Prompt: 45. Proposition
Word count: 1500
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Blackmail continuation.
Five days after he and Buffy had cleared the nest of Kammer demons, at nine-thirty in the evening, Rupert Giles sat in his armchair, drinking two fingers of the Macallan neat and attempting to read a spy novel. He'd been staring at the same page for half an hour. He thought that he should probably give it up, toss back the whisky, and turn in early. He hadn't seen Buffy since they'd slaughtered the demons together, and he'd been on edge the entire time.
The demon's representative had to have followed through on the threat by now, and sent Buffy the photographs. Giles knew what they showed. The man had shown them all to Giles first. The bastard had been human, so Giles hadn't been able to kill him. Instead, he'd endured the humiliation for every second the man had wanted to draw it out.
And now his Slayer hadn't rung him or dropped by. Had she looked, despite her promise? Or was it just coincidence, and she'd simply forgotten about him again as she had so often this year? He had no idea.
Giles damned himself, his fetishes, every fool thing his willful cock had ever led him to do. Go to bed with Ethan. Raise demons. Seduce Olivia with lies. Hire that woman. Role-play with that woman. It had almost been worth it. Almost. To taste that release one more time. To be taken out of himself, purified, drained to serenity. Those moments of anticipation, feeling the bonds tight at his wrists and ankles, tugging at them and knowing himself helpless, the breathless wait for what would happen next, for the first touch of a merciless hand on him... God.
It wasn't going to happen again. He had to resign himself. The risk was too great. He was known as the Slayer's Watcher, here and in Los Angeles. There was no way he could find someone. It would be himself and his left hand, alone in his bed.
He wanted it worse than ever now that he knew he couldn't have it. Giles had a gulp of whisky and swore under his breath, deeply.
Someone knocked on his door. He twitched up from his armchair to answer it, but it opened before he finished standing. Buffy. She turned, closed it, and locked it. She stepped into his little living room area. She was wearing engineer boots and a leather jacket. Full Slayer mode, fierce and focused. Deadly and attractive. But the expression on her face was stormy.
Giles picked up his tumbler and had another gulp of whisky. Apparently the other shoe had dropped.
"Giles. Watcher." Buffy let her messenger bag slide to the floor.
"G-good evening, Buffy. What brings you here?" Disingenuous, pathetic.
"I have a problem. I think I know the solution, but I definitely have a problem."
"Oh! Er. What sort of..." Giles trailed off. She had advanced until she was standing in front of his fireplace.
Giles had another pull of the whisky. What the hell was she up to?
She took the glass from him and sniffed it. She had a sip, shrugged, then put it on the mantel. "I believe I gave you an order, Watcher."
He thought about asking her again what was going on, but saw the look in her eye and decided against it. He stood watching her. He didn't know what to do with his hands. His palms were wet. He rubbed them against his jeans. He tried to breathe. When she'd snapped out those words, it had gone straight to his cock. This was not the time to be dizzy with lust for his Slayer. Again.
Buffy regarded him silently. She had another taste of his whisky. One booted foot was on the raised hearth. She was wearing black jeans. Tight jeans. Oh, God.
"Giles. We need to talk. About what was in those photographs."
"I asked you not to look at them!" Giles flushed red. Mercifully, his arousal faded.
"Well, I did. And I read the letter that came with them."
Giles had no idea what was in that letter, but whatever it had been, it had angered Buffy. Angered? Not exactly. The expression on her face was something else. Something far more frightening to him. She was intent, though to what purpose he could not guess. On humiliating him further?
Giles turned away. His shoulders were tight. Might as well get it over with. "Say what you need to say to me."
He snapped. "Why in sodding hell would I relax?"
Buffy took his arm and spun him around roughly to face her. "Giles. Calm down." She gave him a few moments, then said, "It's perfectly all right to want those things. What isn't all right is the way you got them. You laid yourself open to blackmail. You went to somebody else. You should have come to me."
Giles opened his mouth to protest, but found himself speechless. Eventually he sputtered out, "Buffy, don't be absurd."
Buffy advanced on him. He backed until he was against the wall beside his fireplace. She stood inches away. He could smell her leather jacket, the musky perfume she wore. He was half-hard again. His cock admitted what he wanted, even when he couldn't. Damnable fool.
"I've read Watcher diaries, Giles. I know what our predecessors got up to. We wouldn't be the first, or the last."
"You can't want--"
"But I do want. I want you. And I know that you want me."
"Don't lie to me. I know you do. You called her Slayer."
Giles felt his world falling in on itself. Buffy's gaze on him was the only stable thing around him. He clung to it. She knew, and she was here, and she was... She wanted him? He flattened his hands against the wall, to hold himself up.
"I won't have you calling anybody else your Slayer, hear me? I'm your Slayer. I make you feel what you need to feel. I do those things to you. You're my Watcher, understand? Mine. Not going to share you."
"I haven't been your Watcher for a year," he whispered.
"Would you like to be my Watcher again?"
The shock of hope nearly brought him to his knees. "God. Buffy. You know I would."
Buffy said, "So. You will be my Watcher. You will train me, teach me, translate for me. Sharpen my sword. All that. In exchange, I will be everything you need in private. Your Slayer. Your mistress."
His mouth went dry, at the sound of that word from her lips. He fought to swallow. His mistress. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff. His Slayer was asking him to step off. No. He'd already stepped off. There was no going back on this conversation.
"An exchange," said Giles. His voice was hoarse. "Buffy, do you understand what you're offering me?"
"Have you, um, have you... done this before?"
"I don't have a lot of practical experience. Just reading. But I do know that what you want and what I want are a match. We go together."
She sighed. "I haven't been able to find anybody either. So many guys are either wimps or too macho. Like Riley. Think he's not a man if he's not on top. I've had enough of that. I want an adult. Somebody who knows himself."
Giles breathed out a nervous laugh. "I'm not sure I'm that. But I suspect I know myself better than your Riley does."
He stared at her boots, at the worn and creased leather, and thought hard. He wanted to say yes. God, he wanted to say yes. She was everything he'd ever desired in women: strong, willful, impish, quick-witted, capable. She was pure power and grace. She was the Slayer. Could he let himself say yes?
What would happen if he said no? She needed him. Needed his skills. He knew that. He knew it would kill her, eventually, if they carried on this way, and she were further separated from him.
He had to accept. For her own sake. And if that was rationalization, so be it. Giles surrendered, all in a heap.
"I... I accept your offer."
She shifted in place, sharply, as if preventing herself from moving to him.
"I will be your Watcher. And in exchange, you will, you will be..."
"My mistress." Giles whispered the last word.
She did move toward him then, stepping directly in front of him. He brought his head up and met her eyes. Solemn, intense, and pleased. She held out her hand to him, palm out. He pressed his hand against hers. "My Watcher."
She slipped her fingers between his and clasped his hand.
Giles reeled for a moment. The oath the Council had administered to him had been accompanied by lashings of stiff pomp and circumstance, but this simple exchange of words with his Slayer meant far more.
Buffy squeezed his hand. "We start tonight. I'll tell you what I want from you, as your mistress."
He swallowed, then nodded. "Buffy? Tomorrow. We'll discuss what I require of you, as your Watcher."
"Yes," Buffy said. Giles bent his head and kissed her hand.
Continued in 3. Confession.