Despite everything, Buffy managed to get a few decent hours of sleep. She woke late in the morning to the smells of bacon and coffee.
In her late hour reasoning, she had come to the conclusion that the sudden surge of desire for her once-Watcher could be best attributed to a combination of the dream and her need for comfort. And perhaps a bit to the length of time it had been since she last got physical with another being. It was with this thought in mind that she felt ready to face a day of research in close quarters with the man, himself.
She changed out of the soft tank top and shorts she'd brought for sleeping and into the sports bra, long sleeve top, and yoga pants she'd packed in the small bag she'd brought with her. There hadn't been any need for more than comfy clothes on this trip. Though now she sort of regretted not having thrown in a cute dress.
Just to feel pretty. Not because she wanted Giles to notice. He'd seen her in practically every kind of clothing by now, anyway. Sometimes less. She wondered if he'd ever checked her out without her noticing. She wondered if he'd liked what he saw, looking away and cleaning his glasses to avoid staring. The image made her tummy flutter pleasantly.
Dammit. Late night Buffy brain had seemed so reasonable, too.
Nothing for it now but to face him anyway. Pretend everything was just the same level of fucked up it had been before and not a single ounce more. Squaring her shoulders, she head out to the kitchen.
Giles was already bent over a book, a mug and empty plate by one side. He looked up as she entered and smiled. "Bacon sandwiches on the counter and coffee in the French press, if you're in the mood. Milk is in the fridge."
Buffy gave him an appreciative smile back as she prepared a mug of life-giving caffeinated elixir. "I am in the mood if that mood is ravenous." Noting the amount of sandwiches left on the plate, she raised a brow. "You did eat, right? These can't all be for me."
He shrugged. "I had memories of feeding teenage slayers. I may have overshot the mark a bit."
They shared a good natured laugh and it warmed her belly more than even the coffee - which was excellent, she noted. Not that she was exactly a connoisseur, but time in Italy and France had made her pickier than before.
Giles, too, looked more at ease now. He'd shaved off the stubble and brushed back his hair, choosing another band shirt and a loose pair of jeans for the day. He wore a soft looking flannel shirt open over the t-shirt and - she was surprised to notice - a small silver hoop in his pierced ear.
It was a good look on him.
She wished it wasn't.
Turning her attention entirely to breakfast, she ate in silence while he went back to reading.
Once full, she reached for his plate to stack on her own. Giles's hand reached out and covered hers. "You needn't bother. I'll get them." He turned those bright eyes on her again, filled with so much tenderness it almost hurt to see.
She broke his gaze and looked to where his hand was on hers, nearly dwarfing her smaller one. If she released the edge of the plate, it would be so easy to intertwine their fingers.
Before she could turn thought into action, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat.
"I'll tend the dishes if you'll take a look at some of the passages I've bookmarked." He pushed the open tome toward her, grabbing both dishes from the table and heading toward the sink. "It's just the usual dream prophecy sort of thing but there are some good bits about symbolism and omens. Let me know if you recognize any."
Feeling bereft, though she couldn't explain why, Buffy began to skim. Of course the text was dry as vamp dust and far more boring. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed a giant black dog making an appearance."
"Well, some are far more subtle. Let's start there."
They eventually moved from the kitchen into his study, though he'd initially been a bit cagey about letting her in.
"Giles, these chairs are not meant for research mode. I need cushions under my butt, stat."
"Yes, alright. Just, ehm, don't mind the mess."
If this was mess, she was a pig in a sty back home, she thought. Admittedly there were stacks of books just about everywhere but the room still felt tidy, in a cozy lived-in sort of way. She could imagine he spent a majority of his time on the overstuffed sofa with a book and a cuppa.
They sat on opposite ends of said sofa now, the better to bend their heads over a tricky passage or point out illustrations. She had never really embraced the role of Research Gal like Willow had but there was a certain nostalgia for it now. It made her miss the old days. She made a mental note to try and get a message to Willow as soon as she got back. Xander could probably use a good movie night, too. They were all long overdue for a get together.
Maybe she'd even invite Giles. If the dreams really didn't mean death - and at this point it was still a very open ended question - catching up with the whole crew could be good for him too.
"And you're sure I'm wearing shoes?"
The question broke her reverie and Buffy shot a confused glance at Giles's feet before realizing he meant in the dream. "Um, I'm pretty sure? I feel like I'd remember you being barefoot on patrol."
Giles nodded and laid another book atop the discard pile. He took off his glasses and massaged the space between his eyes with one knuckle. "Perhaps I ought to contact the Coven."
Something in Buffy's chest clamped tight at the thought. It was a perfectly logical course of action but it just felt… wrong somehow. "Maybe if we don't find anything after today?"
He sighed, long and loud. "My personal library may not be fully up to the task. I've been slowly rebuilding what the Council lost but," he splayed both hands, glasses still pinched between the thumb and forefinger of one, "it's not enough." He resettled his glasses on his nose. "I can go to the estate once you head back north."
"Once I head back north," she repeated, checking that she'd heard him correctly.
"Yes. Your duties there are far more pressing than figuring out whether a dream may or may not have prophesied my demise."
"Good thing you don't get to decide my priorities anymore, buddy." Her mouth twisted to the side.
"Buffy you have an organization to run. Saving the world takes a clear precedence."
She snapped shut the book she was holding and dropped it on her own reject pile, Giles wincing as it fell with a thunk. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Giles blinked at her, owlishly. "Of course not."
"Xander is running things perfectly smoothly without me. I called to check in last night. No Buffy level crises to be found. Besides, there has always been half a dozen contingency plans just in case. Will made sure of it before she took off. We've got that end covered." She shifted closer on the sofa. "What I don't seem to have is a backup plan for another you ."
His brows rose, mouth forming a soft O, as her words sunk in. Pink rose in his cheeks and he looked away, removing his glasses and setting them on the closest book. "I. I didn't think you would want to concern yourself any further than you have."
When she was close enough to reach, she lifted a hand to his cheek, silently directing him to look at her. He obeyed, eyes searching her face, a question clearly reflected in them. In an echo of his treatment the night before, she ran a knuckle down his cheek, then cupped the side of his jaw in one hand. She could feel his pulse beating rapidly against her fingertips. A muscle in his jaw jumped and she felt that too.
She licked her lips, unthinking, and noted how his eyes followed the motion.
At least it wasn't just her, then.
It took only another breath to close the gap between them, tilting her head to align their lips without the awkward nose bump. His lips were warm and deceptively soft and took a heartbeat to respond at first. But then respond he did, and with enthusiasm.
She deepened the kiss, prompting him to let her taste him, and he groaned quietly. His hands curled around her upper arms, thumbs stroking along the front of her shoulders. Before she even realized what she was doing, she had rolled onto her hip, hooking one leg over his upper thigh. One of his hands dropped to her thigh, massaging the muscle as his tongue stroked hers.
She hummed her approval, her fingers burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. Emboldened, his hand traveled up her thigh a little farther, stopping just short of her behind and resting at the crease there. His fingers were curving inward, tantalizingly close to where Buffy was beginning to throb with need.
Giles broke from her lips and trailed kisses along her jaw, only to stop there. A breathless whisper tickled her ear. "This is. A very bad idea." He paused, his cheek against hers, hand flexing just at the curve of her ass.
"I'm allowed one or two of those a year," she murmured back, turning her head to nip his earlobe (and earning a soft swear word from him) "so long as they don't end the world."
He chuckled and lowered his head to nose along the curve of her neck. She brought her leg up a little higher and nudged his growing erection with her knee.
"Christ, Buffy…." he panted, the hand not on her leg slipping around her waist. He claimed her mouth again, this time with more force. She let him take the lead, surrendering to sensation.
Kissing her former mentor, Watcher, and once even substitute father figure should be totally weird. She should want to back off and think this through. Talk about it or something. She should absolutely not want to climb into his lap and start grinding like she'd gotten a new nighttime job.
And yet…
Who knew Giles would turn out to be such a dynamite kisser? All that cold British repression had apparently been tamping down some seriously red hot passion.
He did A Thing with his tongue again and she very nearly fell off the sofa. Luckily, his hold on her was pretty tight. They broke for breath and he nuzzled her neck. She giggled and tilted her head back to allow him better access. He trailed biting kisses down to her collarbone and back up. Following gravity, she arched back, tugging him along with her and moving the leg on his lap around to the other side of his hips. Cradled between her thighs, he leaned over her, bracing his weight on one arm at the side of her head.
He took a long shaky breath, his half lidded eyes roving her face. "Buffy, you need to tell me stop, now."
Rather than trust her voice, she bit her bottom lip and pulled him back to her neck where he proceeded to nibble and suck his way back to her ear.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, voice rough and unsteady.
It was a useless request - surely they both knew that. She'd started something here that demanded to be tended. Something that had started building before she even arrived in London, feeding off the roiling tensions of the night before. A deep seated need for release (one way or another).
She could feel the fraying edges of his self control in the rigidness of his shoulders, how he kept his hips pulled back despite their already intimate positioning. She pulled him down, one heel at his backside, rolling her hips against his and finally feeling him hot and hard against her center.
Giles swore, his head coming to rest at the crook of her neck as his free hand traveled up her torso, tickling lightly over her ribs before cupping one breast through her shirt. He mouthed his way down her chest to place a kiss over the peaked nipple of her other breast before sitting back on his haunches.
His eyes glittered with pure hunger as he surveyed the state she was in, her face flushed warm, lips kiss-swollen, and clothing askew. She knew some of her hair had dislodged from its ponytail and she could only hope it added the right kind of "bedhead" look. Licking his lips, he framed her hips with both hands, fingers spread wide. His hands moved upward slowly, taking her shirt with them until she lifted her arms above her head and arched up to help him remove it.
Oh shit, sports bra. Comfy but dingy. Very unsexy.
He barely seemed to notice, tracing reverent fingers delicately over her breasts, circling the hard nipples and tweaking one, causing her to cry out. His eyes flicked to her face and Buffy gave him a coy smile. Satisfied that she was still enjoying herself, he pinched the other nipple and her hips bucked under him.
"Oh," he breathed, almost to himself. "Very good to know."
Of course he'd be taking notes. Even now, she thought.
He tugged at the sports bra and she helped him remove that too, swallowing hard at the realization that despite the ways they'd patched each other up over the years, he'd never seen this part of her before.
She nearly held her breath, letting him take her in as he seemed wont to do. He ran both hands up her stomach and ribcage again, even slower this time, thumbs stroking past the sides of her bellybutton. Pleasant shivers followed his touch, her nerve endings coming alive as his calloused fingers whispered over her skin. He repeated the same motion with just his fingertips, giving her gooseflesh. A wicked little smile curled the corners of his mouth. That made her shiver harder.
God help her this was not at all what she might have expected. Had she expected anything. Had she had certain expectations .
(Hadn't she, though? A tiny little voice at the back of her mind queried. Hadn't there been at least a passing thought or two - moreso recently - about what it might be like to be the center of his notoriously intense focus?)
Wherever that train of thought may have gone, it was lost immediately as he bent forward to take one aching nipple between his lips, teasing with his tongue and teeth. One of Buffy's hands grasped the cushion edge and the other flew to the back of his head, holding him in place. He hummed against her skin, more vibration than sound. She writhed under his ministrations as he switched from one breast to the other and back, his hand massaging whichever one was not occupied by his mouth. Embarrassingly needy little noises began to escape her as her hips undulated against him in a mindless drive for friction.
Seeming to read the message her body was blaring, he slipped his hand downward from her chest, sliding beneath her yoga pants and underwear.
She had just enough brain power to worry about the fact she hadn't bothered to shave in literal months (and hope he liked it au naturale) before he was touching her exactly where she needed it most.
He groaned against her chest and muttered something.
"Mmm?"
"You're so fucking wet," he nearly growled it this time, sounding anything but the tepid librarian she'd once known.
She was wet. She could feel how slippery his fingers were as they caressed her sex. He hadn't even dipped inside yet and his hand was fully slick with her excitement. He cupped her, the heel of his palm grinding against her hooded clit and it was Buffy's turn to swear. Pleasure rolled through her in waves as he worked her with a determined efficiency. His mouth continued to tease her taut nipples as he slipped two fingers easily inside her. There was not much room to thrust from inside her clothing and she thought she ought to offer to remove the rest. That didn't seem to impede him in the slightest, though. Those fingers curled upward, the heel of his hand still pressed down against her nub and within a couple strokes, she was coming hard.
Overtaken by the force of an unexpectedly blinding orgasm, she nearly ripped the fabric of the couch cushion. Giles kept up his delicious rhythm as her inner muscles clamped down on his digits. It was enough to prolong the aftershocks until they began to build toward another peak. Buffy felt her hips grinding nearly of their own accord, seeking more, harder, faster, fuller. He added a third finger, stretching her just a little in that knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Her eyes squeezed shut, letting his touch become the whole focal point of her existence in that moment. He bit her nipple almost too hard and that sent her back over the edge. Over her own moans, she heard him saying something vaguely encouraging and absolutely filthy.
Three years ago, she wouldn't have thought that word was even in his vocabulary.
He pet her gently as she trembled her way down, thighs shaking and body gone slightly limp. She was sweating, breathing hard like she'd just been chasing her final kill of the night. That itchy, staticky kind of electricity that often followed slayage buzzed through her blood. It was with a whimper of regret that she felt him withdraw his fingers and stand up from the sofa.
"Giles?" She looked up at him, questioningly.
He seemed to be looking at anything but her, though there was still a very impressive looking erection straining against his zipper. "I'll um. I'll go make some lunch." He glanced at her, a little wild eyed despite the formality of his tone. "Take your time." He stooped to gather her discarded top and bra, handing them to her dispassionately before stalking out of the room like there was a demon on his heels.
Stunned, Buffy simply held the clothing items in both hands as though she'd forgotten what purpose they served. "What?"
She blinked a few times in rapid succession.
"I mean… what?"