Title: A Long Winter's Nap
Author: Beleg_Cuthalion1
E-mail: Beleg_cuthalion1@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me; they belong to Joss
Whedon and Co. Only the story is mine.
Category: G/J romance and sex.

The house was lit for the most part by candles, a flattering light forgiving of small flaws and imperfections. Everyone is beautiful by candlelight. On some, it hides little things, smoothing away years and cares. On others, it makes shadows and lines, letting the wisdom and strength of age demonstrate its own beauty. Sometimes it miraculously does both.

Warm smells of holiday spices still wafted from the kitchen. Cinnamon, saffron, and others blended with the wine and food. To Giles, it simply smelled like Christmas. It was as the holiday should be. Earlier, the house had been full of people and noise and color. The living room floor was covered with wrapping paper that Technicolor couldn’t capture, all scattered about in an orgy of gift giving that embarrassed the reserved, older man a bit. He had gotten three sweaters, much to the embarrassment of the givers and to his amusement. Dawn had given him a remarkably sensible gift, an engraved carry case for his glasses. From Joyce he had received a lovely curio clockwork.

He sat in the living room, contemplating the disaster that the Summers home had become and sipping at the last of the second bottle of wine they had dared to open. The children were gone now, Dawn to bed, Buffy to do a sweep, Xander and Anya reluctantly to his parents home, Willowand Taraequally reluctantly to Willow’s. It was odd how this was the place they all wanted to be. Then again, perhaps, Giles thought, it wasn’t odd at all.

Joyce came into the room, having seen off the last of the youngsters, and he again considered the flattery of candlelight. She settled on the couch near him and smiled. “This feels almost like the Christmas nights when the girls were little and their father and I would sit up and wait for Santa.”

Giles returned the smile. At some point they had reached this level of comfort with each other. He couldn’t pin down exactly when it had happened. One day she was the woman who venomously blamed him for her daughter running away and then she was a person he had an unfortunate history with. All that had changed to such an extent that she accepted and even seemed to enjoy having him play the ersatz patriarch in her home. “I’ve never had a Christmas with little ones,” he said, “I’d guess it was wonderful.”

Joyce’s eyes grew distant and perhaps a little misty. “It’s amazing what a half drunk glass of milk and a cookie with a bite taken out of it can do.”

“I imagine the toys didn’t hurt.”

“No,” Joyce said, visibly shaking herself from her memories. “It was the look in their eyes that got you. I remember the first time Buffy was old enough to get the whole Santa thing. She was jumping up and down and running around…” she trailed off.

“What is it, Joyce?” Giles said after a moment.

“I was pregnant with Dawn at the time,” she said, “or at least that’s how I remember it.”

“Oh.” Giles decided to let that subject drop. No more could be said. They sat in silence for several long minutes. He laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt at peace, a feeling that he only very rarely experienced. He took a deep breath and sighed, savoring again the scents that he associated with Christmas, but there was a new undertone, a light, spicy scent that must be the woman who sat so near him.

“Sleepy?” Joyce asked quietly.

“No.”

“Then why so great a sigh?”

Giles raised his head and looked at her. “I think you would laugh at me if I told you.”

Joyce, in a quick movement pulled her feet from her shoes and curled them under her, turning more fully towards him. “I won’t.”

“The house, with all the baking and so forth, it smells like my mother’s kitchen did during Christmas when I was a boy. It’s comforting,” he watched her reaction. She smiled fondly at him. He went on, feeling that he dared greatly, “…and I could smell you, your perfume. I like it, by the way.”

Joyce blushed just a little, “Rupert… thank you.”

“What do you like to remember from Christmas?”

Joyce took a deep breath herself, “Oh, I don’t know. I was born and raised in California. I always wanted snow. One year, we went to my maternal grandmother’s in Indiana. We got snow there, a lot of it. I wanted to live out in it, but it was so cold.”

“My family is from the north of England. White Christmases were common,” Giles said.

“Lucky,” Joyce said. She looked at the man seated next to her. The candle light played on his gentle, craggy face outlining hollows and making his eyes look like deep, deep wells. He looked powerful and mysterious, which she knew he was. It was a side of him that he buried only shallowly. How did the poem she only half remembered run? “In his hands was strength and wisdom on weathered brow did sit…” Something like that. She found herself contemplating his face, examining each detail closely. So involved was she that she failed to notice how intensely he was returning her gaze.

“Do you know how lovely a woman you are?” he said, shocking them both. Giles wanted to bite out his own tongue. He was sure she would be offended and this moment would end.

She surprised him. “Thank you again,” she said quietly, “A woman likes to hear that and it’s been a long time…”

“Then let me assure you, you are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known,” Giles said softly.

Joyce looked at him for a moment, mouth slightly open. “Rupert, are you flirting with me? It’s been so long I don’t know for sure what it’s like anymore.” Giles simply nodded in response. “Then come sit next to me. You’re too far away to flirt properly.”

Giles looked surprised at the suggestion for just an instant, but he was no callow youth and neither was she. Each, with a glance at the other, came to a decision and knew the other agreed. He quickly moved to sit next to her. “You can’t stay the night,” she said, “not with Dawn here.”

“I know,” Giles leaned close to her, whispering in her ear, “Perhaps we should try and be quiet. It would be a tragedy to wake her.”

Joyce shuddered ever so slightly at his proximity and the intimate feel of his breath against her ear and cheek. “It would.” Giles gently slid his arm around her shoulders, reaching up and running his fingers gently up and down the suddenly flushed skin of her neck and shoulder. The other went to her cheek, touching and caressing, turning her face towards him. He stopped, their faces nearly touching and looked at her.

“If you don’t kiss me…” Joyce whispered. He did, lightly, taking her lower lip between his teeth. She moved into him, molding to him, reaching to touch his shoulders and back.

They kissed, growing now more intimate, then less, easing into and away from each other, rocking slowly and rhythmically. After a time they parted for a moment. “Like that?” Giles asked.

“Just like that,” Joyce said her voice breathy. Then she felt his hand slide under her sweater, stroking her stomach. She suddenly felt embarrassed and unable to meet his eyes. She looked down, her hair obscuring her face. Misunderstanding, he began to withdraw his hand.

“No,” she said, “it’s not that, it’s just…”

Giles touched her stomach, stroking, “What is it?”

“I’m… not as young as I used to be.”

“Nonsense,” Giles said his voice thick. “You are a beautiful, wonderful woman. Never doubt it.” He ran his hand up, cupping her breast, his thumb lightly teasing her nipple. “Beautiful…” he murmured, sounding oddly reverent.

Joyce gave a long, low moan, just barely audible, “feels so good…” Giles leaned towards her, taking her in a kiss as he touched her. Under his hand, her nipples became hard. She shifted closer to him, half on top of him and felt him hard against her thigh. She moaned again into the kiss and moved her leg against him. He gave a small moan of his own.

He slid his hand down her back and across her ass, cupping for a moment, and then moving down and under her skirt to stroke the inside and back of her thigh as she moved it against him.

Joyce pushed away from him and Giles looked at her questioningly. She didn’t speak but he got his answer as she lifted her skirt and straddled his lap. She ground herself, hot and wet and ready against his erection as she unbuttoned his shirt, reaching inside, stroking his chest and teasing his nipples. He began running his hands along her legs and ass and up her back, up and down. He moaned in pleasure at the thought of only the thin material of her panties covering her sex. “Do you want me?” she asked.

“You know I do,” he answered.

She pulled away from him and looked down at the bulge in his pants. “You do it,” she whispered, “let me see it.”

Slowly, languidly he unzipped himself and moved his underwear to let himself free. Joyce smiled, looking at him, reaching out and taking him in her hand, stroking him just a little. “I want to be inside you,” he said.

Joyce moaned, the word “yes” coming out almost as a hiss. She stood and quickly removed her panties, hating every second that the intimate contact was lost. She sat across him again took a moment to grind her clit against his erection. She shuddered at the sensation, one it had been too long since she had felt, and looked down at him. Her hands were around his neck, on his shoulders, holding her weight. He was cupping her ass with both hands, helping hold her up with surprising strength.

She rose above him and felt the beginnings of penetration, but he stopped, teasing just his tip in and out of her. For just a moment she allowed him this, then she pressed herself down on him, feeling him enter her, letting her wet flesh take him gently. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep silent. When he was fully inside her they stopped moving for a second, letting the feeling of connectedness take them. The she opened her eyes and kissed him and they started moving together.

Outside, a stray cat was startled by something and knocked a garbage can over in its flight. Giles and Joyce heard it. With a convulsive move, Joyce nearly leapt off him, turning towards the door, smoothing her skirt and hair, and smiling. Giles stood and fumbled at his pants, trying to get himself covered. It was a desperate, futile effort. If someone had come in, they would have been caught. After a moment, they both realized that no one was going to come in. They both laughed a little ruefully.

They sat back on the couch, very close together, within easy touching range but not touching. “We shouldn’t have been doing that here,” Joyce said, “Dawn could have come down any second.”

“That’s true,” Giles said. Suddenly, they both felt a little tentative and unsure. He looked at her for a moment and then leaned towards her. “I think we can risk just this,” he said. He gave her what Joyce felt was a very sweet, full of promise little kiss. “We shall finish what we’ve started here. At least, I know I want too.”

“So do I,” Joyce said, touching his cheek fondly and giving him a warm smile. “Right now, I have to get up and we have to stop this, or I won’t be able to stop.” She matched her actions to her words.

“Right,” Giles said, “Dishwashing and cleanup. That will take our minds off…” he stood and felt suddenly uncomfortable, his pants binding. “I’ll be right with you.” He headed for the bathroom. Joyce tried very, very hard and failed to contain her giggles. As much as anything that night, Giles remembered and treasured her girlish laughter, even if it was at his expense.

When Buffy returned home, still feeling quietly happy about the fact that Christmas had not been interrupted by anything untoward, she found Giles and her mother puttering around the house cleaning and apparently having a wonderful time joking and talking as they did. She felt a childish surge of emotion. It was nice to see her mom enjoying herself so but there was something else that tugged at her heart; it happened whenever she saw Giles and her mother in the same room. She decided not to think too much about it.

Buffy tried to help, but Joyce shooed her away to bed, actually telling her that Santa would be there soon and that there would be no presents for bad little girls who were still awake. Buffy had hugged her mother and Giles tightly before she went up to bed.

Through it all, the entire evening, there had been an elephant in the room and both of them had managed to ignore it. Joyce was washing dishes and Giles taking a quick break at the table when she confronted it. She turned away from her work and sat next to him, fighting hard the urge to take his hand. “Rupert,” she said, “I’m sick.”

He did not fight the urge, he took her hand. “I know.”

“I may die.”

“I know.”

“If I do, take care of my girls.”

“You know that I will.”

“Take care of all of them,” Joyce’s voice had lowered to a whisper.

Gile’s voice became rough with the effort of control and his eyes stung, “I will.”

They sat in silence for a time. Finally she said, “If I get better…”

“When you get better,” Giles interrupted.

She smiled warmly at him, “When I get better, we’ll see how things are. When things settle down… I know I want something with you, but…”

“I understand, Joyce. You have too much on your mind right now. I’ll still be around, whenever,” Giles said, “and if you ever need anything at all, let me know. I can baby sit, or be company or even cook a passable meal. I want to help.”

“Thank you.” Again, there was a peaceful quiet for a time. Then, Joyce chuckled. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She chuckled again. “How did things go in the bathroom?”

Giles smiled devilishly and it looked curiously right on him, even for a man his age. “Oh, I daresay things came out… marvelously.”

Over the next month and a half, Joyce went through some very hard times. Buffy had been a surprising godsend, providing more help then Joyce had expected. What Joyce had avoided, despite his offer, was calling Giles. She was afraid of doing it. She knew that if she once let herself go to him, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She had learned strength through independence since her divorce and to give that independence up would, she feared, mean giving up the strength. She was afraid she would just curl up in a ball and cry out her pain and need; able to do nothing but beg him to help her. She would not allow that to happen. When she came to him it would be as an equal, not as an invalid.

The day finally came when Joyce woke up and wasn’t in pain, she wasn’t scared, and she wasn’t worried. The realization hit her as she sat at breakfast planning her day. She had not once thought of brain tumors or anything else other then normal morning things. In a sudden decision she picked up her phone and dialed.

“Magic box,” a voice answered. She smiled even wider on hearing it.

“I could take that as a compliment,” she said, trying to sound coquettish.

At his end of the line, Giles was confused. “What? A compliment? I don’t…” the obscure double entendre struck him, as well as who he was speaking to, and he smiled widely. “You very well could, Joyce. By the way, do you kiss your daughters with that mouth?”

“Not like I give Christmas kisses to distinguished British gentlemen on my couch,” she said.

“Gentlemen?That had best not be plural. I would be terribly jealous, especially since Spike is the only other Englishman around.”

“Oh no, Giles. You’re the only distinguished British gentleman I’ve let fuck me,” she said, shocking even herself. “It was my very best Christmas present, even though you didn’t finish giving it to me.”

In the Magic Box, Anya came from the back room and stood next to Giles behind the counter. He immediately changed his tone. “Yes, of course. We can… uh… finish that up whenever you like.”

“Giles? What…” it struck Joyce what must have happened. “Is there someone there? A customer or one of the kids?”

“The latter.”

Joyce grinned and felt very wicked. “Oh, dear. I heard your voice before, when I said ‘fuck’” Joyce drew the word out. “Does that turn you on? To hear me talk dirty?”

“Um… yes, just a bit,” Giles was on the verge of stammering.

“I see. Just a bit. Then I guess it would only phase you a bit if I told you how wet my pussy gets every time I think about you. Every time I think about your hands on me, all over me, and your big hard cock inside me…” she trailed off.

Giles cleared his throat, “Yes, well, I… uh… thank you, I suppose?” His composure was slipping.

Joyce laughed at the strained tone of his voice. “I’m through teasing you. I don’t want to be mean. Can we have lunch?”

“Certainly. Name the place.” Joyce did and they agreed to meet at noon.

“Who was that?” Anya asked after he hung up.

“Supplier. Possible supplier. Going to have lunch with her… him, I mean.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said.

“Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” He stepped quickly around her. Anya watched him go curiously; wondering why talking to a supplier would make him have an erection like that.

Giles was early to the restaurant, a small, moderately priced place. He sat quietly and watched Joyce walk in. She smiled and slid into the booth across from him. “So, how has your morning been?”

He returned the smile. “I had an interesting phone call.”

“I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Joyce took a deep breath. “Rupert, I’ve been overcome and very emotional lately. You know that.” Giles nodded for her to continue. “I realized that I was coming on very strong. I all but attacked you on Christmas and then I called you like that this morning…”

“Again, you have nothing to apologize for. At Christmas I wasn’t exactly fighting you off.” Giles was beginning to become concerned, worried that she was trying to put an end to whatever this tentative thing was.

“Okay, I’m not going to apologize. I haven’t done a single thing I regret, so why should I? But there is something I want to say.” She took a sip of her drink, “Without interruption.” Giles nodded. “Yes, I want to become more intimate with you, hopefully soon. I don’t want you think I’m just a middle aged woman in need of a good screw. I see possibilities. I have hopes.”

Giles leaned across the table and spoke quietly, seriously. “I too see possibilities and have hopes. I wouldn’t have touched you otherwise. Those are things we will give the time they deserve. For the moment, I know you aren’t just a woman in need of a good screw. I know their is more to this then that, but unless you stop me right now, I’m going to drag you out of this place and back to my flat and give you the best screwing this middle aged man can muster.” Joyce’s eyes got very large as he stood and took her hand. She didn’t speak as he led her out of the restaurant. They were even silent as they drove to his home, smiling at each other and holding hands.

They closed the apartment door behind them quickly. Hungrily, they turned to each other and kissed, standing in his living room. After a few moments, they pulled back. “I think we’ve been standing too long,” Joyce said.

“Then shall we go lie down?”

“Ever the gentleman.” They went upstairs to the bedroom. They kissed again and then Giles stepped away, beginning to unbutton her blouse. Joyce stood very still, letting him. When he slid it down her arms and off, she fought the urge to cover herself. When he reached for her and took her in his arms to unsnap her bra, she really began to feel embarrassed. He stepped back again, to look at her and she did for a second raise her arms to cover her breasts, then she dropped them and just looked awkward and uncomfortable.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s so bright in here,” Joyce said, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Giles said, “Don’t say that. We’ve been through this.” He knelt down on his knees so that his face was nearly level with her nipples. He took one between his lips, kissing and sucking gently on the small, wonderfully tight tip of flesh. “You are beautiful.” Joyce made a small noise. He moved and took the other between his lips in its turn. Joyce ran her fingers through his hair. “So beautiful.” He switched again and his hands slid up under her conservative skirt. He was surprised to find she had no underwear on. He caressed the bare skin of her ass. “Naughty girl,” he whispered between ministrations to her now very hard nipples.

Joyce smiled, swaying slightly in his arms. “Never know when a girl’s going to get lucky…” she whispered. He unzipped the skirt and it fell to the floor. This time she did not flinch from his gaze. “Do you know how long it’s been since a man has seen me?”

“Too long,” he said as he stood and began lowering her to her back on the bed. She opened her legs wide for him without thinking. Joyce moaned as he began tickling her wet lips with his fingertips and kissing his way up the inside of her thigh. She was wet and ready, the smell of her arousal thick and wonderful. Tired of playing, longing to taste her, Giles ran his tongue the full length of her sex, ending at her clit, which he kept stimulating. As he licked her he slid a finger, then two, inside her. Joyce moaned and writhed. She wanted more; she wanted to feel full, fully penetrated. She wanted these sorts of attentions, but she wanted them later. Now what she wanted was simple.

“Oh God… just fuck me… please fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…”

Giles stood and began literally ripping his clothes off. When he lowered his underwear, he was mostly hard, but not completely. Joyce sat up quickly, taking him in her mouth as he threw his shirt against the wall, sucking hard. Giles hissed out something that sounded like the word “yes” and rested his hand in her hair as she sucked him.

Joyce felt his cock grow harder and bigger in her mouth. She lay back, opening herself for him, taking his hardness in her hand to guide him inside her. “Do it now…” she said, “oh, please fuck me hard.”

Giles did, thrusting hard into her as soon as he found her opening. Joyce cried out in response and wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper still. He began moving inside her, a steady, fast rhythm. She moved also, pushing her hips up to meet him. She began to pant, “Faster… faster… faster…”

Giles increased her tempo and Joyce could no longer talk as the pressure built and coiled in her. She made inarticulate sounds as he brought her closer and closer and too soon, it almost seemed, he felt her begin to spasm around him, almost milking his cock. With no more need to control himself, Giles came with a nearly feral sound, his teeth and every muscle clenched tight.

He collapsed on her for a moment on top of her. Joyce liked having the weight on her; she liked the feeling of having him all over and around her. She liked feeling safe and spent and most of all so very alive. After a moment he rolled off of her onto his back and she immediately rested her head on his chest and draped an arm and a leg over him. She felt gloriously decadent having been fucked by her new lover in the middle of the afternoon. She ran her leg up and down his body and felt even more decadent pressing her calf against his cock, flaccid and wet with her juices.

Giles was merely in a post-coital haze. He hoped to stay there for some time. After several minutes of vital recovery, Joyce spoke in a low tone, “Rupert that was wonderful.” She made a face. “Did it ever occur to you that you have the worst first name ever?” She felt his chest move with laughter.

“Many times,” he said.

Joyce stretched kittenishly. “Let’s try again… Giles, that was wonderful.”

“Thank you. I rather liked it myself.”

“That doesn’t work either,” Joyce said, “I can’t call you by your last name. What can I call you?”

“Ahhh… Stud muffin, perhaps?”

“Be serious.”

“I prefer Giles,” he said.

“But I can’t call my…” she stopped again. “What are you? I can’t say boyfriend. It’s too juvenile. Lover sounds tacky and Significant Other is too PC.”

“Say whatever you like,” he said with a smile, “I shall do my best to be whatever you want. As far as the name, I prefer Giles, but I had a girlfriend in College who hated both my names also. She called me Brian.”

“Why?”

“She said I looked like a Brian.”

You don’t look like a Brian,” Joyce said as she changed positions slightly. “You’re a Giles. I’ll just have to live with it.”

“Joyce, what are we going to tell the girls?”

“I don’t know yet. They both love you, so it shouldn’t be hard. I just remember how they were over Ted. I don’t want that to happen again.” Joyce said.

“Me neither,” Giles said, pretending shock, “Buffy beat Ted to death.”

Joyce couldn’t help but laugh a little. “He had it coming.”

“So let’s hold off for a day or two,” he said, “let us have time to get our minds around things.”

Joyce nodded, “Good idea,” she said. Then she remembered something. “Oh my God… I was supposed to ask you to sit with Dawn tonight!”

“I will, of course,” he said.

“Well,” she said very hesitantly, “I have a date tonight.”

Giles looked at her, “I beg your pardon?”

She went on guiltily, “I have a date. It was a fix-up that I couldn’t gracefully get out of. Please don’t be mad. I’ll get rid of him quickly and we can...” She didn’t know how to finish.

“Explore possibilities?” he suggested.

She nodded in agreement. “Yes.”

It wasn’t hard to fool her daughters the next day and make them believe she was excited about her date. She just had to think of Giles.

The date that she went on was exactly what she expected. He was older then she, reasonably well off, reasonably good looking and reasonably charming. She was unreasonably bored and he was smart enough to see it quickly. Surprisingly enough, Joyce managed to have a good time with him after he understood the situation. When he dropped her off, he sensibly didn’t walk her to the door, instead suggesting that they might have a casual lunch, as friends, some time. Joyce actually liked him and started running down in her mind a list of her single friends to point him towards. When she went inside she couldn’t resist teasing Buffy until her daughter fled the room.

The next day, when Joyce came home from the Gallery, there was a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep. She picked them up, smiling, and enjoyed their fragrance for a moment. Then she read the card, “Thank you for a lovely evening. See you again soon?” They were signed from Brian.

Walking through the door, she just had time to put them on the foyer table when a wave of severe nausea swept over her. She was glad she didn’t drop Giles’ thoughtful gift. She was so ill she had trouble making it to the couch. Sitting, waiting for it to pass, Joyce felt the first cold touch of fear and began to reach for the phone to call for help. Then, for just an instant she felt a pain in her head.

The End