Prompt: 59. Best Friends
Pairing: Giles/Ethan, Giles/Jenny, Giles/Buffy
Word count: 1400
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. A Blackmail!verse story.
Giles spent his day alone, but content to be so for once. He wrote up a workout plan for Buffy, one that involved some distance running and weight work, as well as martial arts training with him. He did housework. He went to the shops for his week's groceries, aware of the bite on his neck every moment that he was out in public. He baked bread for the week. He wrote in his journal. After a moment of hesitation, he recorded last night's events fully. He'd written about Jenny in his private journal as well. Future generations of Watchers would be entertained, perhaps even scandalized. Or more likely indifferent; he could not flatter himself. Assuming he let the bastards have his materials.
Always, as he moved around his flat, he was aware that she had laid a heavy hand on him. He avoided sitting down unless he must.
He was floating. Happy. It was absurd, but he was not going to stop to analyze it. Drink deep of the pleasure when it was offered to him.
Giles prepared for bed at eleven. He took another shower and washed himself thoroughly, taking care that Buffy would find nothing unpleasant when she used his body. He shaved again. He didn't bother to dress afterward. He walked around the house with a towel around his waist, shutting everything up for the night. He left the door unlocked and two lights on, to ease Buffy's way from door to bed.
In the bedroom, he shed the towel. Best to prepare the rest of the way nude, to help himself get into the right state of mind. Not that he needed much help. He'd spent the day in a frenzy like a teenaged boy, wondering what she'd choose to do to him. Anticipating. Speculating.
Giles set out candles, in case she wished to light them. He changed the sheets. Why not use the satin sheets? Indulgent, sensual. Buffy would love them.
He emptied the toy box onto the bed and considered what to do with everything. Buffy would want them ready to hand, he thought. Prepared and organized, as he prepared and organized her swords and crossbows. The smaller items he put into the nightstand drawer. Condoms, cockrings, clamps. The plugs he left on the bed for the moment, so he could choose. The whips... he considered carefully before hanging them up on the inside of his closet doors. Neckties next to floggers. He slowly hardened while he worked, from anticipation. Wondering which she would choose to use on him first. When he healed and was ready for more marks, which whip would she prefer?
Finally, he put the collar on. He'd never done it himself before. Always his lover had done it for him. He pulled the buckle tight around his own neck.
Giles slid to his knees next to his bed, alone in his flat.
"My clever Slayer," he whispered. "You own me. Utterly." She'd coaxed him into putting himself in chains, binding himself and handing himself over.
It was almost too much for him. Twenty-four hours before, he'd been sulking, convinced he'd never be able to taste release again, that fantasy was all that was left to him. And now he was offered everything. Everything he'd dreamed.
He rolled his shoulders and stretched, deliberately calming himself and slowing his breath. When he had control of himself again, he pushed himself to his feet to obey the second of her commands. He turned his attention to the toys ranged across his bed. He had to choose his favorite plug.
He had several. A couple of them were functional silicone things. They served to open him up and keep him open. There was a metal plug that could be worn for long periods, the one Jenny had made him wear to school that once. But Buffy had asked for his favorite. And that had to be the glass plug Jenny had bought for him, on a stolen weekend in San Francisco. He remembered flushing bright red when she'd paraded him around the shop, asking out loud if he'd like this item or the other used on him. It had been all very cheerful and friendly and brightly-lit, the shop, but he'd never get used to the idea of talking about these desires openly. Jenny had made it worth his while that night in their hotel room, at least. Giles sighed, and stroked his fingers over the glass. Poor Jenny. It wouldn't have lasted, even if she had lived, not with his Slayer in his life.
But she'd taught him many things, in their few months together, and one of them was that he liked feeling this inside him. It was heavy, and wide enough that he felt himself opened when his lover slid it into him, but narrow near the base, so it could be worn for as long as he liked. Or as long as his mistress liked him to. The heavy bulb rested in just the right place to drive him mad. And it was lovely to to look at, all those purple swirls deep inside the glass.
He set it out on its velvet bag, along with a bottle of lubricant, and tucked the others away in the nightstand.
Giles stretched himself out on the soft blankets, nude save for his collar as his Slayer had commanded. He waited. He had a mystery novel to read, but he couldn't settle. Too excited and nervous about what Buffy would want to do when she arrived. He shifted uneasily on the bed, unable to make himself comfortable. He turned to lie on his stomach, to give his sore thighs and backside a rest.
She wanted to penetrate him tonight. Open him. It had been a long time.
Giles remembered other times he'd waited like this, face down, for a lover to take him. Rarely, since Ethan. Most often it had been the other way around. At least with men.
But with Ethan, he'd given himself over. Bound face-down on the bed, trembling, unsure whether Ethan would strike him or stroke him. Then feeling Ethan settle himself between his thighs, and slide his oil-slick cock in the furrow of Giles' buttocks. How innocent they'd been! No condoms, just sweet almond oil, for massage and magic ritual. And for sex, for their explorations, slowly growing more expert with each other.
Ethan's fingers, teasing him, moving inside him, just enough to set Giles whimpering. Then the sweet burn of Ethan entering him. Total surrender of himself to Ethan's body and Ethan's will. Complete submission. When Giles had been penetrated, he had trouble concentrating on anything else, any sensation other than the demand of the penis inside him. It was his master.
Giles had once asked Jenny what it felt like to her, to have another person's body inside hers. She'd tilted her head, then answered that it depended on context: who it was, and how it was done. It was like being completed, she'd said, like welcoming her lover home. And for her, it hadn't been submissive at all. She'd owned Giles every time he'd penetrated her, whether she'd been on top or not.
Not the same, then, for men and for women. Though there was no way to know what the other sex felt, truly. Or what any other human being felt inside. What did Buffy feel when she struck the crop across his legs? What had Ethan felt, when he'd brought the flogger down on Giles' back even as he thrust inside him? Giles knew what he'd felt: a sort of wild joy, freedom, all the burdens of his mind rolled away. He was so grateful that he'd found someone willing to grant him that gift.
Giles had never struck another human being save in anger. Never used a whip with love in his heart. When he beat Ethan, as so often happened when he saw the bastard these days, it was with fists and feet in anger and fear. Fear that Ethan would hurt the ones Giles loved, as he had in the past. Ethan's betrayal, the moment he had turned to the demon and shown where his loyalty was: that moment Giles could not forget.
But it had once been sweet, between them. Ethan had been his best friend, his closest mate, the man to whom Giles gave himself. Completely. Nothing held back, when he was stretched out on the bed, face down, with Ethan hard and insistent inside him. Ethan, striking and stroking him at once, the first lover who'd shown him how far he could be taken, how much he could feel, how free he could float. How much he could hurt, for good and for ill. Crying out from pain, crying out from pleasure, both building until he could no longer tell the difference and had completely lost himself to sensation.
Would Buffy take him that far?
The door handle rattled, and the door opened. His Slayer had arrived.
Continued in "Knife".