Double Date
Rippertish
Chapter 11: Caught in the Rain
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 shelter, 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.
He took a step closer, moved by some magnetic force. He hesitated, 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 tentative at first, but when Buffy didn't tense or pull away, he grew bolder. She seemed content, relaxed even, leaning into his warmth. For her, it felt natural—something she hadn't quite put words to, but couldn't deny felt right.
Encouraged by the silent permission, Giles closed the remaining distance between them, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. Buffy didn't pull back; instead, she leaned into him. For a moment, they simply watched the rain fall.
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. Buffy's breath hitched, but she didn't move away, letting herself rest in the quiet intimacy. He caught a faint hint of vanilla and something distinctly Buffy, a soft trace that sent his thoughts spinning.
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.
He turned his head, 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. 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. Buffy 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 hand moved to her bare skin, caressing the curves of her buttocks. He let his gaze follow his touch. Giles had long accepted a simple truth about himself: while some men might admire ample chests, he was, without question, a man with a weakness for a perfectly shaped backside. And Buffy's? Hers was flawless.
This hadn't gone unnoticed before. So many times, he'd caught himself stealing fleeting glances when she wore tight leggings, unable to help but admire the round perfection of her form. It had been an idle observation, one he'd immediately banished each time it crossed his mind, never allowing himself to even consider the possibility of touching her like this.
Yet now, his hands were there, resting against her most private part, rendering him impossibly hard.
Slowly, he let his hand slide forward, tracing the warm, smooth skin of her inner thigh. When his fingers brushed the edge of her underwear, he paused.
He felt her hips shift slightly, a small signal of encouragement.
His chest tightened with anticipation before his hand crept higher, his large palm covering her sex with a careful pressure that sent a jolt through them both. He felt the damp fabric clinging to her, a reminder of their earlier charged reconciliation on Xander's couch.
Buffy pressed forward, her hips moving with a languid, exploratory rhythm. Giles let his fingers relax, moulding them to her shape as she moved, the slow grind causing the soft fabric to shift slightly against his hand.
Buffy's own hand reached back, gripping his trousers over his thigh and tugging him closer. Giles complied as he adjusted his stance behind her, aligning their lower bodies to offer her the pressure she sought. His hardness pressed against her, and the moment her body responded, a shared moan escaped them both, low and raw.
The intimacy was unhurried as they relished the pleasure born of their friction. The building warmth, the soft sound of the rain, and the quiet rhythm they created together blurred everything else into irrelevance.
In time, the pressure in his trousers became unbearable, an ache impossible to ignore. Giles shifted reflexively, reaching for his belt to free himself. He fumbled only slightly, the combination of desire and alcohol making his movements less precise than usual. He breathed a soft sigh of relief as the tension eased, his hand stroking himself once in an instinctive motion before stopping. His forehead rested gently against the back of her head, his breathing heavy over her ear as he took a moment to regain his composure.
Buffy sought his body again, her hips shifting back. The soft contours of her rear pressed against his length, and the thin cotton of her underwear was barely a barrier as she rocked onto him.
Giles groaned, his eyes drawn downward, mesmerised by the sight of her. Her body, so beautifully strong and feminine, rubbed against him sensually. His hand found her hip, steadying her as his other guided himself along the curves of her buttocks, which framed him perfectly. The friction was exquisite.
The innocent white fabric with pink florals of her underwear tucked between her cheeks, drawing him deeper into the cleft of her body. Her thighs pressed together, holding him close.
The sensation was almost too much—her heat, the softness of her flesh, and the maddeningly delicate cotton that teased him with every glide. Giles clenched his jaw as he fought to contain his spiralling lust. His head fell forward, resting next to hers, eyes closing.
"Giles," Buffy called softly, sensing his hesitation. "What are you waiting for?"
Giles' eyes snapped open as his fingers tightened reflexively on her hip. His lips parted in a laboured exhale, the words coming out rough. "For you to stop me."
She turned her head slightly. "I won't," she murmured.
Her verbal consent was his undoing. He responded by turning his head and placing a reverent kiss on her neck.
With trembling hands, Giles hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding the damp fabric down to her knees. With one hand still at her hip, he positioned himself. He took a moment, both of them perfectly still.
Then, with a measured breath, Giles pushed forward, slowly, sliding into her, filling her inch by inch. 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 with her.
After adjusting to him, Buffy pushed back, along with a subtle roll of her hips that made his breath hitch. It felt like welcoming home something she hadn't known she was missing.
He responded with a deep unhurried rhythm, their bodies finding a shared tempo that felt natural. 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 were overwhelming. 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 the need for release. Giles' fingers dug into her hips, holding her firmly in place as he felt his orgasm 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 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 him.
When they finally stilled, their bodies pressed close, Giles rested one hand on the railing while his free arm wrapped around her waist, holding her as if anchoring them both to reality. His forehead rested briefly between her shoulder blades as he tried to collect himself.
Slowly, he withdrew, his hands lingering on her hips as he stepped back. His gaze dropped instinctively, drawn to the sight of his cum slipping from her, glistening in the faint light as it oozed down.
The raw sight held him captive, and for a moment, he considered kneeling behind her, letting his tongue clean every inch of her. But he hesitated, unsure if such intimacy would be welcome.
Instead, he reached for his handkerchief. The soft fabric moved gently against her, collecting the evidence of his total surrender to his Slayer as the Watcher wiped her clean with his trademark care. Buffy shuddered at the sensation, her body trembling under his touch. Giles' free hand rose instinctively to her hair, his fingers threading through the damp strands at the nape of her neck.
He smoothed the hair down her back in slow, gentle strokes, in a soothing gesture.
Tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket, he reached down, carefully easing her panties back into place and smoothing her skirt over her hips before tending to his own disheveled state.
Buffy remained leaned against the railing, her breath uneven and shallow, eyes still closed.
When Buffy finally straightened, she turned, meeting his gaze with a softness that broke through all his last defences. He caught a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, something so unguarded it stirred a deep, instinctive need to protect her.
Giles reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly.
Too many times, moments of closeness between them had spiralled into lingering tension and abysmal distance. He had to do something to prevent this one from slipping into that same pattern. He pulled her a little closer, their fingers still entwined.
"Dance with me," he murmured, dipping his head to find her eyes.
Buffy blinked, her brow knitting slightly in confusion. She glanced around at the empty, silent park before whispering, "But…"
She looked up at him with questioning eyes.
Giles' lips curved into a tentative smile, his thumb brushing softly against the back of her hand. "Humour me," he replied, his tone sincere.
She hesitated for only a moment before letting out a soft, almost breathless laugh. Slowly, she stepped into his space, letting him guide her hand to his chest and draw her closer. Her fingers settled naturally at his back as he held her, their bodies falling into a gentle, unhurried sway. They moved quietly together, in sync with the soft rhythm of the falling rain.
It felt strange, yet wonderfully simple—being held like this without the need for words or explanations. And as Giles drew her a little closer, she let herself lean into him, her head resting against his chest.
Buffy closed her eyes, letting the warmth and the soothing motion transport her to a fairytale kingdom where she was a princess by a fountain, and Giles was… well, not the gnome, certainly not that, but something she couldn't quite define. Her emotions were tangled, and the alcohol lingering in her blood wasn't making it any clearer. Yet, even through the haze, one thing remained certain: he was her ever-faithful knight, always there to catch her when a slippery railing tried to pull her down.
End of part 11