Prompt: 67. Blackmail (writer’s choice)
Word count: 1600
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Late season 4. Kicks off a series of connected ficlets. Pr0ny in intent, though some character development does creep in. Er, unlike with T&P, I mean it about the kink this time.
“Thank you for coming by, Buffy. I’m sorry about the short notice, but it’s rather urgent.”
Giles hadn’t met her eyes since she’d come in the flat. Buffy began to feel nervous. What was he about to tell her? That he was going back to England? Her stomach felt funny when she thought about that idea. She freely admitted she hadn’t seen much of him the last few weeks. Partly that was because Riley had thrown a jealous fit when she’d said she was thinking about training with Giles again. No, it was mostly because of that, and because Riley had invented things for them to do every time she tried to come over here. She’d had to tell him to get bent tonight, even.
Buffy was sick of that. She needed Giles’ training, needed his special knowledge of Slaying and the occult. And it was past time she took charge of her life and did what she knew she needed. And what Buffy needed was a Watcher. Which wouldn’t happen if Giles left. What was up? He was feeding her tea with little cookies. That said it was serious.
“Giles. This is killing me. Please just tell me what’s up.”
“I, I…” Giles shook himself, and when he spoke again his stammering was a little better. “I’m being blackmailed. Or rather, someone is trying to blackmail me, and I have told them to publish and be, be damned.”
Buffy let her shoulders sag in relief for a moment. Then she tensed again. Somebody needed to have their head ripped off.
“Who?” she said.
“No one important to you. The information they’re attempting to hide is important. The location and weakness of a demon new in town. They know of my connection to you, and were attempting to get me to hide it. I cannot… I cannot be used to protect demons.” Giles still wouldn’t look at her.
“Okay. I get that. What’s the threat? Do you need me to stop it?”
“The threat involves you. I will tell you about the demon, you will Slay the demon, and then, ah. They will send photographs to you.”
Buffy watched Giles’s hands fidgeting with his teaspoon.
“There really isn’t anybody else they could use against me,” he continued, almost muttering. “I have no job, no other personal relationships. Nobody else matters to me as much as you do. I, uh, I will understand, Buffy, if you choose to, to avoid me after this.”
“Avoid you more than I have been, you mean,” Buffy said, drily.
“Well. It can get worse. Or so I have assured myself.” He sounded endlessly sad, and worse. Resigned to it.
Buffy rubbed his shoulder, on impulse. Giles flinched. She kept rubbing, though, and he seemed to relax a tiny bit. “Okay, tell me what to expect. Photographs of what?”
Giles stiffened again. “Ah. Sexual activity.”
“With what, a goat? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, regular old—”
“With a woman. A, a, professional.”
“Oh,” said Buffy. She thought about that for a bit. That had a lot of implications. At last, she said, “I’m not happy that my Watcher has to pay to get what he ought to be able to get from a regular smoochie-partner.”
Giles flushed and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. The reality is that I haven’t been able to, to, to find a partner. And so I paid for it. And now I am paying again.”
Buffy knew this had to be killing Giles, to go through exposing his private life to anybody. The idea that strangers had taken photos of him had to be hell all by itself. He looked like it was killing him, all hunched in on himself at the other end of the couch. “Hey. Giles. Don’t worry. I promise not to hate you.”
“Still. If you could refrain from looking at them, when they arrive, I would be obliged.” He fumbled off his glasses and gave them a polish on his sweater.
“Right. Now tell me all about this demon I’m gonna kill tonight.”
The package arrived two days later, in her dorm mailbox. A manila envelope, with a local postmark on it and no return address. Stiff from what felt like a piece of cardboard. A little thick. Buffy carried it up to her dorm room, tucked into the three-ring binder with her life sciences labwork. Willow was there, chattering about impending finals. Impending, hell; they were three weeks away and Willow was studying already. But Buffy couldn’t do anything about the package while Willow was there to be curious about it. And she didn’t want Willow knowing about this. Giles would die.
Willow took off around dinner time to hang out with Tara. Buffy continued with her English Lit reading for a little while after that, but the package was staring at her. Even hidden in the binder. She should burn it. Tearing it up probably wouldn’t be enough. She dug in the drawer where she had a Zippo stashed away, for the naughtier sort of dorm parties, then stopped when she remembered she couldn’t burn it in the dorm. Tonight on patrol, maybe? Would it catch fire all in a lump like that? Maybe she should burn the photos one at a time.
Buffy ripped it open and slid out the contents face-down. Photos, cover letter, sheet of cardboard. She counted. Twenty photos. Eight by ten glossies.
Buffy reasoned this way: If she didn’t look, this would always work as a threat. If she didn’t really, totally know all the way what Giles had to hide, somebody could always threaten to expose it. And how wild could it be, anyway? He’d said a woman. One woman.
She turned the cover letter over without reading it and looked at the first one. Okay, she could see why Giles didn’t want people knowing about this. Yeah, it was sex with a woman, but it wasn’t exactly vanilla. Vanilla didn’t involve the guy on his knees with a blindfold on. And his hands tied. And wearing what Buffy had learned from Dorm Porn Night was a cock ring. Around what was a pretty impressive package, she had to say. Gotta hand it to the Watcher there.
Vanilla definitely didn’t involve the stuff in the next few photos, either. Buffy had seen it all before, at the aforementioned Porn Night. And some of it she’d read about, in books that she kept hidden in boxes deep inside her closet where even Willow’s curiosity wouldn’t turn them up. The bondage video they’d run had had Buffy breathing hard in seconds. She’d hidden herself in the corner of the room and hoped nobody noticed. She was breathing hard again now.
Lucky Giles, who got to do some of that stuff, even if he paid for the privilege.
Though Buffy admitted, as she lingered on the one where Giles had come, she envied the woman in the photos more than him. You never saw more than her high-heeled boots and legs, and her hands with the whip and the other stuff, but in Buffy’s book, she was having the most fun. Not that Giles wasn’t. The expression on his face was amazing. Pained and ecstatic and wild. Buffy wanted to see it without the blindfold in the way. It was just that Buffy wanted to be making somebody else’s face screw up like that. Be the one in charge.
She imagined doing those things with Riley. Good old solid soldier boy, with his hands tied in the small of his back and clamps on his nipples. Begging her. Buffy couldn’t see it. That was never going to happen. Riley bitched when she wanted to be on top when they had sex. As if that meant anything at all.
The expression on Giles’ face when she had said “bondage fun” to him once. The little dip of the head Giles made when she went into in-charge Slayer mode. The way Giles did what she ordered him to, when she bothered to. How amazingly turned on she was, right now, thinking about that first photo of him, just kneeling with his hands behind his back, cock jutting up.
Doing those things with Giles, now that would be hot. The thought of that careful, buttoned-up, controlled man, coming unglued, letting it all out. Oh, god. Pity he’d never consider doing it with her. He’d probably get all stuffy and talk about propriety. As if Watchers and Slayers hadn’t been getting it on for centuries.
Buffy flipped back through the photos one at a time, paying careful attention to Giles’ face. She knew him well, from years spent fighting together. Some of that stuff he loved, and some things he liked less. The top should have spent more time talking to him first. Buffy could do better, she bet.
She flipped back to the cover letter. Laser printed, her name in the salutation, then a single paragraph: “Perhaps you find this information as interesting as we did: He addressed her as Slayer.”
Buffy slid the photos back into the envelope and locked it into her desk drawer, along with the Zippo. She sat back and thought. Planned. Seize the day. Bank balance, okay. She knew where the fetish shop was, and she knew that the tattoo and piercing place also carried BDSM stuff. But first, the university library. She had to know what she was doing, or this plane wouldn’t fly.
The Slayer uncoiled herself from her chair and was in motion.
Continued in 2. Proposition.
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