Double Date
Rippertish
Chapter 9: Caught in the Rain
The refreshing night air hit them as Giles closed the door behind them. For a moment, neither moved, adjusting to the shift from Xander's warm, dim living room to the crisp, quiet streets of Sunnydale. They paused side-by-side, and then slowly turned to look at each other. Buffy's eyes were bright with mischief, and Giles felt a twinge of amused anticipation. With the alcohol buzzing pleasantly in his veins, he found he didn't really mind what she was planning, whatever it was.
Her lips curved into a grin—the sort that promised trouble. Giles raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Buffy?" he asked, trying to sound stern but failing spectacularly. She just gave him a look with a little wink.
Giles watched as she turned towards Xander's door, and before he could question it, Buffy reached for the doorbell. The chime rang out, loud from inside, and Buffy's eyes widened in mock horror. "Oops, run!" she whispered, her voice half-giggled as she turned on her heel and bolted down the walkway.
"Buffy!" Giles hissed, momentarily frozen. He glanced over his shoulder towards the door, half expecting Xander to come storming out. "Absolutely marvellous," he muttered with dry humour, shaking his head. Then, instincts kicking in, he sprinted after her, his long strides quickly closing the distance between them.
Buffy's laughter echoed behind her as she turned the corner, her footsteps light and quick. Giles pushed himself harder, a grin spreading across his face despite the exertion. The prank was absurdly childish, yet quite exhilarating. They reached a quieter street, far out of sight of Xander's place, and only then did Buffy slow down, coming to a stop near a streetlamp.
Giles stumbled to a halt beside her, bracing himself with a hand on his knee, his breaths coming in heavy, amused bursts. "You… are… utterly incorrigible," he panted, shaking his head, but there wasn't a trace of reprimand in his voice—only fondness.
Buffy turned to him, still catching her breath, her face lit by the faint, golden light from above. She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and Giles couldn't help but mirror it—his own boyish grin wide and carefree. It felt fantastic.
Giles straightened, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to collect himself, but his heart was still racing, and not just from the sprint. Buffy was looking at him with an intentness that made his breath catch. It felt so absurdly reckless that it almost didn't feel real, but the look in his eyes told her it was. Their laughter died down. For a moment, everything seemed to slow—the world narrowing down to just the two of them, standing in the middle of a quiet suburban street. Why did the way he looked at her feel like he was seeing something more? And why did she suddenly want him to?
Their shared smiles still lingered. Buffy nudged him lightly, and Giles chuckled, starting to walk again. Their steps fell into an easy rhythm, shoulders occasionally brushing, the quiet of the night only lightly disturbed by their relaxed footsteps.
As they strolled, Buffy's eyes lit up at the sight of a low railing running along a garden's edge. Without a word, she veered off and hopped onto it, arms outstretched for balance. The metal was slick with night dew, but she seemed confident. "Relax, Giles," she called, smirking. "Slayer balance, remember?"
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Oh, I'm perfectly relaxed." he replied, folding his arms casually and watching her attempt with open amusement.
The alcohol, making his gaze linger a little longer on her legs as she advanced with surprising grace. He watched the fabric of her skirt brush her thigh with each step.
When she wobbled more dangerously, Giles closed the distance quickly, catching her around the waist. "Careful now," he murmured, his grip firm. "We wouldn't want to risk a sprained ego."
She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but being close to him like this felt new. Strange… and not entirely unwelcome. Buffy blinked, catching her breath, and then laughed. "Close call," she muttered, feeling the rush of almost losing her balance added to the mix.
Giles chuckled, but he didn't let go right away, his hand lingering at her waist, as if still prepared to keep her upright. "Think you can make it the rest of the way?"
"Only one way to find out," Buffy replied, a determined look spreading across her face. She straightened herself, giving the rail an intense glare before stepping forward again, more carefully this time.
She reached the end and hopped down with a triumphant flourish. Buffy bowed dramatically, making Giles chuckle again. The confidence that had carried her this far softened under his gaze, replaced by a warm sense of gratitude. "A+ for assistance. Couldn't have done it without you."
"I live to serve," he replied with a mock bow, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that made the words feel more genuine than playful.
As they continued their stroll, they passed a well-manicured garden dotted with small ceramic figures. Giles slowed down, eyes narrowing at the array of gnomes scattered amidst the flowers. There were at least two dozen of them, each one more absurdly cheerful than the last.
"Good Lord," Giles muttered, his voice dry, "it's like a gnome convention." He squinted at a particularly grumpy-looking gnome, tilting his head as if in deep contemplation. "That one," he pointed, "looks like he's planning a coup."
Buffy stifled a giggle, her fingers lightly touching his forearm to keep herself steady. "You think they're dangerous?" she asked, her voice thick with suppressed laughter.
"Oh, undoubtedly. I hear garden gnomes can be notoriously territorial," he replied, matching her tone.
As Giles continued to eye the gnomes, Buffy slipped away with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She carefully picked up a small gnome and snuck back over, slipping her arm through his with casual ease. Her touch made him pause, his body briefly reacting to the unexpected warmth of her closeness. He glanced at her, feeling a bit of the alcohol-induced haze mix with a growing curiosity.
Before he could question it, he felt a faint shift in weight in his pocket, accompanied by a light clink. He raised an eyebrow, reaching into his jacket with deliberate slowness. His fingers wrapped around the cool ceramic of a small gnome. He pulled it out, turning it over in his hand with a bemused expression.
"Buffy?" he asked, his voice tinged with incredulity and amusement. She looked at him innocently, but her eyes were twinkling. Giles glanced between the gnome and the garden they had just left, he could not hold back a grin spreading across his face. "Well…" he remarked in a dry, dubious tone, causing Buffy to snort with laughter.
"See? He fits right in," she said, giving the gnome an affectionate look. "So cute," she added with a sincere grin.
Giles blinked, momentarily disarmed by the unexpected fondness in her voice. He eyed the gnome once again, then Buffy, finding himself both amused and a bit taken aback. "You do realise we just became accomplices in a miniature criminal activity, right?" he added dryly, but his grin betrayed the scolding tone.
Without breaking eye contact, Giles slipped the gnome back into his pocket, his fingers brushing hers briefly. "Then we'd best make a swift getaway," he added softly, his voice conspiratorial as he leaned in, his breath tickling her ear.
They resumed their walk with a quickened pace for a few steps, the thrill of their little crime still cursing, before settling back into an easy rhythm, arm in arm.
As they wandered further, they came across a quaint house with a small, stone fountain, gently lit by tiny lights. Buffy's eyes widened in delight. "It's so pretty," she breathed, her voice soft with wonder.
Giles couldn't help but smile at her reaction. She seemed almost childlike in her appreciation, her face aglow from the soft light. By the fountain sat a small ceramic princess, gazing out over the water. Moved by the moment, Giles knelt down and carefully placed the gnome beside her. Buffy, intrigued, crouched down next to him, studying the scene with a soft grin.
"Perfect," she murmured.
They both moved to stand, but as Buffy pushed herself up, her fingers grazed a sharp stone. She let out a soft yelp, more startled than hurt.
Giles caught her hand automatically. He didn't even realise what he was doing at first, a force of habit taking over. His eyes scanned her fingers, his brow furrowing with vague concentration. "Just a scratch," he muttered, more to himself.
Then, without thinking, he bent his head and pressed a light kiss to the scrape—a brief, almost absent gesture meant to soothe. The faint scent of Giles' aftershave, warm and woodsy, invaded her senses.
The touch of his lips, unexpectedly intimate, sent a quick jolt through Buffy. Her breath caught, and she suddenly felt unsteady on her feet, a flush creeping up her neck. Giles seemed to realise what he'd done a second too late; his eyes flicked up to hers, searching, as if trying to gauge her reaction.
And just then, the first drops of rain began to fall, breaking the moment. Buffy blinked and pulled her hand back, and Giles straightened, running a hand through his hair.
As they started walking again, the rain remained light, dotting the pavement. Buffy tilted her head back, letting the cool raindrops land softly on her upturned face. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh rain and sighing contentedly.
Giles slowed his pace, watching her with quiet fascination. She seemed so at ease. "Feels nice," she murmured, eyes still closed.
"Yes… it does," Giles replied softly.
The rain started to fall a little heavier, turning from a sprinkle to a steady pattern. Buffy opened her eyes, meeting Giles' gaze just as he glanced towards a small park ahead. "We should—" he began, and they both broke into a light run, side by side, laughing as they moved.
Giles spotted a gazebo tucked within the park, surrounded by trees. "This way!" he called, reaching for Buffy's hand. She took it instinctively, fingers curling around his, and he led them towards the shelter. They hurried beneath its roof just as the rain thickened.
The downpour drummed steadily above them, and as they stepped inside, they instinctively let go of each other's hands. Buffy moved closer to the edge of the gazebo, watching the rain. Giles stayed behind, taking a moment to catch his breath. His pulse was still racing, not just from the run but from the lingering warmth of her fingers in his and the way she had looked at him when he'd kissed her hand earlier. He found his gaze lingering on her silhouette, the soft glow of the lamplight catching on the droplets sliding down her arms. There was something so quietly captivating about the way she stood there, lost in the rain.
His head felt light, almost like he was seeing her through a haze—not just from the alcohol, but from something else simmering beneath the surface.
He took a step closer, moved by some magnetic force. He hesitated, torn between caution and the urge to close the distance, before leaning in just a little closer. Slowly, he reached out, running his fingers lightly over her arms, brushing away the cool droplets. His touch was cautious at first, but when Buffy didn't tense or pull away, he grew bolder. She seemed content, relaxed even, leaning slightly into his warmth. For her, it felt natural—something she hadn't quite put words to, but couldn't deny felt right.
Emboldened by the silent permission, Giles closed the remaining distance between them, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist. Buffy didn't pull back; instead, she shifted just enough to lean into him.
For a moment, they simply watched the rain together. A droplet trickled down her neck, and Giles followed its path with his eyes. In his slightly uninhibited state, he brushed his lips over the trail of water. He caught a faint hint of vanilla and something distinctly Buffy, a soft, lingering trace that sent his thoughts spinning. Buffy's breath hitched, but she didn't move away, letting herself rest in the quiet intimacy.
Giles lingered, his lips resting against the damp trail on her neck. Buffy stayed still, her breath coming in shallow, measured inhales. He felt the soft rise and fall of her chest, and something about the closeness made everything outside this small shelter feel distant—irrelevant.
He turned his head slightly, breathing in the scent of her hair, his nose brushing against the curve of her neck. His touch shifted, becoming more deliberate, and it sent a shiver down her spine before she could stop it. As if drawn by some instinct, she lifted her hand and slid it into his hair. Her fingers threaded through the damp strands, lightly tugging him closer. She let out a soft, encouraging moan, a sound that made the restraint Giles was clinging to fray just a little more. His hands tightened around her waist. She wasn't sure where this was leading, but there was a sense of inevitability in the way he held her,—and in everything this night had been building towards.
"Buffy…" he murmured, his voice barely audible above the rain, almost as if testing the waters.
She answered not with words but with a slow, deliberate shift, pressing her hips back against him. The motion was instinctive, an acknowledgment of the tension between them, urging him on. Giles' breath hitched at the invitation, still holding back, yet craving the closeness.
Giles closed his eyes, the memory of her defiant smirk in the bathroom earlier that night flashing vividly. He had felt it then—her insistence on seizing control, bending the moment to her will. Now, the contrast of her quiet submission awakened a longing he could no longer keep at bay.
His hands slid from her waist, fingers spreading over the fabric of her skirt, feeling the warmth of her beneath the damp material. He ran his fingers lightly along the hem, lifting it gradually.
Buffy let out a soft, laboured exhale.
His fingers brushed against the edge of her cotton underwear, and Giles paused. He felt her hips shift slightly, a small signal of encouragement, and his fingers hooked the fabric, gently pulling it aside.
The movement exposed the warmth of her skin to the cool air and he heard her gasp at the sensation.
Their wordless, but charged reconciliation on Xander's couch had left Buffy wanting more, her body primed and needing him to follow through. "Giles," She moaned softly, expectant for his next move.
Giles' own breath quickened. His other hand moved to his trousers, unzipping them without hurry, though the tension was building beneath his calm exterior. He fumbled only slightly, the combination of desire and alcohol making his movements less precise than usual. He freed himself, guiding his length as he positioned it against her, feeling the warmth of her.
He took a moment, both of them perfectly still. His forehead rested against the curve of her shoulder, her back pressing softly into his chest. Then, with a measured breath, Giles pushed forward, slowly, sliding into her. Buffy let out a quiet moan. Giles held her steady, his hands returning to her waist as he savoured the feeling of being so intimately connected.
Buffy pushed back against him, along with a subtle roll of her hips that made his breath hitch. It felt like coming home to something she hadn't known she was missing. He responded with a slow, deep rhythm, each movement unhurried, their bodies finding a shared tempo that felt instinctive. The rain became their backdrop, still drumming softly on the roof.
With each thrust, their pace gradually quickened, as their restraint slowly dissolved. Buffy's fingers tightened around the edge of the gazebo railing, steadying herself as Giles' grip on her waist grew firmer, guiding their rhythm. Their breaths came in sharper exhales. He moved one hand to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him as his other hand slid around to her stomach, holding her securely as he leaned forward, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
A soft moan escaped Buffy's lips, and Giles responded to the sound instinctively, his movements deepening. The feeling of her warmth enveloping him and the gentle falling rain blurred everything else. The tension heightened, the steady rhythm giving way to something more consuming.
Giles straightened behind her, coaxing her into a deeper arch. She responded, hollowing her back, leaning further over the railing. His hands slid down to grip her hips, holding her tighter as he adjusted his stance behind her. He pressed forward more forcefully, driven by a raw urgency. Buffy moaned, her grip tightening further, her knuckles turning white, her breaths quickening in sync with his.
The tension between them reached a peak, their movements becoming less controlled, driven by a shared need for release. Giles' fingers dug into her hips, holding her firmly in place as he felt the final crest approaching. Her head fell forward, her moans muffled as she leaned fully into the railing, her body trembling in anticipation.
In those final moments, his thrusts became frantic, her body pushing back to meet him. Her breath hitched, her body tensing beneath his grip as her release washed over her, her cry escaping softly, muffled by the rustling leaves. Feeling her tighten around him, Giles let go, his movements turning rough and jerky as he reached his climax, a restrained, gritted groan escaping his lips.
When they finally stilled, their breaths mingling and their bodies pressed close, Giles wrapped his arms around her again, holding her tightly as if grounding them both. His forehead resting briefly between her shoulder blades as he gathered himself. Slowly, he withdrew from her, his hands lingering on her hips before he released her. He reached down, gently adjusting her skirt and pulling her panties back into place before carefully zipping up his trousers, regaining some of his composure.
Buffy remained leaned against the railing, eyes closed, her breaths coming in quiet, uneven sighs.
When she finally straightened, Buffy turned slightly, meeting his gaze with a softness that made something shift inside him. He saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. Giles instinctively reached for her hand, squeezing it gently before pulling her into his embrace. She stepped closer, sliding into the space he offered, and he opened the lapel of his jacket, wrapping it around her to close the distance, shielding her from the lingering chill of the rain.
With a gentle breath, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, the gesture protective and affectionate. For a moment, they simply stood there, the rain winding down around them, enveloped in their own quiet world. Buffy shifted slightly, just enough to tilt her head and look up at him. He met her gaze, feeling his heart stutter at the unreadable emotion in her eyes. A small, soft grin tugged at her lips, and after a beat, he couldn't help but grin back, warmth spreading through him despite the uncertainty that lingered just below the surface.
End of part 9