Giles/Buffy washed out

FIC: Show-off (Giles/Buffy, FRM)

"Show-off"
Giles/Buffy, FRM++, 2400 words
Giles has just shown off his PPK. He has a few other ways to show off.
A healing draught of unabashed, romantic Buffy/Giles lovemaking, for emelye_miller, who prompted with Buffy, sex, table. Immediately follows "Concealed Weapons".

Buffy's perfume was driving Giles mad, simply mad, tantalizing him with whiffs of musk and spice. Whatever it was she wore, he could catch only when she leaned close to him. And it was marvelous, whatever it was. It worked perfectly with her body's own scent, with the texture of her skin. She'd learned restraint at some point during her time in Rome, restraint with makeup and with scent. She'd learned restraint with her clothing as well. Gone were the short-short skirts of the girl. A flash of leg beneath her dress as she crossed her knees and a neckline that hinted instead of revealed-- Giles let himself enjoy that glimpse of muscled, graceful calf under cover of her absorbed study of his PPK. What man would not enjoy being tantalized by this woman?

Buffy had been a woman for years, and somehow he hadn't noticed it until this week. When he'd first met her at Simpson's, he hadn't recognized the woman turning so gracefully to allow the headwaiter to take her coat. And when he had recognized her, his reaction had been a flash of jealousy that another man had been the one to touch her. It had taken him aback. Why had he not seen it? Self-protection, perhaps. She wouldn't have welcomed his appreciation, and perhaps would not welcome it now. Unless she--

Giles drank more whisky and contemplated the possibility. He would not say he knew women-- no man could say that-- but he could say he knew the woman sitting on the arm of his chair. He knew Buffy. And yes, he could not deny it, she was flirting with him. Next question. Would it be welcome to him? Yes, oh yes, since that moment in the restaurant, he'd been desiring her. He flattered himself that he'd made no sign, given her no word or gesture unsuited to the role she'd wanted for him until now. If she wanted him in another role now, he'd play it. To the hilt.

The image that came to him with that thought made him want to hide his face behind a hand, lest Buffy see the satyr in him. He resorted to his glass of whisky, but there was no need. She was fortunately occupied with his PPK, examining the mechanism. She dry-fired the gun at some target across the room, three rapid pulls of the trigger. Giles had no doubt that she'd have found her targets had the gun been loaded. Buffy preferred the intimacy of hand-to-hand, but she was a marvelous shot when she chose to attempt it. And he was in her sights tonight.

She turned to him with some teasing about the masculinity of the little PPK. Giles let himself take the bait and flirt in response, show off a trifle. Flaunt his status. Buffy had always liked power in her men. Power took many forms. Giles relaxed into himself and let himself be who he was, reveal what had been concealed. He surprised her, even, with his shoulder holster. The expression on her face when she realized he'd been armed so often make him smile again behind cover of the raised glass.

He gave himself another splash of whisky, tasted it, enjoyed another whiff of spice to go with it. Buffy's breast was against his arm and it simply had to be deliberate. An offer, if he chose to take it. Giles shifted his weight in the chair and eased himself closer to her. He felt the first thrill of arousal. Awakening.

He held up his glass for her, brought it to her lips. She drank. He watched her lips curve in a smile, and he knew for sure that any overture he made would be welcomed. He set the glass aside and slid her off the arm of the chair into his lap. He caught her in his arms. Buffy laughed, and kicked off her shoes and wriggled into a more comfortable position. Her backside was in his lap, pleasantly warm, just enough friction against his rising erection. He took the glass up again and fed her another sip of whisky. Had a healthy draft himself, to ensure he stayed daring. She plucked the glass from his hands, drank it down, and set it aside.

Buffy kissed him first. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head down to hers and kissed him. He opened his mouth for her. They pulled apart and Giles saw she was smiling. He bent to kiss her again, slow and searching. Giles licked her lips and tasted his whisky on them. They parted for him and he lost himself in kissing her for long minutes. Kissing his Slayer. Oh, my, how his predecessors would have wrung their hands. Wrung his neck. The thought gave her tongue in his mouth even more spice than it had on its own. He let his hand slide down her back and cup her sweet backside and imagined Quentin Travers sputtering.

Buffy pulled back from him.

"You're laughing," she said, all amused accusation.

"You're marvelous," he said.

"Good. I like that attitude. More kissing, please."

Buffy did not wait for him to agree, but took what she wanted herself. Giles was deliriously happy to oblige. She slipped two fingers between the buttons of his shirt and caressed his chest. Had he ever been so aroused in his life? And he stayed that aroused through long minutes of kissing her, of exploring and tasting her throat, her shoulders, the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Then back to her sweet and eager mouth.

He slipped a hand inside her skirt and let it rest on her knee, which was so much more fraught than a hand on her backside had been. Buffy's hand fell to his waist, to his trouser buttons. He groaned and shifted, seeking to press himself up into her grasp, but she shifted away from him. Giles dared more, urged on by her nipping at his throat, and let his hand move inside, up, along her sweet warm thigh. Further yet. She bent a knee for him, and the tips of his fingers grazed her sex through her knickers. Wrong word for something so erotic. Barely there, just a scrap of material. Slippery. Satin? He stroked her through it. She made a pleased sound and her thighs parted further for him. Giles pressed his advantage and dared a more intimate touch, thumb on her clitoris, middle finger pressing where he would take her later. He stroked harder. Buffy bit her lip and cried out sharply, her pleasure and her demand clear. Giles pressed further, eager and relentless, and was gratified when she shuddered in his arms. She drew in breath unsteadily and met his gaze. Her eyes were dark, all pupil. He raised an eyebrow.

"Show-off."

"Only just begun, I'm afraid," he murmured, and slid his hand up her hip to find the waistband, slide hand and satin down together. She lifted her hips and he admired again her magnificent body, the power she cloaked under high fashion. One leg lifted, then the other, and the scrap of satin was free in his hand, a trophy to be tucked away in his trouser pocket. And she was free in his lap, naked under her skirt, open to his exploration, to his questing fingers. Giles fulfilled the promise he'd made to himself earlier and penetrated her. She let her head fall back on his arm and arched her back. Un-self-conscious, wanton, beautiful, and his, his, now.

He brought her to climax again easily, so responsive was she to his touch. He cradled her against his chest afterward. Her head was on his shoulder. Giles thought he'd like it never to leave. Save that he wanted to give her more. And perhaps, if she were in the mood, to taste a little bit of pleasure himself. He kissed the top of her head.

Buffy sat up and touched her nose to his.

"Undo me, would you?"

"Of course."

He found the zip in the back and pulled it all the way down. Her bare back was cool under his hand. Nothing underneath the dress, apparently, wicked woman.

Buffy slipped out of his lap and turned her back to him. Giles was on fire, but he clutched the arms of the chair and stayed still, watching. She let the dress fall from her shoulders, down, caught it with one hand and stepped out of it. Slim, so slim, but the muscles of the Slayer were there, in arms and shoulders, in her taut buttocks, in the sweep of her back. Giles bit his lip. She turned back to him, with her hands covering her breasts. He opened his mouth to ask if she were all right, if they'd gone too fast, but was struck dumb when he saw that she was caressing her own nipples, pinching herself gently. Small breasts, pink nipples, stiffening even as he watched, entranced.

Buffy moaned.

Giles sprang out of the armchair and seized her, bore her across the room to his desk. He laid her back upon it, right across the paperwork he'd taken home for the weekend. He gave one breast, then the other, a proper salute with lips and tongue and just the gentlest bite. Enough to earn that moan from her again, his doing this time, his feat to boast over. Her spicy scent was strong now. She must have scented herself between her breasts. Giles groaned and stilled his hips, lest he spill himself before he was able to take her as he wanted. He slowed down and kissed her throat more gently, allowed himself to cool and regain some of his self-command. He kissed her mouth again, tasted his whisky on her tongue, held her tight and pressed his hips against hers, let her feel him, let her know how much he wanted her now.

"Your clothes are in the way," Buffy murmured.

"One moment."

Giles disengaged from her and stood. He pushed his braces off his shoulders, undid his trousers, shoved them down his thighs just enough to free himself. Her gaze was on his penis, standing proud before him. He took it in hand and stroked it for her. Showing off again, he knew, exactly as she had for him earlier. And who would blame him? He'd display himself like a parading peacock if he thought it would please her. His own gaze was on her wide-spread thighs, her open and ready sex. No false modesty for his Buffy. He and she had but one need. Union, body and yes, soul, mock him for a sentimentalist; Giles didn't care.

He stepped forward and pressed himself into her, bare. Warm, soft, wet, deliciously snug around him. Heaven. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper. Now he was where he'd dreamed of being since that moment of shock in the restaurant, since she first leaned close to him in the armchair.

She was his, he was hers, and he pursued their shared goal with single-minded intensity, moving inside her, her arms clasping him tight to her breast.

How glorious was a woman's face when she was in the throes? How glorious was Buffy's now, as her body arched against his and her thighs closed around him? Exquisite control from the Slayer, shivering in orgasm around his flesh, yet enough in command of herself that Giles, mere human that he was, still breathed. How magnificent would it be to allow Buffy to lose that control? Giles let himself imagine that, let himself imagine her completely wild, wrists caught in his grip. That image carried him over to his orgasm, sweet, intense, deeply moving. He said something to her while caught in it, he had no idea what. Her name, repeated? Some wholly inadequate expression of his devotion and desire? God, he'd say anything to her.

He let himself collapse over her on the table. His erection was slow in fading, as it sometimes was when he was intensely excited. He moved inside her slowly while they both came down from it.

"Mmmmm," she said.

He kissed the end of her nose. "Have I left you inarticulate?"

"Show-off."

"Guilty as charged."

"But that was nice. Surprising and nice."

Giles nuzzled her ear. She'd used the scent there as well as between her breasts. Musk and spice and honey, in her hair. His pillows would smell of it in the morning. And every morning from hereafter. And he'd respond to it every time he smelled it, no doubt.

Giles at last withdrew from her body reluctantly. Buffy felt as he did and whimpered in protest. He tucked himself away and did up his trousers, so he'd not feel a prat walking about the house with his prick out.

Buffy sat up, delightfully nude and unashamed. Women never looked ridiculous, not like men. Giles watched her and let his pleasure show. She stretched and bent a knee up and rested her chin on it. She smiled at him. Giles kissed her foot, her shin, her mouth, lingered, kissed her again, more deeply. Her lips were full and red now, from his kisses. He'd left his mark on her throat as well, entirely inadvertently. She was so desirable that Giles shivered. Buffy kissed her way back to his throat and suckled on an earlobe. Giles swore he'd never let it be without an earring again, for her to tug on. He shivered again. His body would be awake again soon, ready for her once more.

"I think it should be slower next time," Buffy said, murmuring in his ear. "And you should be more naked."

"I should be delighted."

"Stay here? On your rug?"

Giles tilted his head, considering it. "I think not. It wants a bed. A great wide bed, satin sheets, feather pillows, tall candles burning, a bottle of Tokay."

Buffy raised her arms to him and twined them around his neck. Giles lifted her and cradled her in the approved fashion. She weighed nothing. He kissed her yet again, because he hadn't done so enough.

"Not champagne?"

"Most assuredly not. I want a sweet wine for this." Something rough and honey-sweet to pour upon her breasts and lick from her nipples while she laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. Oh, Lord, how far he had tumbled and how quickly. And how happy it made him. He strode easily to the open door of his study, a condemned romantic.

"And you have some here in this ridiculous house?"

"Mmm, yes." Uncle Charles hadn't been one to stint himself, and he'd left Giles many tantalizing legacies, in the wine cellar and elsewhere. But Giles was tempted by only one thing in this house. He carried Buffy upstairs, not toward the wine cellar but toward his bed. He was impatient already.
  • Current Music: Take a Drink From My Hands : Hammock : Raising Your Voice...Trying to Stop an Echo
I am deliriously happy to see this--unabashed hot sweet emotional B/G smut. Thank you.
The urge for this one has been building in me for a while. Am very glad that others are enjoying the indulgence along with me!
Raising his glass in a toast, then turning his back to give them a bit of privacy, is Uncle Charles.
A nit to pick.
"Buffy raised his arms to him and twined them around his neck. "

I think it wants "raised her arms to him". & whatabout that Uther tonite eh?
Re: A nit to pick.
Ah, bugger. Thanks. Fixing now.

Haven't yet watched today's Merlin, but will before the evening's through!
Oh, thank you, this is exactly what I've been wanting to read and not finding anywhere. I love how you write this Giles, the way he molds himself to her needs. It reminds me of Blackmail.
That's a very interesting comment that made me think. In this one, it's more of an impulse to show off, to parade and display his magnificent rack of antlers, that leads him to it, unlike the basic submissive impulse in him in Blackmail. But the result is similar. hmm!
I really love the way you had Buffy really see Giles as a man in the first story and paralleled it with Giles really seeing Buffy as a grown woman in this story. And I like the way you just had them go for each other with no stopping to see if they were sure about it. They were sure and they acted. I like that.
I figured they've known each other a long time. Once Giles was sure Buffy was really flirting, zoom, off he went. And besides, I was kinda in the mood for something without a lot of talking :)
(Anonymous)
Wonderful. Simply wonderful. Too many favorite parts to write them all, but confident, slightly wicked as they both were, their coming together was beautiful and a pleasure to read. I especially loved Giles' thoughts of the watchers before, and how their imagined disapproval actually made it all the better. Loved it.

~suki
You're spoiling me with all of this fine fine BG goodness. Love! But think Giles is wrong: naked men don't look ridiculous at all.

What happens next? :)
Ah, Antenna, how I love you.

I like the way you overlap these. I loved the different perspectives on that conversation, how Buffy has definitely grown up, but Giles is still so much more perceptive and sophisticated. The very embodiment of why older men are hot.

(Now I'm thinking about how much I'd love a version of this sophisticated, suave Giles to have his sights on Xander, and I'm making helpless little noises.)

I like Buffy's improved dress sense, how much Giles gets off on being tantalised. And boy, does that come home with his hand slowly sliding up her skirt. That part was unspeakably hot. I love, love clothes-on sex, and it's because authors like you can give me moments as hot as that.

And maybe you can explain this to me. What is with the total hotness of Giles keeping underwear as a trophy? I've never thought about it much before, but in this fandom, it's my big new kink.

Giles/Buffy is a delicious pairing that I don't read much because it rarely hits the note I want it to. Here, it totally does. Thank you thank you.

S.
And ditto what suki said about the deliciousness of Giles reflecting on previous watchers' disapproval.

Though who really knows what they would have thought? Their slayers all died way younger.

S.
Heh-- you play with him hanging onto the underwear in "Momentous", and I have him showing extra interest in it in the very first BG story I ever wrote, "Emergence". This sort of detail is what I refer to as learning secrets about characters. Love it when writers give them plausible quirks or some new trait to hang behavior on. I like taking off from all those canonical bananas and lollipops and arriving at extra-oral Giles from them. ASH's fondness for hand props thus becomes my fanfictional playground.

Was wondering, as I toyed further with this little storyline, what I might have written Giles like if I were, say, Buffy's age when I did the writing instead of Giles's. I'd have dug him as character if BtVS had existed when I was 20, given my lifelong kinks. (The voice. OMFG. Voices get me every time. Bookish braininess-- the character hits most of my bulletproof attractors. Also his left-handedness, and I know that's really shallow.) From what he drinks to what he drives to what he does in bed to the deeper signals of maturity I choose to include: most of those details are from life experience.

Or stolen from the people around me telling stories about themselves. Everything and everybody's a source. Love getting people talking about their field of expertise and just keeping them going with questions.

Anyway. Yay! This particular instance of BG worked for you! It doesn't always work for me, for all that it's my OTP. I sometimes find Buffy completely alien, in canon and in stories. (The BtVS character I identify with most is Xander.) I love it when the differences between these characters are acknowledged: age, culture, education. Even as the shared destiny is drawing them together.
Yeah - I keep meaning to play off Giles' eating disorder in a fic, and never do.

The learning secrets thing is one of the reasons I really like writing sex (apart from all the obvious ones). You never get to see sex on screen, so there's so much room to play with that side.

Hm - that's an interesting question, how we might write people differently as we age. I think a bunch of English students should be assigned to analyse our work. :-) I've sort of been noticing a focus shift, myself. A little in The Giles Thing, and a *lot* in my other draft-story, with a middle-aged Xander. But I don't really have domestic stories that I can compare them to.


(Hey, where's that other story of yours I was going to look at?)

S.
(Hey, where's that other story of yours I was going to look at?)

Was poking at it last night and trying not to get depressed by the thousands of completely unwritten as yet words it needs written. F. Let's see if I can get a draft finished by the end of the week and sling it at you.
(Anonymous)
Okay, gonna have to have some ice chips now to cool down. That was some kind of hot! I just love the way you potray the B/G relationship in all your stories. He comes across as an extremely passionate, albeit, controlled individual which speaks to me. Your Buffy potrays much more intelligence than in many fics that I have read. You make her more comfortable with the woman she has become. I think I started seeing it when she took control in the Blackmail series. Thanks again Vehnu
I have written a, hrm, more instinctive sort of Buffy, but I don't like writing a stupid Buffy. She's got a brain and it's working at all times in unusual ways. Viz: her clever manglings of demon names and her SAT scores.

Repressed characters like Giles always beg to have their lids ripped off. At least I feel it's like they're hanging their tails out to be yanked.
Exquisite. Everything I hoped for and more. I feel like such a cad now - here you've spun gold from two of my prompts and I've done nothing in return. As I'm currently prepping my Big Bang piece - I welcome any requests you may have to be included, providing they don't require a drastic stray from my plot.
Bah! I love cadging prompts from people then writing some tiny fraction of them. Love it when they work out and please the prompter.

Hrm. Big Bang piece: may there be mutual respect somewhere in it, felt by the characters for each other.
Lolz. I'll do my best. ; ) Shouldn't be too difficult as mutual respect is practically the cornerstone of my plot.
Okay, that satyr line got me right in the gut. And I love Giles here. The confident, sexy, sentamental show-off. He's gorgeous.
Ooh, I'm glad you liked that line, because it was sort of the heart of the story for me, the key thing about his character that I was writing about. And thank you!
Oh, my, how his predecessors would have wrung their hands. Wrung his neck. The thought gave her tongue in his mouth even more spice than it had on its own. He let his hand slide down her back and cup her sweet backside and imagined Quentin Travers sputtering.
I can just imagine Giles' delight at thinking about this!

I love how you combine steamy scenes with humour. It makes it that much more real.

He said something to her while caught in it, he had no idea what. Her name, repeated? Some wholly inadequate expression of his devotion and desire? God, he'd say anything to her.
I love how you put his devotion into words.