Double date - part 6
A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks so much for the reviews. They really motivate me a lot. :)
Giles awoke to a shrill, persistent ringing—his alarm. It was unusual; he was typically awake well before it ever went off, often already immersed in a book by this hour. But today, the sharp sound dragged him from a heavy, muddled sleep. Groaning softly, he reached across the nightstand to silence it. As the quiet settled in, he noticed the bedside lamp still glowing, left on from the night before. He stared at it for a moment, something was different. His hand hovered in midair, frozen by the unsettling awareness.
He brought his hand closer to his face, inhaling deeply. The scent hit him immediately—a distinct, lingering trace of sex, heavy and unmistakable in the air. It seemed to cling to everything, mingling with the subtle, familiar fragrance of a woman's perfume. Buffy's perfume.
Giles fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and slipped them on. Panic flared as he jerked his head to look around, but the bed was empty. Was he imagining things? His heart pounded as he sprang from the bed and rushed into his en suite bathroom, his mind a whirlwind of questions he wasn't sure he wanted answered.
There, facing the mirror by the sink, he stared at his reflection, his eyes locking onto a red mark that disappeared behind his shoulder. Slowly turning sideways, he traced the mark down his back, finding several other scrapes, long and red. His eyes widened as flashes of Buffy clawing at him in ecstasy flooded his mind. Numbly, he turned back to the sink, opened the tap, and removed his glasses with a shaky hand.
He splashed a handful of cold water onto his face. He repeated the gesture several times, running wet fingers through his hair, desperately trying to wake himself up. His brain needed to piece together the puzzle urgently. Water droplets ran down his neck, reaching his chest, as he stared into his reflection's eyes.
"What have I done?" he whispered in total shock as the events of the previous night became clearer in his head. Everything seemed so surreal that his brain struggled to process it all.
"Buffy?.." He replaced his glasses with slightly trembling fingers. "Buffy!" he shouted, rushing out of his bathroom.
Giles quickly threw on a robe before leaving his bedroom.
"Buffy?" he called for her.
He searched the entire apartment for any sign of her.
Returning to his bedroom, Giles began pacing, unsure of what to do next. He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, and his eyes eventually settled on the bed.
"Dear lord… How can I ever make amends?"
His first impulse was to strip the bed of its sheets and toss them into the washing machine. The second was to brew the largest pot of tea he could manage, clinging to the hope that it might bring some clarity to his troubled thoughts.
He sat on the kitchen bench and downed the first cup in one go. The searing burn in his throat provided only a fleeting distraction to the chaos inside him.
He climbed the stairs again, deliberately avoiding even a glance at the bed as he rushed straight to the bathroom. Shedding his robe and glasses over the sink, Giles stepped into the shower. He turned the water on as hot as he could bear and leaned into the stream, bending his head under the showerhead.
The rush of water consumed his senses, drowning out everything else as he braced himself against the wall, breathing heavily through his mouth. Slowly, he turned, letting the water cascade down his back. He winced as it washed over the raw scratches. Closing his eyes, Giles inhaled deeply, drawing the thick steam into his lungs. The heat enveloped him like a sauna, exactly as he intended; to warm his muscles and lungs, to find some semblance of peace, and to seek an escape from the maze he had trapped himself in.
Buffy's soft, breathless moans echoed in his ears, vivid images of her tanned, naked body arching beneath him flashed behind his closed eyelids. His eyes snapped open, locking onto the drops of steam trailing slowly down the shower glass. He focused intently on their descent, desperate to shut out the overwhelming realisation of what he'd done.
"Breaching your duty for your own foolish desires." His voice was thick with self-loathing. "You randy bastard!" He could almost hear his father's voice, measured and grave: Reckless. Irresponsible. Dishonourable.
He'd tarnished Buffy's trust. The shame gnawed at him, leaving a bitter hollowness.
Eventually, Giles turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing a towel. He dried himself carefully, avoiding the worst of his scratches. When he reached his chest, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the largest scar. The memories that surfaced weren't of Angel, the blade, or the pain—they were of Buffy's fingers gently tracing the scar, her touch tender and intimate. There was no physical pain now, but the mental anguish struck with full force, drawing a frustrated groan from his lips. He finished towelling off with careless haste, the turmoil within him refusing to be soothed.
As he reached for his slacks, the thought struck him—he had an appointment at the Magic Box at 9 a.m. For training. With Buffy.
A painful, throaty noise escaped him as the realisation hit. He began to dress, neglecting his usual morning shave routine. The rough stubble on his face, accentuating his strong jawline, was an uncharacteristic look on him, although it matched his distressed mind. As he buttoned his shirt, his fingers trembled. Giles took a deep breath and glanced at his reflection one last time. The man staring back was different—haunted, conflicted, yet oddly sated, a strange sense of completion mingling with his confusion. He had no choice but to face the day ahead and somehow find a way to untangle this mess.
He stepped outside, but the crisp morning air did little to clear his head as he drove to the Magic Box.
Giles wasn't entirely sure why he'd bothered. It was Saturday, and the shop wouldn't be open to the general public. After what had happened between them last night, he was certain Buffy wouldn't show up. But as he pulled up to the store and saw her sitting on the front steps, a confusing mix of relief and anxiety churned in his gut.
She greeted him with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Um... Hey, Giles. Morning. How was, um, sleep?" Her tone was too cheerful, almost forced, as if she were trying too hard to act normal.
Giles hesitated, the weight of last night's memories pressing down on him. "Uh, sleep? Yes, adequate. Thank you," he replied, fumbling with the keys, his mind racing with thoughts of how to approach this conversation, or avoid it entirely.
As he opened the door, Buffy followed close behind, her energy jittery and uncharacteristically playful. "Late today, huh? Must've been one heck of a comfy bed to keep you in it this long."
Giles glanced at his watch; 8:40. He wasn't late, but Buffy's early arrival and overly chirpy behaviour threw him off balance. The tension between them was palpable, tightening around his chest. He locked the door behind them, trying to suppress the absurd feeling of being unprepared for whatever this morning might bring.
But Buffy wasn't finished. "Or maybe," she continued, her voice dipping into a teasing tone, "you had some... extracurricular late-night activities? You know, with… company?"
She emphasised the last word with a mocking lilt, the implied meaning hanging in the air. Giles' eyes flicked to her, a brief flash of shock betraying his otherwise composed demeanour. "Buffy, could you please fetch us a couple of bottles of water?" His voice remained deliberately calm, though he could feel his nerves beginning to fray beneath the surface.
Buffy obediently went to the fridge, retrieving the water before trailing behind him to the training room, still talking, her voice laced with mischief, but carrying an edge she couldn't hide. "I mean, it must have been a woman, right? Or maybe more than one? she continued, her tone teasing but pointed, like something Xander might say. "You know, I've heard rumours you're quite… the stevedore." She smirked, waiting for his reaction. "By the way, I finally figured out what that means."
Giles' patience was wearing thin, not from offence at her teasing, but from his own battle to stay focused on re-establishing their equilibrium. HAs he entered the training room, he adjusted the padded mat with precise movements, willing himself to maintain control. He couldn't afford to lose his grip, not now. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her outfit—a fluffy white top paired with a bright yellow skirt that swayed with every step. He forced himself to focus, reminding them both of the room's true purpose. "Buffy, are you ready for training?" he asked, summoning all his strength to keep his voice even. But as much as he tried, separating the words 'sex' and 'Buffy' in his mind was proving to be a losing battle—and she wasn't making it any easier.
Buffy felt a flicker of irritation at his cool demeanour. She was trying to reconnect with him, to get them back to where they used to be, but he was shutting her out. Buffy dropped her duffle bag at her feet. "Sure, just let me change first. I'd rather not leave here drenched in sweat." She nudged her bag with her foot, her gaze daring him to react. "So, what about you, Giles? Make anyone work up a sweat last night?"
She arched an eyebrow, her playful tone undercut by the sharpness in her eyes. Giles felt his jaw tighten. Her words pushed him closer to the edge, testing the limits of his self-control. Did she even realise how close she was to crossing a line? He looked at her; really looked at her. The summery outfit, the teasing smirk on her lips, the glint in her eyes that dared him to respond. But he knew this game, and he wasn't going to play along. "Buffy, do go get changed," he said, his voice low, but the warning was clear.
Buffy didn't back down. She stepped closer, her grin turning into a challenge. "Come on, Giles, admit it. You had some fun, right? I mean, everyone needs to blow off steam, even stuffy old Watchers like you." She punched him lightly on the upper arm, like a buddy would.
Maybe she was going about it all wrong, but she didn't know any other way to break through the wall that seemed to have sprung up between them. When he didn't respond, Buffy pressed on, her voice dripping with mockery. "That's funny, 'cause if it was me, I'd be bragging to all my friends. You know, if I'd made someone melt with just my tongue, had them begging for more all night, moaning my name in—"
"Enough!" Giles cut her off, his voice sharper than intended, but it was too late. Her words had already painted vivid images in his mind—images he'd been fighting to bury. He felt an unwelcome stirring in his trousers, a reaction he dreaded. His voice trembled, betraying his struggle for control. "Just… go get ready, please."
Buffy's expression shifted, frustration flashing in her eyes as she realised her attempts to lighten the mood had backfired. "We did it, Giles. Ignoring it won't make it go away," she snapped, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "Just deal with it."
"Deal with it? By making crude jokes?" he shot back, his words laced with anger and something deeper, something he couldn't quite articulate.
Buffy blinked, momentarily taken aback by the harsh reality of her actions. She'd thought that bantering might ease the tension, that maybe if they could laugh about it, they could move past it. But she hadn't considered how deeply she might have struck... The emotions inside her built up like a pressure cooker.
"It might!" Buffy's voice was defensive now, laced with frustration. "At least it would be something instead of this weird, awkward... nothing."
Giles' own frustration, mixed with confusion and an overwhelming need to regain control, finally boiled over. He took a step toward her, his gaze intense. "If memory serves, this was your idea to begin with. And you were confident things would stay unchallenged."
Buffy's expression hardened. "You're so good at keeping your distance, acting like this is all beneath you."
Giles held his composure, his voice tightening. "Beneath me? You think that's what this is?"
"Yeah," she shot back, the sharpness in her tone cutting through the air. "Beneath you. You're too proud to admit it."
His voice dripped into a low, dangerous register. "Admit what?"
"That you wanted it as much as I did," Buffy replied, her voice breathless, eyes locked on his. She saw the tension in his face, the way his fists clenched at his sides. He said nothing, but the crack in his demeanour was growing more evident.
"Or maybe," she pressed, her voice challenging, "you're just a coward who's afraid to deal with it."
"Coward?" he echoed, the word striking a nerve, his voice almost a whisper but laced with a dark edge. He removed his glasses abruptly, "For rather wishing to keep this entirely inconsequential?"
"If it meant nothing," she said, leaning in slightly, eyes narrowing, "you wouldn't be so scared to face it."
He felt his grip on his self-control slipping further. "Scared?" he asked, "I'm not the one hiding behind feeble jokes."
Buffy scoffed, biting back her frustration. "So what? It's not like you've never had casual sex before."
"Not with you," he snapped, the words coming out with more force than he intended.
Buffy paused for a heartbeat, feeling the impact of his words, but she wasn't ready to back down. "Well," she retorted sharply, "too late now."
Giles' jaw tightened, his voice simmering with barely restrained anger. "Do you think this is a joke?" he demanded.
"No," she replied, meeting his gaze head-on. "But maybe you do, since you're trying so hard to pretend it never happened."
He held her gaze, the tension between them tightening further. "I'm trying to keep things from getting worse. To protect us both," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
Buffy tilted her head, giving him a mocking smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How noble of you." She let out a bitter, humourless laugh, and shook her head slowly, in disbelief. "This is just typical. Maybe this is all too much for a guy like you." Her eyes pierced through him.
"A guy like me?" His voice was dangerously low, laced with a warning as he took a step closer.
"Yeah," she affirmed out in a cold whisper. "A guy who's more comfortable calling the shots from the sidelines. Painfully predictable, always in control."
His eyes flashed with something raw, a mixture of anger and desire he could no longer hide. "And what if I… can't… control this?" he asked.
Buffy leaned in, defiance hardening her tone. "Then stop pretending you can."
There was a beat—a charged silence that seemed to stretch between them. Her eyes stayed locked on his, unwavering, daring him to break first. The air felt thick, charged with the tension that had been building since the moment they'd walked in, ready to snap.
Giles moved before he could stop himself, closing the distance between them in a swift stride. He let his glasses fall to the mat, unnoticed. His hand gripped her upper arm, fingers digging in as he pulled her closer. There was a split second of hesitation, then he crashed his mouth down onto hers in a fierce, heated kiss.
Buffy didn't pull away. She didn't even hesitate. She responded immediately, meeting his intensity with a need of her own, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt. The kiss was desperate, rough, a chaotic clash of lips and tongues fuelled by anger, frustration, and their unresolved feelings. He took charge, his grip firm and possessive, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, while the other pressed against the small of her back, holding her firmly in place.
Neither of them seemed willing, or able, to stop.
He backed her up against the nearest wall, the impact drawing a gasp from her into his lips and sending a shiver down her spine. But she didn't care; she only gripped him tighter, meeting his force with her own. There was no careful planning here, no calculated moves like the day before; just pure, unrestrained emotion spilling over.
His fingers tangled in her hair as he deepened the kiss, establishing a predatory rhythm that was both claiming and consuming. There was a fire in him now, something primal and unchecked that made her knees weak. It was like he was determined to erase every last hint of predictability she'd accused him of, and she felt it in every rough brush of his lips and demanding sweep of his tongue. She matched him, feeling the last remnants of control slipping away like sand through her fingers.
He seized her waist and lifted her firmly, pinning her to the wall. Her legs wrapped instinctively around him, pulling him closer. Giles pressed forward, their bodies aligning as he reclaimed her mouth. Buffy's moan was immediately swallowed by his lips.
She felt his erection pressing against her through their layers of clothing, and he adjusted his grip, sliding his hands lower to seize beneath her thighs. Using the wall for leverage, he shifted her slightly higher, deepening the angle as he rocked his hips against hers. Buffy's back arched in response, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Her shirt had ridden up in the chaos, and the rough surface of the wall scraped against the exposed skin of her lower back, but the sensation only heightened the urgency between them.
Her hands clung to him as his mouth left hers, trailing roughly to her neck. His five o'clock shadow stung her skin. He kissed along her throat, sucking hard over her scar, making Buffy cry out at the maddening mix of pleasure and pain. Her fingers tightened in his hair, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.
Giles' hand slid up beneath her skirt, his fingers skimming over her heated skin before hooking into her panties. With a swift, deliberate motion, he tore the thin lace away.
She gasped, a sharp intake of breath quickly turning into a whimper as his mouth moved to her ear. He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot and ragged against her skin, sending shivers through her.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.
Buffy could barely form a coherent thought, lost in the overwhelming sensations flooding her body. She let out another soft whimper, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to find her voice. "I—" Her breath caught, a visible shudder rippling through her.
Giles paused, his fingers hovering over her intimate skin, his restraint hanging by a thread.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, her chest heaving as she tried to pull herself back to reality. But reality was slipping, and she could only respond with a choked, "Yes…" the word coming out like a plea. That was all the confirmation he needed.
His fingers brushed lightly against the juncture between her thighs before retreating. He brought his hand up and sucked two of his fingers into his mouth, then returned them, now slick and wet, to her aching centre. His hand was trembling, in fact, his whole body was shaking with need.
"Allow me," he urged, his voice rough and commanding. His fingers began working her, teasing and probing until she was gasping softly in his ear. He leaned in, capturing her earlobe with his lips, the low, rumbling sounds vibrating from his throat only heightening her need, making it harder to think, harder to hold on to anything.
Giles circled her clit with quick, deft movements, occasionally dipping a finger into her to test her readiness. Buffy's hips bucked against his hand, seeking more, silently begging for it. "Giles…" she moaned softly.
Without warning, Giles pushed a finger inside her, soon adding a second. Buffy's head shot up, a sharp inhale betraying the shock and pleasure coursing through her.
"Dear Lord, you feel so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire and amazement.
His eyes remained fixed on her face, watching every flicker of emotion. When her teeth sank into her lower lip and her eyes squeezed shut, he felt a jolt of satisfaction. He pumped his fingers steadily, coaxing her to move in rhythm with his hand, her breath growing heavier, her whimpers and moans becoming more frequent.
Abruptly, his fingers withdrew. Before she could fully register the emptiness, something much larger and thicker took their place, pushing into her with swift, determined force. Buffy gasped, the impact shoving her up against the wall. Her eyes snapped open as Giles grunted between clenched teeth, his jaw tight with restraint. It took her a breathless moment to realise that the smooth, firm pressure now filling her was his rigid length.
"Giles…" Buffy gasped his name, her voice barely audible as he began to move slowly within her. His hand gripped her thigh, holding her securely against him, while he pulled back just enough to study her face. There was an intensity in his gaze, as if he were searching for any sign of doubt in her eyes.
He lifted his free hand, the one that had been touching her intimately moments before. His fingers were still glistening, and he hesitated for a second, his eyes darting from her lips to her gaze. There was a silent question in his expression, a need for her to respond or guide what came next. Buffy felt her breath hitch, a subtle shiver running through her, but she didn't look away.
Carefully, he traced the length of her lower lip with his slick finger. Her eyes followed his movement, her lips parting instinctively at the touch. When he slid his finger forward, she hesitated only for a moment before letting her tongue brush over it. Giles' breath caught, his eyes darkening with desire as his own tongue unconsciously mirrored the motion, sweeping across his lower lip. Emboldened by his reaction, Buffy closed her lips around his finger, her tongue swirling slowly before she began to suck with more confidence.
Giles' control frayed visibly, a low, involuntary groan escaping him as he watched her. His thumb gently stroked her cheek, the gesture almost reverent, as if grounding him.
But his restraint didn't last. His eyes locked on hers, and he leaned in, capturing her mouth in a desperate, heated kiss. His tongue swept over her lips, tasting her, before plunging back into her mouth with a hunger that left her breathless. His fingers threaded into her hair, anchoring her in place as his thrusts grew deeper and more insistent.
Their breathing turned ragged, and they broke the kiss, gasping for air. Giles pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as he shifted his grip to her hips. His cheek brushed against hers, the roughness of his stubble scraping against her tender skin. His movements became fast and shallow, each thrust creating delicious friction against her clit, pushing Buffy dangerously close to the edge.
The overwhelming sensation of being pinned against the wall while her Watcher drove into her consumed every part of her awareness. She didn't register the sting of his stubble scraping her face again and again, leaving faint marks on her cheek. Nor did she notice the dampness of his hair from clean sweat. All that mattered was the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her.
In time, their bodies moved in such a frenzy against each other that it was remarkable Giles was still able to hold them up. His grip stayed firm as he bucked his hips with reckless abandon, pumping in and out of her over and over. Buffy's muscles suddenly tightened around him, gripping him fiercely, and her cry of release rang out, raw and unrestrained, shattering his last thread of control.
Giles thrust forward convulsively, groaning her name as he reached his peak, the relentless pressure of her inner walls squeezing him like a vice, drawing out every last pulse. The intensity of it left him trembling, completely spent.
As the final tremors faded, Buffy's head fell limply onto his shoulder. Their strength gave out, and they slowly slid down the wall together, collapsing in a tangled heap of sated limbs on the mat.
Giles' arms encircled her protectively, his hand absently stroking her hair as her head rested against his shoulder.
End for part 6