really thought about it except in very abstract terms. I’ve been aware that Slayers and their Watchers can become very close that way, but it was always other people in history, dead people, not us.”
“But you said the Great Passing is really common, and you sort of expected it to happen to me.”
“A bridge I intended to burn when I got to it,” he sighed. “I think in the back of my mind I assumed you would refuse rather vehemently, and although I know that would most likely be a death sentence for you, I wasn’t prepared with a speech to try to talk you into this.”
“Giles?”
“Yes?”
“What are you wearing?”
He let out a full-throated, resonant laugh.
“Oh Lord, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Deadly,” she said with a giggle.
“Boxer shorts,” he said. “They’re navy.”
“Anything else?”
“No.” He sounded amused.
“It would stupid of me, you know, to refuse the rite,” Buffy commented idly, trying to imagine a sleepy Giles in bed wearing nothing but boxers. It was an extremely pleasant image. “I mean, come on, a tenfold increase in the chance of me getting killed, just because I don’t want to make love to my own Watcher? Dumb.”
“Yes,” Giles murmured. “And one thing I have observed; you are certainly not dumb.”
“They never make these rite of passage things easy, do they?”
“If they were easy, they wouldn’t be meaningful and would confer no reward,” Giles said. “But that doesn’t mean they have to be a torment. Walking the true path is not a journey of suffering, but enlightenment.”
“So what exactly is the intended reward in this case?” Buffy wondered, curling her free arm back behind her pillow and gazing out the window into the night. The moon was waxing. “Or are you going to go all bashful on me again?” she teased. Giles chuckled low again.
“Perhaps all the rewards are intended,” he commented approvingly. “Perhaps we don’t really succeed unless all are appreciated. I have to ask you a question, before we go on. Do you want to tell your mother?” At Buffy’s long sigh, he said, “If we don’t, and she finds out, she could have me arrested. At least if we talk to her first, we’ll know how she feels about it.”
“But then, if she disapproves, she’ll know,” Buffy said, “and she’d be suspicious of everything you and I do from then on.”
“Also true.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think your mother has the right to know the nature of her daughter’s destiny, whatever it entails,” Giles said. “I am not ashamed to make love to you. I don’t want to go hiding in the dark like a coward.”
“Then we’ll tell her.” She was quiet for a long time, and finally Giles spoke again.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked. “For suggesting we tell your mother?”
“No,” she replied. “I’m trying to picture you in bed wearing nothing but boxers.”
“Oh,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“You in boxers or the idea that I’m mentally undressing my Watcher?” she teased.
“Um…both.” He sounded relaxed and sultry, something Buffy never thought she would hear. There was more than a Watcher and a librarian in Giles’ personality, more than the angry thug named Ripper she had once seen. His voice was hypnotic, like a live wire connecting her to the inside of his soul over the telephone.
“Well, you in boxers…that’s a good thing,” Buffy said with a grin. “I have to take liberties, you understand, since I’ve never seen you in your boxers, but I did see you in your undershirt once and that was kinda tasty.”
“Hmm. And the mentally undressing your Watcher part?”
“Depends how you feel about your barely legal Slayer coming on to you,” Buffy said with a chuckle.
“Right now I feel very good about it,” Giles said. “Very good indeed.”
“You know, in our conversation in the library a few days ago, you made it sound like guys your age never get the hornies,” Buffy said.
“That was just me being polite,” he said. “And a gentleman, under the circumstances. Even when it’s a Watcher to his Slayer, an English gentleman doesn’t tend to talk about the particulars of his carnal sexual impulses, or even the fact that he has them.”
“Even now you make it sound so…repressed,” Buffy giggled. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t ask a question,” he said, sounding amused. “Of course I get randy. I’m pretty bloody randy right now, or I wouldn’t still be talking to my Slayer like this. Celibacy is very hard on Watchers, historically speaking. It’s a hot blood, the lineage of demon slayers and their trainers.”
“Poor thing,” Buffy purred. “So when are you going to get a hard-on for me?” She heard him make an amused, strained sound –a cross between a laugh and a groan of desire.
“Already have done,” he confessed with a sigh. “When you asked me what I was wearing.” He was chuckling, embarrassed and aroused and she heard it all in his voice.
“Were you telling the truth?” she wondered. “About what you’re wearing?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m sprawled across my bed, flat on my back, surrounded by books and half-tangled in the covers where I fell asleep while reading…wearing nothing but navy boxers.”
“Boxers that I guess are getting a little tight right about now.”
“Rather,” Giles murmured.
“So are you fondling yourself yet?” She heard a surprised exhale.
“What?” he said.
“You heard me.”
“I…” He swallowed hard, almost a gulp. “Do you want me to?” he asked in a whisper.
“If you don’t mind me taking advantage of you,” she said quietly, amused. Her belly was burning, trying to imagine him, how he looked right now with her words branding him. “I dunno if I’m ready to, uh, reciprocate.”
“One of us has to be willing to surrender first,” he said softly. “I don’t mind. In fact I…think I’m enjoying this far too much.” He laughed a little, breathlessly. “Tell me what you want me to do, Buffy.”
“You’re the expert,” she said, shifting on her bed a little and keeping her voice low. All she needed was for her mom to wake up and overhear. “It’s your body, Giles.”
“God, it gives me the shivers when you call me that in this context,” he whispered.
“Does it bother you? I can call you something else…or we could just avoid names.”
“No…no, it’s sweet. You say it with such affection and respect. Right now, like this…it makes me feel hot…fiery heat washing up my back. Tell me what to do, Buffy. Tell me how to touch myself.”
“Where’re your hands right now?” she asked. She could barely speak, her gut clenched ferociously now that she’d been given the reins to Giles’ most private self. The feeling of power in it was overwhelming, terrifying and delicious, and it was obvious that he basked in that from her. He trusted her enough not only to do this, but to let her know that he liked to be commanded, to be told. God, that was more personal than anything she was ready to confess to him right now, and she felt guilty, but he had said he didn’t mind. He had offered her the reins willingly and she had taken them.
“I’ve got one on the telephone…sort of have to. The other’s on my stomach, which itches, actually. Mosquito bite.” Buffy giggled.
“Are you hairy?”
“Not particularly. Some on my chest, a fine brush of it down my belly into my groin. It’s dark…charcoal almost, which is a bit odd since most everywhere else it’s somewhat tawny except on my head. If I grow a beard it comes in sort of light, almost gold.”
“I totally cannot imagine you with a beard.”
“It won’t grow much beyond looking like I just haven’t shaved in a week. Makes me look like a lecherous old university professor,” he said and they both laughed.
“I read once that sometimes men’s nipples are sensitive, like women’s are,” Buffy mused. “Is that true?”
“For some men, yes,” Giles replied. “Probably not as often as for women. So you’re going to ask me if mine are, and the answer is yes, extremely.” She could hear his grin.
“Touch yourself there,” she said quietly. “However you like it.” There was a pause, and her Watcher made a soft sound. “Tell me,” she asked.
“Just a light touch…at first anyway,” he replied in a whisper. There was a slight break in his voice, and Buffy shivered. He drew a sudden, trembling breath. “God, that goes straight to my groin, oh Jesus.”
“I want you to feel good, Giles.”
“Oh God, I do, I do.”
“Are you doing both of them?”
“I can if you want,” he said. “One’s tender right now. I was, um, doing this a couple of nights ago and when I get carried away I tend to pinch rather hard. It feels good at the time but later I usually regret it a little.” He chuckled.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Buffy said with a grin.
“I can touch it gently,” he said. “I already am. Mm, oh, that feels nice.” She heard him swallow hard, catching his breath, and he made a hungry sound.
“What is it?” Buffy said. “Tell me, Giles.”
“Mm, I’m just…responding to this. Restless. Uhrr, God, I want to get these boxers off and just grab myself…”
“Not yet,” Buffy said, and was delighted by his desperate groan.
“Oh God, you’re a tease,” he said in a tone of discovery and yearning. “God, yes, please, I love that.”
“What do you usually do when you play with yourself?” she wanted to know, amazed by his trust and the depth of emotion he was allowing her to hear. “Don’t do anything else yet; just tell me.”
“Hrrmm, it depends,” he sighed. “Depends how I feel…what I want…how patient I am.” Buffy giggled and Giles laughed softly.
“You seem so patient most of the time,” she observed. “All that British reserve.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I can be terribly impatient sometimes,” he said. “God, you have no idea how it’s been. There’ve been days when I could barely drag myself out of the house…when I just wanted to stay home and spend the day indulging my body’s pleasures. There’s nothing like sprawling naked on a blanket on the couch in front of the hearth in the winter.”
“Mmm,” Buffy murmured. “Now that’s a great mental image. And stop distracting me. You were going to tell me how you like to play with yourself. Remember no sampling yet.” Her Watcher gave a deep, purring sigh, and Buffy smiled. “Still playing with your nipples?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “Normally I’d be fondling myself already. Might even be finished.” He laughed hoarsely. “But you told me not to, so I’m not. Sometimes I stroke my belly…just touch. Skin’s soft there…feels nice. There’s an urge to move…to thrust…can’t stop it sometimes. Muscles in my back contract and my hips rise, God, I want to fuck.” It sounded so natural to hear that word from him just then, spoken with such longing and heat.
“God, I wish I was there with you, Giles,” she said.
“Oh, I’m enjoying this, Buffy,” he hissed. “I’m enjoying this so much.”
“I’m glad,” she said softly. “Guess you deserve a reward, huh?”
“If you wish to give me one.”
“Take your boxers off, and you can touch yourself anywhere you want except your cock and your balls.”
“Ahhrrr, God almighty, just give me a gun and I’ll blow my brains out,” Giles groaned and Buffy laughed. “All right, all right…I’m glad to be rid of these shorts anyway. Ah, that’s so much better, warm sheets against my bum.”
“So what else? What else do you like?”
“Well…mmm…right now I’m lying on my back. I don’t always. Sometimes I like to be on my stomach, or up on my knees.”
“How do you decide?” Buffy asked, hungrily curious about her Watcher’s sexual habits and pleasures. “What’re the differences?”
“I do it on my stomach when I want to fuck something,” he said. “I grab a pillow and hug it against my body. I know that sounds silly. It probably looks ridiculous, but it satisfies the urge about as well as I can by myself.”
“I think all sex probably looks silly,” Buffy said. “I never did get the mirrored ceiling thing. But actually…I kind of like that mental image of you, with the pillow. Not because of the image, really, but how horny you’d have to be to do it. That’s sexy.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Buffy said confidently. “What about on your knees? What’s good about that way?” His answering chuckle was decidedly wicked even though it also held a hint of embarrassment.
“I, um, I do that when I want to make a mess,” he said. “When I want to watch myself come…splash my come on something. The bed, maybe. Or I can put a towel down on the rug in front of the fireplace where it’s warm. It feels…possessive. Like I’m marking my territory or something only it’s not the physical place I’m marking. It’s like I’m…declaring my sexuality, affirming my maleness. That sounds strange, too, now that I say it aloud, but it’s very satisfying. And there’s something about the position that makes my balls feel different. They’re sensitive in a different way. Sometimes I’m really, really in the mood for that and it feels better than anything in the world.”
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
“Rrrrmmm…stretching,” he said. “Stroking one nipple…down my belly…oh, that’s sweet. Rrm, God, I’m wet.”
“Wet?” she echoed, her brow furrowing curiously. He let out a shuddering breath, then swallowed hard before replying.
“It’s, um…the tip of my penis. I think it’s the Cowper’s glands that make the stuff. When I’m extremely aroused it leaks a bit…well, more than a bit considering how hot you’ve gotten me.”
“That’s funky,” Buffy said wonderingly. “I never heard of that. One of those things that never makes it into the textbook. What’s it like?”
“It’s clear,” he said. “A bit sticky, almost like thin honey. Tastes faintly sweet.”
“Hey,” she said playfully. “I didn’t tell you to taste it.” He chuckled.
“I know from previous experience. Would you like me to taste it now? Hrm, I think I could cover my thumb pretty easily.”
“Yeah, do it.” There was a short pause, the soft, trembling sound of Giles breathing the only noise over the phone line for a few seconds. Then she heard a soft purr and the sound of him licking his fingers.
“Oh, urrm, the taste of it makes me…God, I want you, Buffy. I want to come for you. I want you to know how much I love this. God, please, Buffy, please let me…”
“Do you like touching your balls?” she asked, loving the sound of his surprised groan and the thrill of having this power over him.
“Oh, yes.”
“Go ahead. Just them, though, not your cock yet.” He gave a groaning laugh, rough and joyful, that trailed off into a low purr as he obeyed her.
“God yes,” he hissed. “God yes, that’s good. Owwrrr…”
“Do you like it hard or gentle?” Buffy wondered softly.
“A bit rough right now,” he breathed. “Feels good to grab myself there, cup them in my hand. God, I wonder if I could come just from this. Feels so good I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.” He laughed again, and gave a long, drawn out purr of contentment and pleasure and need.
“How big is your cock?” Buffy asked. Giles gave a snort of laughter.
“Lord, I don’t know. Pretty big, I suppose. Can’t say as I’ve measured it. It’s big enough. Fits in my hand quite nicely, not that you’ll let me.” He was teasing her, and she giggled. “It’s big enough for you, luv, I’m sure of that.” He sighed again pleasurably. “Oh, this is so good; rubbing my balls. I think…I might…might come…”
“Really? Not even touching your cock?” Buffy said, intrigued.
“Maybe,” Giles admitted wonderingly. “Maybe…it’s incredible…ripples of heat through my body. Do you want me to come, Buffy? You have to tell me if I can.”
“Jesus, Giles, I can’t stop you from here,” Buffy said, astonished and realizing she’d been holding her breath.
“Yes, you can,” he said fiercely, and swallowed a groan. “If you tell me to stop, I might curse you roundly, but I’ll obey. I’m not sure if I can come like this…just fondling my balls…but if I can, you have to let me first.”
“Do you want to? Now, I mean?” Buffy teased. “I could make you wait.”
“Christ,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “I’ve never…never pushed myself like that. Didn’t think I could stand even this much without just rolling onto my belly and fucking my pillow.” Buffy giggled and he laughed again. “Damn, Buffy, I’m already half-crazy. God, if you could see me right now…writhing shamelessly on the bed like some randy tiger. Ohhh, I can’t…quite…come by rubbing my balls. Just makes it worse, makes me want it more. Buffy, please. Please.”
“What happens if I make you wait?” Buffy asked.
“Damn it, I can hear you grinning,” Giles growled playfully. “What happens is you get to find out the full range of my knowledge of obscene words.” They both giggled, and then Giles’ voice quieted. “Actually, Buffy, I don’t know what will happen. I’ve never teased myself this much before. Jesus, I’m covered in sweat, I’m trembling. I feel like I’m on fire…so much heat. It’s so good and so intense and so delicious, and it’s so sweet to hear your voice, to know you want this from me. Make me wait if you want to. We can both find out what happens. Push me, Buffy. I’ll swear at you and beg and howl, but push me, please. I need it.”
She had never heard such soft, urgent intensity in his voice before, had never known that a human being could possess such a secret, powerful side and never let it show. She understood a little better in that moment the gulf that age could bring; not a gulf between them, but a gulf inside him to be explored together, which private darkness could be touched and felt through their own trust in each other.
Fear gripped her for a moment. She had no experience doing anything like this, had no idea what to say next, what he expected of her. She was afraid of disappointing him, of failing to be what he wanted and needed. She had a choice between shattering this fragile connection by confessing her own uncertainty, or grabbing on tight and riding the tiger she had freed.
“You still fondling your balls?” she asked, and found herself smiling.
“Yes,” he said, and she took a second to savor the desperation and honesty in his voice. She’d begun to hear a lot of it over past few minutes, but she tried mentally comparing it to the man she’d spoken to yesterday and the contrast made her sex throb hard, aching.
/This has been in him all this time,/ she thought wonderingly. /Behind his glasses, behind the controlled emotions and the shyness and hesitation. Under all of that is the guy I’m talking to right now./ “Give ‘em a good squeeze and then let go,” she told him. She heard him groan softly, but knew he had obeyed. “Stroke one finger up your cock, quick and light.” He gasped hard, almost whimpering, and she knew she had found something sensitive in his psyche.
“Oh Jesus,” he panted. “Buffy, please, I can’t stand this, I want it.”
“No,” she said. “Not yet. Do what I tell you, Giles, I promise it’ll be good. Touch your nipples again, one at a time, harder than you did before. Like that?” His only answer was a weak, hungry yowl, like an animal being denied food. “Pinch hard and quick.”
The sound he made this time was indescribable, and she heard a flurry of motion, the sound of him getting up from the bed and panting hard. “What are you doing? Giles, tell me.”
“I have to get up,” he panted. “Have to move. Pacing the room.” She heard the faint sniffle of him rubbing his hand over his mouth, wiping sweat away, and he swallowed with a gulp.
“Grab your balls again, hard as you want,” she commanded. She actually heard him shudder, his low groan trembling. “Touch your cock again, fingertips only, just stroke gently. Fast or slow, your call. Do it till I tell you to stop.”
“Oh Christ, I want you,” he growled. “Oh, I want to fuck you right now, right now, oh it’s so good so good so good…” It was almost a sob.
“Stop now,” she said. “Giles, let go.”
“No,” he whispered, strangled, fighting with himself. “Can’t. I can’t, can’t let this go.”
“Giles, do what I say,” Buffy said firmly. “Let go right now. Do it, Giles.”
He startled her with a sharp, wild cry of rage, and there was the hard thump of his fist connecting with the bedroom wall.
“Bloody ‘ell,” he panted. “Bloody, fucking…”
“Giles, you okay?” she asked anxiously.
“Don’t stop, Buffy, don’t stop,” he gasped. “Keep going, it’s all right. God, I want to bite something!” He pounded the wall again with a savage growl. “Tell me, Buffy. Tell me, tell me!”
“Where do you want to come, Giles?” she asked, her voice low. “On the bed? Floor? Wall? You want to see it?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Bed. On the bed. Please.”
“Wrap you hand around your cock and go over to the bed.”
“Oh, I’m there,” he whispered hungrily. “Holding my cock. Tell me. Talk to me.”
“Kneel down on the bed,” she told him. “Spread your knees wide.”
“Oh yes,” he whispered. “Yes, that’s so nice, ah, yeah, God my body knows what’s coming next!” He laughed and she couldn’t help but join in.
“I’m going to guide you,” she said. “You control the strength of your grip, and where you’re grabbing, but I’m going to control the speed. You only move your hand when I say, understand?”
“Yes.” It was the softest whisper.
“Do it once,” she said. “Real slow. Feel it, Giles. Feel me there.” He exhaled shakily. “Once more, slow and easy.”
“Ooohhh…yesssss…” It was a sound of discovery, of wonder. “Aahhhrrr, God!”
“Again,” she murmured. “And again. Again…”
“Urrrrmmm it’s risinnngg,” he purred eagerly. “Oh, fuck, I can’t believe this. Hips are moving…can’t stop them…want to come, Buffy, please…”
“Slow and steady wins the race,” Buffy murmured, amused. “Keep going, Giles. Keep it slow and easy.”
“Oh God…oh my God…you have no idea how this feels. Oh, it’s going to be powerful.” He hissed softly. “Slow and easy…still stroking…fucking my hand.” He laughed again, a breathless chuckle. The laugh was quickly choked back in a groan of surprise. “Oh, oh it’s here, Buffy, oh my God. Can’t stop, can’t stop it, let me, please!”
“Yeah, go on, Giles,” she whispered fiercely. “It’s okay. You can come.”
“Gathering like a storm, like I can feel lightning about to strike,” he hissed. “Going to come for you, Buffy. I’m going to…God, oh, I wish I could show you, Buffy! I’m coming, oh hear me, hear me!”
His cry was filled with joy, bright and silver like a shining blade. He gave the climax his full voice, a roar of triumph and amazement. No more words came, replaced by howls of the purest delight, broken by whimpers of unbearable sweetness that gave way to a sweet, full laugh. Buffy listened, enraptured, her heart racing. Was this a man’s voice? His true voice? The open, unguarded soul of a man named Rupert Giles?
The cries quieted at last to soft, raw murmurs and purrs of weary pleasure, and then a soft whisper.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, what a mess.” He laughed weakly, barely a breath.
“How was that, Giles?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, luv, that was…oh…” He swallowed and made a soft sound, and she realized he was crying. “The sweetest…the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“Are you okay?” she asked gently. “Did I do it all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, Buffy. So fine. You did wonderfully. It was beautiful, more than I thought you could do. You have a lot of courage.” He groaned tiredly. “Oh, got to lie down on my back for a bit. I’m exhausted.” He laughed easily and Buffy grinned. “Mmmm. That was absolutely incredible. Unbelievable.”
“I’m really glad,” she said sincerely. “So you made a big mess, huh?”
“Quite,” he said wryly. “I can’t remember the last time I came this much. Splashed it all across the bed…damn, got some on my copy of Saint-Martin’s essays, too.” He giggled suddenly, surprising her. “Oh, Lord, I think there’s some on the floor on the other side. My God. Bear with me, luv, I need to change the quilt.” She heard him get up and move books, then strip the cover off the bed.
“I thought guys always went to sleep afterwards,” Buffy commented as Giles went down the hall to the closet with the cordless phone.
“I will in a little while,” he said, amused. “I sometimes get a bit giddy after, if it’s very powerful, and my God, that definitely was.”
“Can I make a confession?” she asked.
“After that you may do anything you like,” he teased. “Of course, Buffy. What is it?” She could hear him flipping the new bedcover out across the bed.
“I wasn’t sure I could do what you wanted,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like that before…I don’t have any experience with what men like or what it’s like for them when they…when they masturbate.”
“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted. “I sensed your hesitation, but you did what you always do under duress. You made something up and you ran with it all the way to the end. That’s the Buffy I know.” He chuckled. “Excuse me if I seem distracted for a moment,” he said. “I’m going to clean myself up a bit. Oh, damn.”
“What?” Buffy said.
“I dripped while I was walking around. That’s all I need, to refinish this hardwood floor.” Buffy giggled.
“Musta been a bigger mess than you let on.”
“Well, I…oh, hell, it would take too long to explain,” he sighed and she giggled again. “Suffice it to say that I dripped.” She heard him in the bathroom, running the water briefly, presumably to wet a washcloth. “Ah, that’s cold!” he complained.
“Poor baby,” she said, grinning.
“Poor nothing,” he replied, and grunted as he flopped down on the bed on his back and sighed deeply. “I’m marvelously, deliciously sated. Ahh, feels good to lie down again.”
“Giles, don’t take this wrong, but, um, were you, um, were you exaggerating stuff on your end? To encourage me?” There was a short silence on the other end of the line.
“No,” he whispered. “No, I was brutally honest with you. I don’t need to fake anything with you, Buffy. Everything you heard…everything I said…was real…the real me. I would never be cruel to you like that, and I trust you implicitly. Do you believe me?”
“Yeah, Giles, of course I do. I was just…thinking about some of the things you said…” Giles sighed long and deep.
“I know, I know,” he said softly. “Is it a problem? Do you want to talk about any of it?”
“Do you…get rough when you make love?” she asked after a moment. She was thinking about him pounding on the wall earlier, pacing restlessly and swearing.
“Ow, ah, a complicated question,” he sighed, but she could hear him smiling. “There’re many kinds of rough, and many kinds of rough for me. Are you worried about what I’ll be like when we make love?”
“I guess I am. I mean, you can’t really hurt me, me being the Slayer and all. I just don’t know what to expect. What to do. Could be kinda weird.”
“How did you react when you heard me earlier?” he asked. “I think I went a little crazy there for a moment…did that frighten you? Excite you?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I…I wanted to be there with you. I wanted to see it…to touch you and…this is gonna sound nuts…”
“What, Buffy? It’s all right.”
“I wanted to feel you losing control…hold your hands and feel your strength…give you someplace safe to do it.”
“Indeed?” he whispered, suddenly quiet. “God, I’ve already come and the thought of that…you holding me while I’m crazy like that…”
“What do you want, Giles?” Buffy demanded softly. “Do you want to come again? If you’re still horny I’d love to hear it…” Giles made a low sound, somewhere between embarrassment and longing.
“Buffy…I know how much you want me right now…I can hear it in your voice. You don’t want to pleasure yourself while I’m listening and that’s perfectly all right, but I don’t want to be the only one enjoying themselves. That’s not fair to you.”
“You’re not the only one enjoying this,” she replied with a grin, knowing he would hear it. “I’m…I’m not touching myself, but I called you because I couldn’t stand it…I’d been dreaming about you and I needed to hear you…needed to be with you, and I am, Giles, even though we can’t touch right now. You have the sexiest voice and you’re letting me hear everything you’re feeling, everything you want.” He chuckled softly.
“You’re a sweet flatterer,” he said, and then she heard him yawn. “Oh dear. I think I’m going to sleep on you, luv.” He sounded both apologetic and amused.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you older men don’t have the stamina.” Giles snorted derisively, as she had intended, and she giggled.
“You realize that I’m going to have to prove you wrong,” he said.
“I’m counting on that,” she replied. “Machismo is so predictable. G’night, Giles. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Buffy. Thank you,” he whispered.
“Anytime, stud-muffin.”
The next day had a surreal quality for Giles, who roused himself with a yawn. He might have been able to make himself believe that his conversation with Buffy last night hadn’t happened, except that he had awakened to find the semen-dampened quilt folded in the chair by his bed, and he was deliciously relaxed.He reached his office unmolested, and spent the majority of the day reading since there was nothing to be filed and he was still awaiting a shipment from Kessinger Publishing. Lunchtime came around and he ate contentedly, then made his customary cup of tea. He had the cup in his hand and was about to get up.Buffy appeared suddenly in the doorway.“Hey,” she chirped. She startled him badly enough that he lost part of the tea and it slopped over his tie and into his lap. He half-reacted, almost rising from the chair but realizing the futility of it, tea dripping from his outspread hands and onto the floor from the edge of the chair. He lifted his head to regard her with wide eyes, and she bit her lip, frozen for a moment and sure he would be furious that she had made him ruin a tie and shirt like that, and also unsure how last night had changed their relationship. “Sorry,” she said sincerely, wondering how much she was apologizing for.Then, Giles grinned at her, a wolfish, open expression that revealed to her the man she had talked to on the phone last night.
“Hello, Buffy,” he said wryly, trying to suppress the sudden urge to laugh. He put the remains of the tea down on the desk and stood. “You seem to have a knack for getting me to take off my clothes,” he murmured softly, brushing past her to go to the cage, and Buffy just stood there for a moment, stunned. He came back with a clean shirt and reentered the office. “Pardon me a moment,” he said, half-closing the door so he could change his shirt.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Buffy said again, amused this time. The door pulled wide to reveal Giles tucking in the clean shirt, which was still open at the collar.
“It’s quite all right,” he said with a smile. “If that’s the worst thing that comes of last night, then I’m happy. And don’t you make a joke about me coming, either,” he admonished, and Buffy closed her mouth, taken aback by his candor.
“I kind of expected you to be all weird and evasive today,” she admitted, leaning against the doorway to watch him loop the tie around his neck and begin retying it.
“And pretend that it never happened?” he asked gently, still smiling. Buffy glanced down at her shoes, then back up at him.
“Yeah. I guess I kinda thought you might do that.” Giles went up to her, the tie still draped around his neck, half knotted, and cupped her jaw gently.
“I would never do something like that to you,” he said. “I’m not ashamed of what we did last night.” Buffy had closed her eyes at his touch, and turned her face slightly into his palm. “How do you feel today?” Her eyes opened and she sighed.
“Hot,” she said, annoyed. “Crazy. I can practically smell you at fifty yards.” Giles grunted, smiling sympathetically.
“You definitely have the fever,” he said. “You might want to try drinking peppermint tea, or chamomile if you’re not allergic to ragweed.” He withdrew his hand to finish the tie, watching her faintly distressed expression. “Are you going to be all right today?”
“I think so,” she said, settling her shoulders restlessly. “Can we talk to my mom today? I told her we had something important to talk to her about.” Giles grunted wryly.
“Lord only knows what she made of that,” he mused. “Yes, today’s fine. I’ll come home with you if you wish.”
“That’d be good,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
“Does this embarrass you?” he wondered.
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” she said, looking up at him again, and he smiled. “Of course it’s embarrassing. It’s even more embarrassing that the reason I want to get telling her over with is because I want to get into your pants.” She said this last with a hiss, keeping her voice down. Giles smiled, flattered, and pulled his coat back on, but in her eyes he could never again completely reclaim the professional distance that had once separated them. The closeness felt good, warm and reassuring. “Will you promise me something?” she said. “No matter what my mom says, I want to go through with this. Promise me you won’t back out.”
“You have my commitment,” he said seriously. “I warn you, however, this might be complicated, depending on your mother’s reaction. We might have to be innovative to remain in her good graces.”
“I’ll deal with that if and when we get there,” she said, and Giles nodded.
Joyce was a little surprised to see Giles come into the house with Buffy. She greeted him, and he was very polite and gracious, as always. She remembered that Buffy and Giles had something they wanted to discuss with her. Something Slayer related, no doubt. Her first reaction had been worry –she hoped it was nothing bad. So much of what happened to Buffy was bad, and Joyce didn’t really know all that much about her daughter’s vocation. It seemed very mysterious at times.She made tea and they all sat in the living room, chatting briefly about school and exchanging pleasantries about one another’s lives. Joyce told him about the new show at the gallery, and Giles and Buffy talked about one of the more unusual demons they had slain last month –the one with the purple skin and the obsession with the number twenty-four.“So I guess you wanted to talk about something to do with Buffy’s Slaying,” Joyce said easily.“Yes, in a sense,” Giles said. “It has to do with the fact that she’s a Slayer, although it isn’t about Slaying demons, per se.”“I see,” Joyce said. “Seems like the more I learn about this, the less I know.” Giles smiled at her benign resignation. Not many mothers would have been so phlegmatic on the subject.
“Sometimes it seems that way for Buffy and me, as well,” he said. “At any rate, you may have noticed in the past few days that Buffy isn’t feeling very well.” Joyce nodded.
“I thought it was the flu,” Joyce said, casting a sympathetic glance at her daughter, who looked tired and feverish. “Buffy said she thought it was, too. She insisted on going to school even though I thought it might be better if she stayed home, at the very least so she wouldn’t give it to her friends.”
“Her illness is real,” Giles said, “but it’s not the flu, and it’s not contagious. She came to me about it four days ago, concerned that it was something magical or perhaps related specifically to her being a vampire Slayer, and I’ve been researching it. Last night I figured out what it is, and my conversations with her have confirmed it.” Joyce was attentive, and Giles plowed ahead. It was best to be direct about this. “She’s going through a stage in her maturation as a Slayer which we call the Great Passing. It’s extremely common for Slayers to go through this, and the age at which it strikes varies considerably, although always coincides with the autumnal equinox.”
“The first day of fall,” Joyce said. “That’s today.”
“Yes,” Giles said. “The Great Passing is a transition –from child to adult, from ignorance to knowledge, doubt to confidence. Buffy must confront the fears she has had about not being able to fulfill her destiny as a Slayer. She must confront the fears she had had about never being a normal teenager, and the fact that she will never be a normal adult. It is the death of dreams and the creation of new ones.”
“That makes sense,” Joyce said thoughtfully. “The symbolic rite of passage, only different because being a Slayer has differences.” Giles nodded approvingly.
“Yes, exactly. She must symbolically surrender that fear and uncertainty in order to successfully continue her work in fighting evil. If she fails now there is a tenfold increase in the chance of her being killed in the next three years, because she will hesitate and be unsure of herself, and because she will not have fully embraced her lifepath and her bond with me as her Watcher.”
Killed. Joyce felt a cold chill ripple up her spine. She was all too aware of the possibility that Buffy could die prematurely because of her destiny, but to have it so concretely stated, with numbers attached, was horrifying.
“So do you have to do something?” Joyce said hopefully, speaking directly to Buffy, who was sipping tea and glad to be left out of the conversation for the time being. She looked up anxiously and glanced at Giles. “A ritual or a spell or something? Slay a dragon?” Giles chuckled at the joke, but sobered quickly.
“Buffy’s inner self is aware of the need for this transition. It manifests as a compulsion, in prophetic dreams and in her awareness of me. She feels drawn to me sexually. Only a bonded Watcher can successfully assist in this symbolic surrender, through the act of lovemaking, because it’s an ideal vehicle for expression of trust and intimacy. That’s critical to our professional relationship as well as our personal one. She and I have gone through the bonding ritual –two years ago –so it’s normal for her to turn to me, and it’s my responsibility to answer her.” Joyce’s expression had changed subtly, and Giles paused, taking a moment to evaluate what it meant. “I suspected this when she first told me about her illness –it wasn’t obvious to her at the time. I had seen no need to explain it to her in the course of her previous studies with me, which she agrees would have been unduly alarming. We’ve talked at length and I’m satisfied that this is indeed the Great Passing manifesting. It must be answered, and we’re prepared to do so. I told her we should explain this to you…to involve you in her destiny as much as possible, because you have expressed a desire to learn about what it means to be a Slayer. She agrees with me.”
“Let me see if I understand,” Joyce said, frowning. “She has to have sex with you, or she’ll probably die sometime in the next three years.”
“Well…that’s an oversimplification,” Giles said. “There are many variables, and that characterization is also misleading with respect to the way my relationship with her will change, but…essentially that’s correct.” Joyce shook her head slightly and looked away.
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” she said. It was obvious that she was angry now. “That you would tell my daughter something like that.” Giles cocked his head, bemused.
“I…there’s tremendous precedent for this,” Giles said reasonably. “This has been happening to Slayers and their Watchers for a thousand years. She’s not the first and won’t be the last.”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Joyce said flatly.
“Mom!” Buffy said indignantly. “He didn’t tell me anything. I was the one who started getting sick and having prophecy dreams. I had to go to him to find out what it was.”
Giles had been prepared for the likelihood that Buffy’s mother would be less than enthusiastic about this situation, but the possibility of being called a liar to his face had not occurred to him. He stood up angrily.
“I am deeply outraged that you would think me capable of such a gross and despicable act of deception,” he said to her, coldly furious. “I had thought that you had a better opinion of me than that, Joyce, and I’m quite disappointed to learn otherwise.”
“Yeah, well I did until now,” Joyce said, standing with him. “I think it would be best if you left now, Mr. Giles.”
“This isn’t going to go away,” Giles said tightly. “It will only worsen with time and Buffy will be in danger the longer she resists. I can show you the relevant citations, if you wish. Entries about this rite in the Watcher Chronicles and other texts go back almost eight hundred years, from regions all over the world.”
“I don’t want to see any of your damn books!” Joyce shouted. “Get out! Get out of my house! And I don’t want you to have any more contact with my daughter! She’s grounded and you’re forbidden to be around her! I’ll get a restraining order if I have to!”
“Mom, you can’t do that,” Buffy said angrily. “He’s my Watcher. I have to be able to talk to him and train with him.”
“Buffy, stay out of this,” Joyce said sharply.
“He’s the one who knows all about the demons and the cults and stuff,” Buffy went on, as if her mother hadn’t spoken. “I just kill ‘em. Jesus, mom, he can read Babylonian petroglyphs, for God’s sake! And…and vampires and demons use lots of petroglyphs! Lots!”
“Buffy, don’t,” Giles said, touching her shoulder. Joyce’s eyes narrowed. “It’s all right. I’ll go and you can talk with your mother; she’s too upset right now.”
“Giles…” She grabbed his arm as he moved for the door. He paused.
“Don’t worry. We’ll work something out.”
She stood there helplessly as Giles showed himself to the door and shut it behind him, leaving her alone with her mother.
Buffy came into the library the next day at school, and Giles looked up from his book sorting by the counter.“I thought your mother forbade you to be around me,” Giles said sourly.“I need a book,” Buffy said flatly, coming right up to him, undaunted by her mother’s admonition.“Willow could get it for you.”“She’s busy.” She just stood there, looking at him, and finally he stopped what he was doing to turn around and face her. There was no condemnation in her eyes. Obviously, the daughter was not like the mother with respect to this particular situation. He leaned back against the counter and smiled.
“So what book do you need?” he asked, relaxing slightly.
“It’s called ‘What To Do When Your Mom Flips Out,’” she said. “Giles, we need to talk.”
“I agree,” he sighed. “For now, though, I have something for you.” He turned back to go into his office for a moment, and emerged with a small, black, folded object about the size of a cigarette pack. He set it on the counter in front of her. She picked it up, examining it. On one side it said ‘StarTAC’ and ‘Motorola.’ “It’s a cellular phone,” Giles said. “I have another just like it. The first speed dial number on yours is to my phone, and vice versa. It’s already activated and all the costs will be billed to me. Your mother’s anger aside, we can’t be out of contact in an emergency. You need to be able to call me. I presume that your mother has forbidden you to phone me, and won’t allow you to receive calls from me, either.” Buffy nodded, sighing. He also put down a charging cord and an extra battery. “The battery’s good for fifty hours on a charge. This will let us keep in touch. I’ll try not to call you on it while you’re at home, since it rings audibly. I’ll see if I can get Willow or one of the others to do that through your regular home telephone, if it’s necessary. Obviously you shouldn’t let your mother know that you have this.”
“Right,” she said, slipping the phone into her pocket and the other stuff in her backpack. “Thanks,” she said quietly. Being in his presence, being able to smell him so close, made her ache horribly and she wanted desperately to touch him and hold him. She exhaled slowly, and she saw in his eyes that he was all too aware of her discomfort. “My mom said she didn’t want me to be alone with you, but that if I needed to study in the library with the guys, it was okay. She wants me to go Slaying alone. She sort of has to take my word for it that I’ll do that. You don’t usually go with me anyway. But I can’t come to your house for studies or training anymore. Guess we’ll have to find somewhere else to do it…with the guys being chaperones or something.” Giles nodded.
“Let me give that some thought and I’ll draw up a schedule. I think we should honor your mother’s restrictions until we can get her blessing,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right for either of us to defy her openly.”
“I know,” Buffy said. “I have to talk to you and everything, but the Great Passing will have to be put on hold for a little while. I was thinking about that last night. I can’t just say screw her and break the rules. If it was another end of the world thing it’d be different, but she’s just trying to protect me. She’s trying to do the right thing, and me acting like a two-year-old isn’t going to help convince her that I’m mature enough to take care of this myself.”
“Very true,” Giles said with a smile. “I’m proud of you. This isn’t going to be easy. I’ll do the best I can to smooth the way for you. How do you feel today?” He put his hand on her forehead, finding her skin hot to the touch. She shivered at the flare of desire that flashed between them, but didn’t move as he withdrew his palm. “You’re hot.” Buffy’s mouth quirked.
“Oh baby, oh baby,” she said deadpan, and Giles rolled his eyes. “I feel better than I thought I would, considering that I want to throw you down on the reading table and screw you senseless.” Giles grunted, amused and flattered. “I slept pretty well…still had the dreams, though.”
“I have something for that,” Giles said, snapping his fingers as he remembered. He went behind the counter and produced two ziploc bags of loose, dried tea leaves and herbs. “Make a tea from this,” he said, indicating the larger bag, “one teaspoon for an average cup, no more than three times a day. Add some of this –” he held up the smaller bag ” –if you want some help sleeping.” Buffy sniffed at it briefly, smelling peppermint and some other things she didn’t recognize.
“Looks like marijuana,” she joked.
“This is considerably more legal,” Giles said, smiling.
“I dunno. It’s medicinal, isn’t it? Medical marijuana, you know.”
“Just don’t drink too much,” he cautioned tolerantly. “It has a calming effect anyway, and you don’t want to be too sleepy to concentrate in class.”
“Yeah, no problem,” she said. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, then lunged forward to hug him tightly. He returned it fiercely, burying his nose in her hair and taking in her warm scent. She felt so good against him. “I’m scared,” she whispered against his chest.
“Shh, don’t be,” he said gently. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.” He rubbed her back and then let her go before her need could be further tempted. She held his arms for a moment, then also seemed to realize the danger, and let go.
“Guess I’ll see you later,” she said. “Non-alone or something.” Giles nodded.
“Call me if you need anything.”
She called him that night only to report on her patrol, which had yielded one newly risen vampire, quickly disposed of. She had also wanted to try the cel phone and try to get used to how it worked.“Cool toy, Giles,” she said, and heard his answering chuckle. “Bummer it took my mom going completely bent on me to get you into the Digital Age. At least you bypassed the entire Vacuum Tube Age.”“Ha ha,” Giles said, leaning back in his desk chair. He had several books open and was reading more about the autumnal equinox and the Great Passing that Slayers went through. “I’ll settle for a monthly bill of less than a hundred dollars, thank you very much.” Buffy laughed.“So what are you up to?” she asked.“I’m at home, trying to find out if there’s some kind of spell or incantation that might ease the effects of the Great Passing for you…and maybe for me as well. So far, no luck, but some of the herbal remedies look relatively promising.”
“I think I’m going to need it,” Buffy admitted with a sigh. “Thanks, Giles. This sucks and you’re really helping to make it more bearable.”
“I’m glad to help, Buffy,” he replied gently. “Anything and everything. Try to get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“G’night.”
The next day, Giles didn’t see her until after school. There were times when she and the Slayerettes didn’t come to the library in the morning or during lunch. That was all fine with him, and under the current circumstances, it was probably easier for Buffy to avoid him as much as possible. This wasn’t just because of her mother’s restrictions, but because the distance seemed to make the urge easier to bear for both of them.He came out of his office that afternoon at the sound of the library door being pushed open with a squeak, and watched his Slayer enter.“Hello, Buffy,” he greeted as she stalked across the floor to the table. She let her books drop to the surface with a slam. Giles came up behind her. “How are you feeling today?”“Like shit,” she muttered, beyond caring about her manners. She gestured restlessly. “Like…” He heard her swallow hard and he put his hand on her shoulder firmly. The contact seemed to close a circuit, and he relaxed a little, feeling her warmth fill him quickly.“I know,” he said gently. “We’ll bring your mother around. I just need to find a way to do it that’s sufficiently convincing. I’m sorry this is so hard for you.” Buffy turned to look at him.
“It’s hard for you, too, isn’t it?” she said. Giles sighed heavily.
“Your desire…your need…pulls at me,” he confessed. “I can’t shut it out. I feel it every moment now, especially when I’m in your presence.” Buffy put her hand on his chest and he inhaled sharply.
“Sorry,” she said, biting her lip. “It just feels good to touch you.”
“It’s all right,” he sighed, feeling strangely empty when she withdrew her hand.
“Guess I’d better try to study,” she muttered, turning back to the table. Giles nodded, letting his breath out carefully.
“You’re not supposed to be alone with me,” he reminded. Buffy sat down, not looking at him.
“The guys’ll be here in a minute,” she said.
“Very well, then. I have some filing to do.” He left her to retrieve a stack of books to reshelve, forcing himself to move away from her.
He kept an eye on her as she opened one of her textbooks and began to read. She had a notebook and a pen, and occasionally took notes, but he could tell she wasn’t able to concentrate and the notes eventually became aimless doodles. She rested her head on one hand for a while, then shifted to the other hand, pausing sometimes to rub the back of her neck, or stretch, or press both palms to her eyes as if she had a headache.
The pull from her was intense, a constant ache that told him entirely too much about what she needed from him and how desperately he wanted to answer it. The sight of her in pain, combined with his intimate, body-felt knowledge of it, was too much for him and he put down the books he held.
Buffy closed her eyes again, unable to focus on the text in front of her. It just blurred out in the face of the taut pain in her shoulders, and the throbbing headache that was forming behind her eyes. She heard Giles come up behind her, and opened her eyes in time to see his hand come around to slide the book from under her arms, closing it gently and setting it aside.
“Lean forward,” he said quietly, warmly. She obeyed, his voice embracing her, and then she felt his hands on her back, applying weight and pressure up the sides of her spine, releasing tension there. “Close your eyes and try to relax.” She groaned helplessly, his strength and even just his touch satisfying a terrible need in her. His hands were warm and sensuous, his fingers rubbing into the hard muscles in her back in slow, considered movements. “How’s that?”
“Great,” she mumbled. “Amazing. You should do this for money.” He chuckled.
“It’s much more rewarding to do it for you,” he said. He withdrew suddenly. “Let me take my coat off.” He shed the coat and draped it over a chair, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. It was in the midst of this that the library doors opened again and Willow, Xander and Oz came in. Willow opened her mouth to say something, but Giles put his finger to his lips in a pantomime for quiet, and Willow’s mouth closed abruptly. “Willow, Xander and Oz are here,” Giles said in a quiet voice, enough that the others could hear him, but he was obviously trying to control the amount of external stimulation she received.
“Mm,” Buffy said, lifting one hand to wave tiredly. “Hi guys.”
“She’s in some pain today,” Giles said to them by way of explanation. “And she hasn’t been feeling well lately.” Willow nodded, all too aware of her friend’s discomfort and headaches over the past few days, if not the reason for them.
“Any luck finding out why?” Xander asked, keeping his voice down as the three of them neared the table. Buffy sighed.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled where she had her head down on her folded arms on the table. “Giles figured it out. Don’t wanna talk about it yet. My back still hurts.” Giles smiled.
“You just relax for a bit, then,” he said, and brushed her ponytail out of the way to begin massaging her shoulders with those long, deep strokes that took much of his weight. Buffy groaned, and the others looked on in some surprise at this personal contact from her Watcher. He looked quite content to be doing it, his expression one of concern and concentration. “Willow, would you do me a favor and make some herbal tea for Buffy? There’s a special mixture in my office, in the marked jar.”
“Sure thing, Giles,” Willow said, glad to have something helpful to do. She got up, and the two boys stood uncertainly for a moment.
“Go on and start your studies,” Giles said to them mildly. “Buffy will be all right in time. She’s under a lot of stress right now.”
Oz and Xander shrugged, then sat down and started reading, Oz helping his friend with math homework. Giles continued to rub his Slayer’s back, sometimes softening the touch to a warm stroking that made her shiver. The lust from her was blinding, and he knew he had an erection but endeavored to ignore it, hoping no one else would notice. If they did, so be it. This was a natural, if usually private, part of the Watcher-Slayer relationship.
Willow came back with the tea, meeting Giles’ gaze for a brief moment. He knew that she would be able to discern the contents from its smell and appearance. It smelled mostly of peppermint and lemon balm; relatively innocuous remedies for pain and fever, and the peppermint also had a calming effect. One of the ingredients, however, was tigertail, which had a distinctive smell, and had one primary medicinal application –calming sexual fever.
“Here’s your tea, Buff,” she said, setting the mug down by Buffy’s elbow. Giles pulled on her shoulder gently to coax her to sit up.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Drink this. It’ll help.” Buffy sat back in the chair with some effort, obviously in considerable physical discomfort. She grimaced slightly as she smelled the tea.
“Bleah,” she declared, but sipped at it anyway. Giles’ hand was still on her shoulder, and he moved her ponytail again to begin massaging her shoulders and neck. Her eyes closed blissfully for a moment.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Tea’s icky,” she said, and Giles smiled, “but the massage is good.”
“Good?” Giles echoed teasingly. “I’ll have you know I’ve taken Reiki and Shiatsu classes.”
“Hurts more on the left side,” she said, sipping the hot, unsweetened tea again. Giles slowed his massage to concentrate on her left trapezius. “What’s this for?” she asked, indicating the tea.
“What ails you,” Giles said, amused. Willow bit her lip but said nothing. Giles saw her expression. “Perhaps we should explain now,” he suggested to Buffy. She sighed and nodded. The boys were attentive, the math forgotten for the moment.
“For a while Giles didn’t know what it was,” Buffy told them. “But I had some dreams that gave us enough information that he could figure it out.”
“So it’s magical?” Willow said worriedly. “Not the flu or something?”
“In a way,” Giles said. “It’s intimately linked to the fact that she’s a Slayer, and that I’m her bonded Watcher.”
Giles explained the Great Passing and the rite of the autumnal equinox, the accompanying drive the Slayer experienced to make love with her Watcher in order to deepen their emotional bond and leave behind her childhood, both actual and symbolic. Buffy chimed in with the part about how the Slayer tended to get killed at a rate ten times normal if she failed to answer the compulsion.
“So of course we had the brilliant idea that we would tell my mom, in the interests of fairness to her and involving her in my destiny,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes. “I think there was something in there about the spirit of giving, or factory to dealer incentives, or something.” Giles’ mouth twitched in amusement. “But anyway, mom went ballistic and grounded me. She thinks Giles is a dirty old man and I’m a moonstruck child, and that Giles made the whole thing up in order to get into my pants.”
“So that’s why you’re sick?” Willow said. “Because of this Great Passing thing?”
“At first, yes,” Giles said. He was still massaging Buffy’s shoulders and neck, slowly and gently. “Now it’s because she’s resisting answering it, because her mother has forbidden it. I’ve promised that we’ll resolve it somehow.” He sighed. “I just don’t have any decent ideas yet.”
“But it doesn’t go away, does it?” Oz said. “How can Buffy’s mom enforce grounding her forever? When she turns eighteen, it won’t matter anymore.”
“I pointed that out when we were at her house talking with her mother,” Giles said. “The fact that it doesn’t go away, I mean. The rest…I felt it wouldn’t be wise to provoke her any more. That’s not the best way to win her approval.” Oz nodded.
“She’s not being rational,” Buffy said. “She’s being a mom, which is her job, so in a way I don’t really blame her. The whole Slayer thing can’t be easy for her to deal with and I haven’t really tried to help. I guess it’s kind of my fault.”
“So, okay,” Willow said, thinking. “You sorta have to do this, but is it okay? I mean, do you guys want to or is it one of those personal sacrifices for the good of humanity things?” Buffy was finishing off her tea, and sheepishly met Willow’s eyes over the rim of the cup. Giles’ hands left her shoulders and he moved away. She pouted at him, but he was grabbing his coat off the back of Xander’s chair.
“I want to do something else,” Giles explained, folding the coat and setting it on the table for a moment. Giles undid her ponytail, putting the band in his pocket and then taking the folded coat again. “Here, rest your head back on this,” he said, using the coat as a cushion for her to lean her head back on the chair. “Close your eyes,” he said, and she obeyed. “Are you going to answer Willow’s question?” She heard the amusement in his voice as he began to rub gently at her temples, finding acupressure points and relaxing the muscles in her face. Buffy sighed, partly in pleasure and partly in resignation.
“You’re naughty, Giles,” she said without anger, and he smiled. “But yeah, Will, I do. Giles and I talked about it the other night.”
“I want to also,” Giles said, brushing some of her hair away from her jaw so he could carefully find muscles there with his fingers. “I’m concerned about her well-being, and I don’t object to this aspect of my role as Buffy’s Watcher. Until we can resolve this to her mother’s satisfaction, the least I can do is ease the stress of it.”
“That’s what the tigertail’s for,” Willow said, nodding in understanding. The boys both looked puzzled, but Giles nodded.
“Yes.”
“Huh?” Buffy said.
“In the tea,” Willow said. “Tigertail’s for, uh, calming you down when you’re horny.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, bemused and embarrassed. “Uh, thanks, Giles. I guess.”
“Sorry,” Giles said sheepishly. “I just thought it might help.”
“Guess we’ll see, huh?” Buffy teased, then sighed deeply. “Mmm, God that feels good.”
“Better now?” he asked. “Think you can get some work done?”
“Yeah,” she said with a faint smile, “but don’t stop, okay?”
Her Watcher chuckled quietly as she leaned forward to open her textbook again and start reading. His hands returned to her shoulders meditatively.
“All right,” he said softly.
The next few days seemed to pass in relative calm, Giles offering his quiet massage to her after school in the library as she and the Slayerettes alternately studied and goofed off. The herbal tea seemed to be helping her. The dreams had eased a little, and she no longer felt feverish under his hand.Their intense awareness of each other’s presence did not abate. He hadn’t expected that it would, but the distraction caused him to finally suggest that they keep away from each other as much as possible. This, too, seemed to help, and she only came to be with him after school, then used the cel phone to talk to him at night about her patrols.
One night Giles asked her to report for some training. Buffy came to the cemetery as Giles had instructed, finding Willow, Oz and Xander there already, along with her Watcher. The Slayerettes were on a blanket on the grass, eating something out of a common bag, possibly tortilla chips. Giles stood leaning against a stone bench, meditatively sharpening a sword with a whetstone. Another sword was on the bench, protected by a soft cloth.She had not needed to see Giles to know he was there in the half-light of a gibbous moon. She could feel him, a sensuous heat in the darkness, his presence at once comforting and seductive. She smelled power in him, the power that could quench the fire that burned in her. Their bond had become more intense in the past week, but he seemed in better control of his emotions than she was. He glanced up and met her eyes immediately, even though she knew she had been silent.“Swordfighting, huh?” she said. The Slayerettes started, surprised to hear her voice. She came more fully into the clearing, and Giles tossed her the sword he was holding. She caught it easily.“I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to vent some energy,” he said. His appearance of emotional control had been an illusion, at best. As she got a closer look at him, she saw the tension in his shoulders and hands, the unconscious aggression in his body language. It reminded her brutally of his maleness, something of which she was normally unaware. Not so these past few days, especially on that night in which she had coaxed him to orgasm and listened to his deepest pleasures. “Try to relax a little.” Buffy nodded, taking off her coat and putting it down on the bench with the sword cloth.
“Are you guys the art critics?” she joked, looking at her friends on the grass.
“You mock us,” Xander said, “but we can ruin you with a single bad review. Don’t think we can’t.”
“We figured we’d hang out and critique your form,” Willow said, “and then score you on a scale of one to ten, like Olympic figure skating.” Buffy laughed.
“What’re you, Oz?”
“I’m the referee,” he said, “in case you try to bite off Giles’ ear.” Giles looked puzzled by that, but Willow and Xander giggled.
“Are you ready, Buffy?” the Watcher asked. Buffy was stretching, her arms up over her head and behind her back. Giles waited patiently, but she was aware of his hot gaze on her body.
“Yeah,” she said finally, retrieving her sword where she had stuck it into the ground. Giles picked up his own weapon and turned to her. She almost froze –that maleness again, fierce in his eyes, his body obviously hungry for her even as he posed en garde.
“Ready,” he said. “Fence.”
She was a good swordsman, and had taken quickly to Giles’ instruction when they had first begun it many months ago. She had the advantage of speed and strength, and he had reach and experience. It was a good match for instructive purposes, and often, like now, allowed them an outlet for frustration and anger.
Her nearness was maddening to him. Both bonded to her and bred over the centuries to respond to her needs, his soul howled to be allowed to satisfy the yearning he could feel from her. It was not used to being denied this duty, and it hurt to resist. He could only wonder what the full measure of it was like for her, but her savagery in their swordplay gave him a taste.
The Slayerettes were providing oohs and ahhs, and the occasional sympathetic “ow” or “that’s gotta hurt.” Buffy was only half-conscious of it, aware mainly of the heat of Giles’ body when he got close to her, the soft sounds of effort and pain he made as they sparred. He did not go easy on her. He had never needed to.
She overreached in one arcing swing, and Giles followed the movement with his own blade, driving her sword to the grass and pinning it there. In a real duel, that would have been a moment to attempt a killing strike, with a knife, or by standing on the enemy’s blade and delivering a blow with one hand. Between Buffy and her Watcher, however, it had always been a moment when one of them conceded a defeat and they smiled at each other and rose to begin again.
In this moment, there were no smiles between them. Giles held their swords to the cool grass, unable to look away from her eyes. She had been about to say something sarcastic, about his prowess or possibly his age, but when she looked up at him, all she saw was her panting, sweaty, beautiful Watcher, his warm shoulder against hers where they crouched. She wanted him and couldn’t touch. She needed to make love to him, right now, here on the grass, with that passion in his eyes. She reached for his shoulder, curling her fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt, silently pleading with him.
“Buffy…” he whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly in apology and frustration. She was trembling and he knew what would make it stop.
With a strangled sob, Buffy tore her sword from under his, scrambling to her feet and hurling the weapon away with a yell of fury. It clattered against the stone bench and slid to the ground. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t face this, and she whirled away from all of them to disappear into the darkness.
Willow got up immediately and went after her. Giles got to his feet and stabbed his sword into the earth angrily. He collapsed onto the stone bench and put his head in both hands, trying to calm himself, trying to understand what he should do.
Oz got up and Xander followed, approaching Giles warily.
“You have to do something,” Oz said.
“I know,” Giles murmured, not looking up. “I just don’t know what.”
“Talk to her mom again.”
“She won’t listen.”
“You have to try,” Oz said. “You guys can’t go on like this. You’re going to get hurt, maybe killed. You can’t even spar without going nuts.” Giles gave a deep sigh.
“You’re right. I have to try to talk to Joyce again, make her understand. I just wish she could see what this is doing to Buffy.”
“Maybe she can and she just doesn’t want to believe it,” Xander said quietly. They both looked at him and he shifted uncomfortably, but went on. “Sometimes parents don’t see what they don’t wanna see, even when it’s right in front of them. They say, oh, she’s just sick, or she’s just pouting or sulking, or she’s going through a phase. They don’t want us to grow up…don’t want us to be people because then they have to find something else to do besides be mom and dad.”
“Wow,” Oz said after a moment, impressed. “That’s deep.”
“It may be more complicated than that in this case,” Giles said thoughtfully, “but then again, maybe not. It’s a good place to begin. Thank you, Xander.” He stood up, gazing off into the darkness where he could feel Buffy crying and aching for him.
“I think maybe you should leave her alone for a little bit,” Oz said carefully. He could smell the tangled mixture of sexual need and compassion and anger that poured off of both the Watcher and his Slayer. Anything could happen with that volatile combination.
“That might be best,” Giles agreed. He exhaled a trembling breath. “But she pulls on me too hard…calling to me through the bond. I can’t ignore it.”
Oz and Xander followed him as he found Buffy unerringly in the darkness about fifty yards away. Willow was with her, hugging her. She pulled away as Giles and the boys neared.
“Go away, Giles!” Buffy yelled. “Just don’t! It’s too hard. It hurts too much…”
Her anger tore into him, raw and harsh, but with it came the inferno of her longing across the bond between them. They were twin swords into his soul, each of them an agony of its own as Giles dropped to his knees on the grass behind her, reaching out with his entire body to embrace her. She tried to fight him off, struggling against the solace he offered, the tormenting relief of his touch and warmth, but he wouldn’t let her go. She went still as he pulled her back against him, the need winning out over her fury, and she panted hard, half-sobbing.
“Don’t shut me out,” he whispered, rocking her gently as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “It’s all right, it’s all right.” Shuddering, she leaned her head back against him and he nuzzled the side of her throat softly. “Shh, I won’t let you go,” he promised.
It was the first time Giles had been able to hold her and just take in the entirety of what she was; scent, heat, strength. He had tried to be the strong one in this, because the Great Passing was primarily for the Slayer. At least, so the Watcher Chronicles often made it seem. His role was one of support, of teacher, of liberator. Yet there were warnings to the Watcher in the older prophecies about the Great Passing, ancient rhythmic lines in ancient English that he had never truly felt were relevant to him in any way.
He had meant to bring her here tonight to vent her restlessness, and had hoped to vent some of his own frustration. When she had fled into the woods in agony, he had meant only to come comfort her as he knew Willow could not. Yet even as she quieted against him, her hands resting over his around her stomach, he could no longer keep the reserve and strength he had felt she needed from him.
“I’m sorry,” he said against her neck, his voice suddenly choked with the weight of emotions so great he was unprepared for them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…shouldn’t have told you to stay away.”
Willow got to her feet silently, moving away toward Oz and Xander. The anguish and guilt in Giles’ voice wrenched her, and she knew she was not meant to see this. She glanced at Oz, who was already pulling on Xander’s arm.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to leave them alone,” Xander said, but Willow grabbed him, too, and he was dragged out of the woods to leave the Watcher and Slayer in their privacy.
Sometimes the craziness of all of this threatened to tear Buffy apart, but when Giles had come to hold her here, kneeling on the ground, she knew she could bear it. His whispered promises had soothed her, asked for her trust and she gave it easily. Then she had felt something change within him, felt his body tense, his hands tighten on hers. A strangled apology had come from his throat, and Willow had gotten up to leave.
“Giles…” she whispered, not knowing what Willow had seen or heard that had caused the instant of panic that Buffy had seen on her face.
“I shouldn’t have tried to put a collar and chain on this,” Giles said hoarsely. “So bloody worried about your mother’s approval.” His voice was thick with something awful, and Buffy heard it finally. “Shouldn’t have been so fucking cavalier about it, about what I am.” He drew a sudden, gasping breath and the realization slammed down on her that he was crying. She turned in his arms, reaching up for his face. Shadows hid his features from her, but she felt hot tears on his cheeks. He accepted the touch as if it were a benediction, bowing his head to her.
“Giles, hey, shh,” she whispered. “What is it?” The way he grabbed her shoulders suddenly made her gasp, but his shadowed face was close to her, his eyes catching only the slightest glint of light from the moon through the trees.
“I am yours,” he said, some terrible, tormented passion hot in his voice, an oath to himself as much as to her. His warm hands moved to her face, protective and cherishing. His mouth was close to hers, his breath an intimate, searing revelation in her heart that made her blood race. He spoke in that fierce whisper, the one she never heard but knew all the same because it was the only sound that could reveal his soul to her. “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours…”
“I know,” she said, rubbing her fingers into his hair, not knowing what else to say, realizing that he needed her to acknowledge him, to accept him in this moment or he would never be whole. “I know, Giles, it’s okay.”
“Oh, God, forgive me,” he groaned. “God, I only wanted to do what you needed, what was best for you. Forgive me, Buffy…” He started to sob, and she pulled him to her, letting him rest his head on her shoulders and hold onto her.
“Oh, Giles, it’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing. You’re my Watcher and you just want to do the right thing for me. I know that. It’s okay, shh…”
Even though he was crying, even though her heart ached, it felt magnificent to hold him and smell him and feel his body against hers. She experienced a moment of guilt, then sighed, stroking his hair where she had one hand around the back of his neck. He quieted at last, and she heard him swallow hard. As he drew back from her shoulder, she brought her hand down to rub the tears from his face with her thumb. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, even in the near-darkness, and let out a long, shuddering exhale.
“You don’t always have to be the strong one,” Buffy said gently, and he made a soft, grunting sound, maybe a laugh.
“Good thing, I suppose,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“Tell me what’s going on in here,” she said, putting her palm on his chest. He shivered again, bowing his head.
“Shame,” he whispered. “Oh, it’s bitter. I was so worried about being a responsible adult that I forgot that I am your Watcher. That should be my first instinct, the first direction that I move. Your mother is a difficult variable, since she knows you are the Slayer. I don’t want your relationship with her to suffer, but the harsh truth is that I must bend knee to you and no other. It takes precedence over everything else.” He looked up at her, his heart in his eyes, his mouth close to hers. “I won’t try to tell you how to do this anymore. If you want me now, here, on the grass, I’m yours.”
The smell of him was sultry and enormous in her consciousness. His hand was on her shoulder, his thighs spread wide where he knelt to encompass her own knees warmly between them. She wondered if he were hard, knew that he must be, and for a moment she raised her head as if to brush her lips against his. He didn’t pull away, waiting for her to take him, his suppressed groan ripping through her like a knife.
But she couldn’t do it here, not like this. He deserved better. They both deserved better than for the culmination of this immortal bond to be a brutish coupling in the grass. Quickly, before she could succumb, she reached for the back of his neck again and pulled his cheek against hers, holding him by the soft hair at his nape and nuzzling his jaw blindly.
“Not yet,” she breathed as he finally let out the moan that had risen in his belly, both of his hands going around her shoulders carefully. “It should be for us, not in spite of us. I want you, all of you, Giles. Let’s wait. I want to try to convince my mom first. Maybe it won’t work, but…”
“That’s your prerogative,” he said quietly. He couldn’t resist the silken curve of her jaw and he was rubbing it with his rough, whiskered chin. “If you can’t bear it anymore…when you can’t bear it anymore…come to me.” Her hand around his neck was massaging tired muscles slowly, and he felt her mouth open against his cheek, her tongue grazing him with wet heat. “Day. Night. Anywhere. I’ll be ready. Oh God, you feel so good…”
She had already found the corner of his mouth, felt him speak against her lips, and the moment narrowed to the warm softness of his mouth, his quiet whimper, the hot ball of something she could feel in her gut. For several breaths they barely touched, and then his mouth opened to let her kiss him softly, and she thought of that moment on the phone days ago when he had groaned in a voice of ultimate despair that he wanted to fuck her now, right now.
There had been a deep conviction in her somewhere that kissing him would satisfy the awful hunger in her body and soul. That was a sweet deception on the universe’s part, because it only became more unbearably delicious the more she tried to capture his mouth, his tongue, his marvelous, male taste. He growled softly, a sound of utter relish if she’d ever heard one. She realized he was responding to her tight grip, fingers twined in his dark hair.
Buffy rose up higher on her knees, using both hands to jerk his head back so she could bend down to kiss him, rubbing through his hair, holding his face, feeling as if she could devour him if she just tried hard enough. He craned his neck to meet her, baring his throat if she wished to taste him there, as well, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her close with a low grunt of unconscious wanting.
His hands were strong, slipping lightly up her back and then clawing into her shirt and flesh to touch her the way she had craved in her dreams. Even clothed, restrained by whatever modesty and decorum he had left, his body burned her with need. His ache was hers, his rapture was part of his hot, male scent. Her own hard ache between her legs wanted him terribly, wanted the fullness of his cock inside her, filling her. She slid back down to rest between his knees, drawing her mouth down the side of his throat to feel his pulse and the vibration of his quiet purr.
“Can I touch you?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” he whispered.
His heart was racing where she put her palm on his chest, this leaping evidence of his response to her sending a delicious ripple up her spine. She touched him with both hands, rubbing his shirt, feeling the shape and heat of his muscles beneath, the small nub of his nipples that made him flinch exquisitely when she stroked them. His stomach quivered when she touched him there, his breath shuddering out of him in a long, sultry hiss, and she realized he had clenched his jaw around bared teeth. She reached up to caress his cheek, and with a pant of hot breath from his nostrils, he turned his head and engulfed her fingers in his obscene, fantastic mouth.
She could feel in his tongue some vague imitation of what he must want her to do to his cock with her own mouth, and it made even her, a female, shiver in empathic ecstasy. She could hardly find her breath, shocked by the intensity of his fascination with her fingers, and when he finally let them go to stare at her with hazel eyes so fierce that she felt a short thrill of fear, she drew her wet fingertips down his neck, past the slight mark she had put there with her teeth a minute ago.
He was breathing hard and fast, grunting softly when her hands resumed exploring the front of his body. His blood was on fire, everything sensible in his mind fleeing before the crushing hunger to satisfy her, to satisfy himself by getting drunk on her magnificence. His belly trembled again when she stroked it, flame racing down through his already burning loins. This time, though, she touched his belt buckle, not speaking or looking up at his face, as if she thought he would refuse if she did.
One of her hands was on his chest still, idly caressing his nipple through his shirt in slow, sensuous circles. The other…the other was intrigued by his trousers, by the soft lip of fabric over the zipper of his fly. She traced the hard bulge of his erection delicately, finding its length, its width, the slight outline of the ridge of the crown. He imagined she was tracing one of the veins down the shaft, every touch of her fingertips a sweet mixture of lightning and something hot and wet and vulgar in his thoughts. Not even that prepared him for the pleasure that struck him when she moved down to stroke his balls, finding their outline, too. It was so intimate, so gentle and bright and forbidden and he gasped as if drowning, drowning in her…
Buffy watched his hand on her arm for a moment as she tickled lightly at the head of his cock through his trousers. He was fantastic; purring softly, shuddering, probably completely unaware that he was making any noise at all. His head was bowed close to her jaw and shoulder, his throat quietly humming with that incredible sound of bliss. His hand slid up her arm and held her neck and head, his strong fingers in her blonde hair. He was big, not so big that it was surprising, but just enough that her carnal mind told her immediately how good it would feel to have him buried inside her, ramming hard and slow. He was so hard she was surprised his trousers could hold it. It was so different from her own internal, desperate ache, and she wondered how it would feel to have something so brutally urgent and powerful between her legs in this moment. She remembered that he liked touching his balls, so she stroked down in that direction, hoping to make him feel even better than he obviously did.
His mouth near her ear uttered a strangled exclamation of some emotion too huge and sudden to comprehend or endure, and she felt something rushing forward to escape the shackles and cellar of his deepest unknown self. Everything happened at once. His hand gripped into the back of her neck like a steel talon, pulling her to him. He pressed his open mouth to her throat and she felt his teeth for an instant before he cried out against her hot skin. He was embracing her, holding on for his life, and in a single, sharp flame of gut-wrenching understanding, she knew he was coming, coming hard and thoroughly in his tight boxer shorts with all the clothing between them.
She held him tight, part of her arm resting around his shoulder and her hand on his nape, welcoming him to the nuzzling burrow he had found against her throat as he grunted and whimpered to make the hackles rise on her neck and her gut tingle. She gasped, startled, when he nipped her throat suddenly, a lovebite of the utmost, complete gratitude and tenderness.
When his soft cries stopped, she withdrew her hand from his groin and rubbed gently at his side and chest; a comforting gesture. He kept his head bowed to her shoulder for several long moments, his breathing ragged but ultimately calming, and his grip around her back eased to stroke her lightly.
“Good God,” he breathed, exhaling a long and astonished sigh. “I didn’t know I…I’ve never…” His voice broke into a soft, giddy laugh, and he rubbed her neck soothingly.
“You didn’t know you were going to do that, did you?” she said, amused. He pulled back from her shoulder, sheepish and embarrassed.
“No, I um…it caught me by surprise,” he admitted, still smiling but not meeting her eyes. He realized he had made a mess in his shorts. “Damn, I should — ” He glanced up at her, anxious because of her presence, debating in several quick flashes all the possible alternatives. “Hell,” he muttered, and groped inside his pocket for a handkerchief. He unbelted and unzipped his pants with the ease of long familiarity, pulling out the waistband of his boxers to inspect the damage. The shadowy darkness in the woods made a visual survey impossible, so he was forced to explore gingerly with his hand and the cloth. He sighed suddenly, relieved. “Not very much at all,” he mumbled. He glanced up at a muffled giggle to see Buffy watching him with one hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stop from laughing. “This is your fault, you know,” he said, without any real anger. “Get a Watcher so bloody excited he comes in his own trousers. Christ.” He cleaned himself quickly, then folded the handkerchief back into his pocket. “It’s only because I did it this morning that I haven’t embarrassed myself beyond belief.” She raised an eyebrow and he finished fastening his trousers back up.
“Sorry,” she said, genuinely apologetic in spite of her amusement.
“Don’t be,” he said, his tone changing to a hushed delight. “It was so sweet.” He took her face gently and kissed her with warm affection. “I only wish I could make you feel as good.”
“Did you mean what you said about how I could come to you anytime?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes, my God, I mean it, Buffy,” he whispered.
“Then…then I want to wait as much as I can,” she said, “try to talk to my mom…”
“I’m going to try to talk to her again tomorrow, alone,” Giles said. “It might go better if you’re not there to distract her.” Buffy nodded and he hugged her warmly. “Come on, we’d better go.”
Giles was wholly unsuccessful in talking to Joyce the next day. He even went so far as to bring with him the relevant volumes of the Watcher Chronicles and other historical texts which supported his argument, and then stuck his foot in the door when she attempted to shut it in his face. He tried his best to be polite and reasonable, expressing openly his concern for Joyce’s own feelings as well as Buffy’s. It was when she threatened to call the police that he relented and vacated the property. It was her house and her yard, after all, and getting himself arrested would not help his Slayer.Fury boiled in him like a thrashing sea monster as he left. He mentally called Joyce every unprintable name he could think of, cursed her lineage and her morality and questioned her love for her daughter. In this time of trial for Buffy, of pain and need and glory, all she saw was a perverted older man and a naive, helpless little girl. He wanted to grab Joyce by the shoulders and shake her senseless. Bloody hell, woman, do you have eyes? Can’t you see what’s going on just by looking into your daughter’s face? Her fever, her restlessness, her thrashing, anguished dreams? She’s dying inside and you’re preventing the one thing that can save her.He called Buffy on her cell phone after he went home. She was at Willow’s house. He explained his failure.“I really do think we need to just back off for a while and let her think about this,” Giles said finally. He could hear the repressed rage in his own voice, and knew she could, too. “It really is quite a lot to take in, and I’m sure it was a shock to her. Any more pushing right now, from either of us, will only further alienate her.” Buffy was quiet for a moment.“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said dully. “Giles…the dreams got stronger last night. We’re getting further and further past the Equinox. I think I’m okay for now…but I don’t know how long I can keep it together and still Slay without either getting my head handed to me or failing school.”
“I know, I know,” Giles sighed. “Just try to hang in there. I’ll consult with Willow and see if we can come up with something to help you concentrate and stay balanced. Remember, call me if you want to, day or night. Or…or come to me…if you need to.”
“Thanks, Giles.”
More days came and went, Buffy avoiding the library as much as possible at Giles’ suggestion. It did seem a little easier when she wasn’t face to face with him. She went Slaying alone, venting her anger on the demons. Her mother showed no inclination to talk about the situation further, pretending that everything was back to normal in spite of subtle changes around the house. Whenever Buffy went out, her mother always pointedly asked where she was going, and often called to make sure she was actually there. More often than not, her mother made her stay home to study, and invited her friends over to their house, rather than letting Buffy go out. Hanging out at the Bronze was only allowed if she went with friends.It got increasingly worse. She was not able to concentrate in class, in spite of help from Willow and Xander. Willow, in desperation, started doing some of Buffy’s homework for her to keep her grades up. Willow and Giles had made a charm that Buffy now wore around her neck; a charged gold pendant with a small, blue fluorite crystal, but it helped mostly just to relieve pain and the most severe of the physical stress. The fever and desire didn’t wane, and after three weeks even the herbal tea ceased to have any effect at all. Giles reluctantly instructed her to stop taking it, and asked Willow to assist her in a series of nightly meditations to help calm her. Willow reported that this, too, was increasingly fruitless.
One Saturday night, a simple conversation with her mother about schoolwork turned into a thunderous argument about school, Giles and her destiny as a Slayer.“Do you want me to die, mom?” she screamed finally. “Is that what you want? Are you disappointed that you didn’t have a normal daughter who excelled on the cheerleading squad and had smoochies with cute boys and whose biggest walk on the wild side was staying out too late at night at Denny’s with her friends? Well guess what mom, I’m a vampire Slayer and I get to kill demons and stop the world from ending about every couple of months, oh happy fun! And you know what else? Slayers have Watchers, and we don’t always get to pick what happens to us. That’s us –victims of fate, center stage! There’s magic and bloodlines and all kinds of freaky destiny and karma stuff going on and only the Watchers get the scoop.”“Yeah, well we don’t really know what all the Watchers are up to, do we?” Joyce said angrily. “I’ve heard about this Council they have over in England. Have you ever been there? Have you ever seen this Council? Who knows what they really are or what they want? All I know is that a forty-four-year-old man –who to my knowledge has never had so much as a date with a woman since he moved here –wants to have sex with a seventeen-year-old girl, and I don’t have to be a genius to figure out that something’s fishy in the state of Denmark.”“Mom, it’s the other way around, jeez, aren’t you even listening?” Buffy said furiously, desperate to express at least some of the pent-up rage and torment that the past month had been. “It’s not he wants to have sex with me, it’s I want to have sex with him. Is that too scary for you or something? That I want to make love to an older man? Hellooo, Earth to mom! Remember Angel? He’s a vampire, mom –he’s two hundred and forty-three years old! When you found out about that you just went, ‘oh, that’s strange, but he seems like such a nice boy, and you just be careful honey.’ Now I want to be with a guy who’s two hundred years younger and you’re going completely freakazoid on me.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about this anymore,” Joyce said, her jaw clenched in determination and cold fury. “You’re still grounded. Now go up to your room and study.”
“But mom –”
“I said go to your room!”
Something terrible seemed to close around Buffy’s heart in that moment, like the only door of a room closing to trap her, then locking tight. She went upstairs, her mind racing, her body aching and hot, wanting only to feel her Watcher’s body, to hear his voice.
She didn’t make even a half-hearted attempt to study, instead flopping down onto her bed and turning the light off. She let herself cry, swallowing painfully and feeling hot tears slide down the sides of her face. It was not the first time she had done so in the past month. She looked out the window, gazing at the sliver-shaped moon and thinking incongruously about Oz and his lycanthropy.Why did being a Slayer have to be so difficult? Normally, the Slayer’s family never even knew about their daughter’s destiny. But no, Buffy’s mom had to find out. She had beat her mother over the head with the fact that she had the responsibility to protect the world from vampires, and yet it was no bed of roses for her, either. It wasn’t so hard to believe that her mom couldn’t deal with it, when Buffy herself experienced her own moments of doubt and resentment and denial.It was Giles who had made that bearable, who had guided her and taught her to embrace her sacred calling, gave her the tools to pursue it. Now she needed that guidance again, needed his service. Her mother, of all people, was preventing her. It was confusing enough without her mother’s intervention and disapproval, but she had done all she could to allow for her mother’s fear.
She managed to sleep fitfully, the dreams coming to her fast and hard, filling her with sensual pleasure and love and warmth. The sweetness of her Watcher’s skin against hers, the soft hunger in his voice as he spoke to her and laughed and whispered in her ear, drove even her dream self mad. She welcomed him, caressing his back, massaging his neck and shoulders, drinking in the smell and taste of him, and he made love to her slowly.The sound of her own whimpering awakened her, and she gazed up at the darkened ceiling in feverish confusion for a moment before remembering –again –that it wasn’t real, and that she was alone in her room, imprisoned in her own home. She rolled over and screamed into her pillow, clutching it to her body