Title: You Give'a Me Fever
Author: BJ
Sitch: Giles catches a cold. Um . . . that's about it. Utter PWP. Sometime S5 after 'Into the Woods.' (Since Beltane is May 1, I'm fudging the canon timeline a little. I s'pose one could consider this AU, because it's set before 'The Body.')
Rating: NC-17, for smut. B/G
Feedback: Will grovel. iria_97995@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Buffy and Giles and so on belong to Joss Wheden. Song is "'Till It Shines," off of 'Stranger in Town,' music and lyrics by Bob Seger. The cold is mine. Anybody got any OJ?
Author's Notes: This began as a handwritten exercise to entertain myself as I fought off my sister's neverending cold. I think it's kinda cute, so here 'tis.
~*~Extra-Special Jelly Thanks to Kate Page for insightful beta. You rock beyond the telling of it.~*~
//thoughts// *italicize for emphasis*

"Go away." *Ah-choo!*

Buffy blew her bangs out of her eyes as she set the TV tray down next to Giles's bed. The Giles in question burrowed further under the covers. All she could see of him was the sole of one foot and a brush of gray hair. "C'mon Giles, you're supposed to feed a cold."

"Unless you want to spend an hour cleaning whatever you spoon into me off the floor I suggest you leave me be."

Buffy's lower lip slid out, but then she realized he wasn't looking at her. Sighing, she put her knee on the bed, reached over, and rolled Giles onto his back.

The light from the window hit him square in the face. "Ow! Fuck me!" One hand shoved Buffy off the bed, the other grabbed the covers and threw them over his head.

Buffy got to her feet. "I outta wash your mouth out mister."

"Buffy please go away."

"Nuh-uh." She picked a glass of orange juice up off the tray. Turning back to her bedridden Watcher, she suddenly noticed that all the covers were piled around his head and upper half, uncovering his legs. His long, bare, artistically muscled with just a whisper of hair legs.

Shaking herself, Buffy unwound sheets and blankets burning with his heat and draped them back over his body. Flicking strange tingles out of her fingers, she pulled the shade and uncovered Giles's face. "You can come out now. I got rid of the bad light."

"Much obliged. Now go away."

"Not likely." She pulled back her sleeve and touched the inside of her wrist to his forehead. "Anya called and said you haven't been to the shop since Tuesday. Which says to me you need TLC. Since Professor Albrecht's on leave, I guess you're stuck with me."

Giles's eyes, glittery with fever, cracked open. "If I eat what you've brought will you go away?"

"We'll see." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Buffy manhandled him up to a sit. The covers fell away, revealing a tank top and a good yard or so of bare shoulders. Face screwing up, Giles grabbed a Kleenex just in time to catch a sneeze -- a great big juicy sneeze. Buffy made a face. //Ew.// He snurfled as he wiped his nose. She shoved the glass under his lips when he finished. "Drink it."

"Yes ma'am." He took the glass away from her. Buffy noticed -- as any mammal with eyesight would have -- the way the surprisingly . . . *delicious* . . . muscles in his arms and shoulders moved. Then he raised the glass to his lips and gulped the juice down, presenting Buffy with a whole new set of muscles to watch. //Wo-oah.//

He finished the glass, coughing like he'd just bolted a double Scotch. "There, done. Now will you please go *away*?"

"Not even." Buffy grabbed a deep bowl of soup off the TV tray. "Chicken and stars. And you're going to eat every drop."

With that, she spooned the soup into his mouth. Giles scowled through the whole process. When she got to the last lonely little stars he took the bowl from her and slurped them down. "There. *Now* will you let me be?"

"Well . . ."

Giles flopped back on the bed. "For the love of Jesus--"

"Just kidding!" Buffy held up her empty hands. "Sheesh, you know you're a big grouch when you're sick?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Why do you think I've been telling you to go away?"

"Because I'm cramping your style, such as it is?"

Glaring at her, Giles said, "No, because I've been told I'm an utter bastard when I don't feel well. Right now that soup you fed me is doing back flips, I'm tired, I ache, and I want nothing so much as to go to bed and stay there. Undisturbed."

"And I get that, but you'll get better faster if you eat. Besides," surprising herself, she brushed the little curl of his forelock off his face, "you could use somebody to take care of you sometimes."

Giles leaned back on the pillow and shut his eyes. "Buffy please. Let me be."

Something in his voice, a sad little note, finally made Buffy back off. She gathered the dishes and TV tray and took them downstairs. She was halfway through rinsing everything out when she heard noises. Her morbid little brain heard the gulping snorts as sobs. She was on the stairs before she registered buzzing. She covered her giggle. //Of course, Ninety-Second Percentile Girl, when your sinuses get blocked, you snore. Even Willow snored a little when we were all home with that flu.//

Back to the kitchen. She finished cleaning up deep in thought. Giles's snores tapered off after a while. Buffy filled a shallow bowl with cool water and wet a washcloth. She didn't know if it actually helped bring down a temperature, but it would still make him feel better. There was just something inherently soothing about getting your forehead bathed, like the whole deal with the Vicks Vapo-Rub. Too bad he didn't have any Vapo-Rub. //Not that I'd mind rubbing Giles's chest. Wait a minute, did I just think that? No. Bad Buffy. Naughty Slayer.//

She carried the bowl upstairs. When she got a good look at the bed she stopped dead. Giles had rolled over onto his stomach, bunching the covers all to the side and leaving his right flank bare to the air. Buffy gulped as he shifted around. //Giles has muscles. Since when does Giles have muscles?// The tank top had hiked up a little in the back, revealing bare skin and a few strings of scar tissue. And the butt; Buffy could've written epic poems about the butt. The animal parts of her -- the same parts that persuaded her to keep Riley on retainer long after it was clear they simply didn't click couple-wise -- feasted on his glory. //*Da-a-amn.*//

Giles rolled onto his back and trumpeted a fresh snore.

//It works in the movies.// "Giles turn on your side."

"Yes love," he mumbled and shifted to his side, curling up like a little kid.

//Did he just call me love?// Shaking that off, Buffy sat back on the edge of the bed. She set the bowl aside and wrung out the washcloth. She stroked the cloth over Giles's face.

A smile curved his sleeping lips and he moved into the touch. Buffy could almost hear him purr like a big cat. She laid the backs of her fingers on his cheek. Still pretty warm.

Giles turned his head and kissed her fingers. Shock rooted Buffy to the spot. Long enough for him to take her finger between his lips. Hot blood crashed in her veins as he worried the knuckle ever so gently with his teeth.

Telling herself she just didn't want to wake him up, Buffy slowly took her hand away. Giles graced her departing finger with a soft kiss, rolled onto his stomach, and buried his face in the pillow. Buffy left the bowl and washcloth on the nightstand and retreated downstairs, her insides all tangled up.

//Look, he probably didn't know what he was doing. Remember when you caught Mom talking in her sleep? She didn't remember a thing.//

True, but if that was the case, then whose hand was he really kissing? The question filled Buffy's head with flames. Giles was *hers,* dammit, and she didn't like sharing him. And just where in the hell did *that* idea come from?

//"I'm not allowed to have a private life?"//

//"No. Because you're very very old. And it's gross."//

//Kinda hypocritical when you figure your big crush growing up was Harrison Ford with no shirt on. And let's not talk about Angel.//

No, let's not. Buffy gathered up her stuff to leave, but after a minute's thought she put her stuff right back down. He was more comfy, but still pretty oogie. She owed him a night's watching. Heaven knew he'd guarded her rest often enough.

Besides, home meant a nosy, noisy sister interrupting her every ten minutes out of sheer boredom. Here she could get some work done. Buffy settled herself at Giles's desk, dragged out her Pre-calc book, and got to work.

---

Buffy woke up with a crick in her neck, a mouth that tasted like the inside of a sewer drain, and pins pricking her half-numb feet. Wincing, she picked her head up off a little bitty pillow and cracked her sleep-gummy eyes.

//Oh yeah.// She must've fallen asleep mid-homework at Giles's desk. She sat up. A blanket slid off her shoulders. On the desk, her book and papers had been shifted aside. One of the couch pillows sat on the blotter. A big glass of orange juice sat next to the lamp. From the bathroom Buffy could hear the spray of a shower. //Giles must've come down and worked his magic.//

*That* thought brought forth an echo of her dreams . . . something involving her in a nurse's uniform and Giles in one of those open-in-the-back hospital gowns, both outfits two sizes too small and neither one covering much of anything.

Like most people, Buffy had a certain set of rules that defined her reality. Rules like Dawn Must Whine, Xander Must Snark, Mom Is Clueless, Willow Is The Brain, Giles Is Tweedy, et cetera. As usual, the world had moved on and she hadn't even noticed . . . to the point where certain changes had to be shoved right in her face. Stuff like Xander saving her life, Willow being gay, and, God help her, Giles being a man. Each realization forced a major revision of The World According To Buffy . . . and whenever that happened, apocalypse and/or heartbreak were usually involved. //What's going on? Where's the disaster? Disasters I can handle.//

"*Take away my inhibition,*
*Take away my solitude,*
*Fire me up with your resistance,*
*Put me in the mood.*"

"Oh my God," Buffy whispered. It was Giles, singing in the shower.

"*Storm the walls around this prison,*
*Leave the inmates free the guards,*
*Deal me up another future,*
*From some brand new deck of cards.*"

He cleared his throat, pitching his voice so as not to carry much over the sound of the shower.

"*Take the chip off of my shoulder,*
*Smooth out all the lines,*
*Take me out amongst the rustling pines . . .*"

"*'Till it shines.*"

He paused and Buffy heard him mutter something. //Must not know the next verse. Yeah, I hate it when that happens.// After another minute or so the shower shut off. Buffy raked her fingers through her hair and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Getting to her feet, she did a couple of stretches. She slid a breath strip onto her tongue, and it had just dissolved and started to burn when the bathroom door opened and out popped Giles, bathrobe-clad and shower fresh, six feet two inches of wet and slippery deliciousness.

He peeked at her out from under drying his hair. "Oh good morning." He paused in toweling, taking a closer look at her face. "Are you all right? You're flushed."

"Fine," Buffy squeaked. //They should print a warning on those little strips. I feel like I just ate a box of acid-flavored Tic-Tacs.// Coughing, she held up the little square packet. "Breath strips. Burning tongue."

"Ah. Well the restroom's free if you wanted to tidy up a bit."

"Someone's feeling better," Buffy said. She was smiling. She couldn't seem to stop.

"Much, thank you." Giles draped his towel around his shoulders. "Thank you for sticking by me. I tend to make myself feel worse out of sheer contrariness."

"No big. Anytime."

Giles's smile took that familiar shy slant and he retreated upstairs. Buffy glanced after him on the way up and her eyes went buggy. The fabric of his robe was clinging in the back, just a little. //Curse you Tweed, you hide *that* under your shapelessness.//

Buffy snagged her purse and hit the bathroom. She heard Giles come back downstairs and start futzing around in the kitchen. //Rats. No breakfast in bed, stress on bed. Wait a minute--// she frowned. Thinking of 'Giles' and 'bed' in the same context should have had her ew-ing loud enough to shake the rafters.

//Okay, let's test that out. Once and for all.// Buffy sat on the toilet lid. She pulled up the image of shower-fresh Giles, still damp and mussed up. She imagined walking up to him, putting her hands on his chest, and kissing him. Soft and slow.

A shiver went through her whole body, like something in her midsection shifting alignment and sending out tingling shockwaves. And nowhere in the house did she hear a single ew. //Note to self; groveling apologies later. Five sorries per ew should do it.//

"How do you like them?"

"Huh?" Buffy blurted.

"How do you like your eggs? Over easy?"

"Oh yeah." Argh, too throaty. Buffy cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes. Please. Over easy."

Giles tapped on the door. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, 's all good." Buffy splashed some water on her face and ran a comb through her hair. //Call this look 'charmingly awry.' Best I can do without a blowdryer anyway.//

She emerged into an apartment full of good breakfast smells. Giles flopped an egg down on a plate, added two slices of toast, and handed it over to Buffy. One whiff and her stomach howled. "Mmm. Still godlike."

He smiled at her. "You ought to try my manicotti."

The words jumped out of her mouth before her brain could engage the Shut-Up-Stupid reflex; "Ooh, man-sized manicotti?"

"Er, well . . ." turning a perfect shade of pink, Giles managed, "in some cases."

Giggling, Buffy opened the fridge and grabbed the jelly. If she brushed up against Giles a little on the way, well, that was just because his kitchen was so damn small. He put a hand on her arm to go with his 'excuse-me.' Buffy had to fight the urge to turn around and throw herself into his arms. Seeing Giles as an attractive -- downright sexy in a subdued way -- member of the proper sex had flipped a switch in her head and in her heart. She sat up to the tablecloth-dressed desk, and down low she could feel that warm *squish*. And in her body.

Giles came out with his plate and two glasses of orange juice and the two of them had breakfast.

"Giles can I ask you something?" Buffy asked as she polished off her toast.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember anything from yesterday?"

Giles finished his scrambled eggs. "I remember staying in bed feeling like I'd been run over by a Panzer tank. Could you be more specific?"

"Do you remember me coming back upstairs after I took care of the dishes?" Giles's eyes flicked up to hers. Oh yeah, he remembered all right. "I put a cold cloth on your face and you kissed my hand."

"I thought I was dreaming."

Buffy nodded. "Thought so. Who did you think I was?"

"Buffy!" Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose, half-laughing . . . but he wouldn't look right at her. "That's rather private."

"Oh. Then you weren't thinking about me."

"I didn't say that." The instant the words left his mouth, Giles's eyes squinched. Right on cue, the glasses came off. Buffy's hand flicked out and snagged them out of his grip. "Oi! Give those back!"

Buffy held them up out of his reach. "Then answer me."

"Answer you what?" She must've caught him still sleepy; she was getting actual emotional responses.

"When you were kissing my hand," //and chewing on my knuckles// -- she decided to leave that part out -- "were you . . . I mean did you imagine-- were you thinking about me?"

Giles went white, then flushed a dull red. His voice stayed dead calm. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Buffy didn't look aside, or giggle, or blush. "Yeah. I do."

A bitter, rueful smile crossed Giles's face. "Buffy who else on earth *would* I have been thinking of?"

"I dunno. Olivia, maybe?"

Giles sighed. He tapped his nose with a fingertip, rolling his eyes when he remembered he wasn't wearing his glasses. "Olivia is . . . a friend."

"Pretty good friend."

"My God," he said, "are you jealous?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Answer me."

"Yeah I'm jealous, okay? Olivia got you to look relaxed. I thought that was against the laws of nature or something."

"Because I'm -- ah, how did you put it--"

"Old and gross, yeah yeah, I'm sorry, it just caught me *extremely* by surprise on a *very* bad day. You had fun I didn't even know about."

Giles took a breath. After a long moment, face twisting like he was speaking against better judgment, he said, "Olivia is an old friend. We took a little comfort in each other. Yes we had fun. No I don't, as a general rule, dream about her."

"But," Buffy worked it through, "you *do* dream about me."

"Buffy as strange as it may seem to you I am neither emasculate, nor am I blind. Now may I please have my glasses back so I can go upstairs and die of mortification?"

"One more question."

"Should I take hold of something solid?" Giles sighed at Buffy's blank look. "Never mind."

"Okay." Buffy cleared her throat. She thought a moment, and asked, "Are you better? Has your fever gone down?"

Must not've been the question he was expecting. "Uh, yes. I was planning on going to the shop later this . . ." he seemed to lose track of the sentence as Buffy got up and stood by his side, "afternoon . . ."

One hand on his shoulder, the other tipping up his chin, Buffy bent her head and touched her lips to his.

For a long, long moment, Buffy forgot certain things. Things like the date, her name, which way was up. Giles's lips were hot and moist, opening under hers to let her taste him. His mouth tasted like eggs and orange juice and something else, something uniquely Gilesey, something Buffy wished she could distill and drink with hot chocolate. She actually got lightheaded. Giles's hands went to her waist, holding her steady. It was the softest, sweetest, most wonderful kiss of her whole life. There were tears in her eyes when he finally broke it off.

"Wow," she sort of squeaked.

Giles cleared his throat. "May I have my glasses back?"

Buffy held up her hand. Giles took his glasses back and tried to settle them on his face. Buffy put a hand over her mouth. The frames were all bent. She must've clenched her hand without even realizing it. "Oh God."

Giving her one of those Watcher-caliber dirty looks, Giles took them right back off again. They hit the desk with a clatter.

"I'm sorry?" Buffy whimpered.

"Well," Giles got up, Buffy hovering at his elbow. He wouldn't look at her. "I suppose this scraps my plans to put in an appearance at work." He gulped down the last of his juice. "Ahh. I wonder," he set the glass down, "since I'm still confined to the house," he glanced at a point past Buffy's left shoulder, "whatever shall I do," his eyes latched onto Buffy's, burning eldrich green, "with the day?"

That little tremble was back. Except it wasn't a tremble this time. This time it was a little more like the top blowing off Mount St. Helens. Buffy grabbed the lapels of Giles's robe and pulled him in for a kiss.

Giles took the lead, guiding Buffy in a hard, passionate kiss, one that wiped out most of her brain functions. She groped for something to lean on. Giles lifted her onto the desk. Something thunked. Giles grunted into her mouth. He didn't stop kissing her though, and that was all Buffy cared about. Giles kisses equaled Angel kisses squared, or Riley kisses cubed. If the kisses were anything to go by, what would actual sex be like?

//I'm thinking flaming sheets, waking the dead, bones becoming mush, Hark-The-Herald-Angels-Sing not able to move for a week . . .// her thoughts trailed off. Her hands, trained to work independently of her brain when needed, undid the belt of his robe. Her palms slid over his bare chest. He was hot, hotter than fever. Buffy's hands felt like part of his skin, like if she stopped touching him she'd leave parts of her own skin behind.

Giles's hands hadn't sat any of this out. One settled into the small of her back, the other spidered upward and--

Buffy squeaked when, with the lightest twist of his fingers, he undid her bra. Giles took advantage of her squeak to slide his lips down her throat. Little tiny nibbles with lips and teeth made Buffy trill like a kitten. She giggled. "Knew your mouth was good for stuff besides giving lectures."

Giles's lips curved in a smile. "Quite." He latched onto her neck and sucked, hard. Buffy gasped. How the hell could he know about the bingo spot right there on the left?

"Uh . . . Giles?" she managed as he pulled away to gaze into her eyes.

Taking her face between his hands, Giles kissed her softly. "Yes?"

"D'you think we outta . . . take this upstairs?" She squirmed on the desk. "Because if this is going the way I hope it's going--"

"--you'll be picking shreds of the tablecloth out of your bum for a week," Giles finished. His arms wrapped around her back. "Hold tight now."

Giggling a little, Buffy twined his arms around his shoulders. Giles picked her up, bringing her front flush with his front. Buffy's eyes popped wide. //Wow.// She rocked a little, teasing her hips against what she found. //Wow to the wow power.//

Giles carried her up to the loft, pausing at the top of the stairs to shrug off his robe. Buffy dropped a kiss on his deltoid muscle, loving the way it jumped under her lips. She squirmed in his arms, trying to get closer, to melt into his skin. To become a part of what he was, the way he was a part of what she was.

Giles lowered her to the bed and lay at her side, inviting her to explore. She RSVPed yes, helping him out of his sweats. Tiny furrows of anxiety creased his brow and crinkled the skin around his eyes as he lay bare to her eyes. Buffy felt the weight of his heart there in her hands, huge and so fragile. She understood that a wrong breath would smash it beyond all hope of healing.

Buffy supposed he had cause to worry. Angel could've been a marble statue come to life, all smooth skin and perfect stillness. And Riley . . . put Riley on a poster and the Army would get a *lot* of new recruits, of both sexes. What was Giles? A middle-aged Englishman who'd put a lot of hard mileage on the original equipment.

//Okay, let's list.// Buffy ran her hands over him, taking notes as she went along. //Gray hair, some lines, some tummy . . . and on the plus we've got gorgeous green eyes, sweet smile, nice arms to have . . . um, shoulders, never forget shoulders . . . pecs, nice pecs, yeah, okay, there's a tummy, but it's not exactly hanging over the belt buckle . . . legs a little skinny but hello thighs . . . and oh my holy *God* that ass . . .//

Having cataloged the G-rated parts of his anatomy, Buffy let her eyes settle on the parts that belonged in a discrete brown wrapper. Her mouth dropped open. //Did I mention wow?//

Taking a second to get rid of her loose bra, Buffy pressed her lips against Giles's jaw, right on the knockout button. "I'm going to go through your closet," she slid her lips to nibble on his earlobe, "and burn every single bit of tweed I find."

Giles started laughing. "And let us take a moment," he picked up her bra, dangling it by the back strap, "and praise flimsy underthings."

"Nah." Buffy's caresses firmed and intensified, stroking his flanks and thighs, rubbing her cheek against him like a cat. His chest hair rasped against her face, tickly-itchy. She tugged at it with her lips, loving the way he squirmed under her. Her mouth wandered over to a flat nipple and latched on. Giles growled as she nipped it gently, burying his hands in her hair and dragging her up for a kiss.

"Mmm . . . not done yet," she murmured against his lips.

"Oh . . ." he lay back, rubbing her cheek with his thumb and kissing the end of her nose, "by all means."

Because she could, and because with him it seemed okay, Buffy eeled down and touched her tongue to the tip of his erection. Giles went very still, his breath trembling. Buffy licked up a large bead of moisture. She took in the taste; bitter salt and more of that Gilesey flavor. She opened her lips and drew the smooth head into her mouth, suckling ever so lightly. She glanced up. Giles's shining eyes gazed down at her like she was a miracle incarnate. No one had ever looked at her like that, not even Angel. Her gasp translated into a hard pull on his cock and he threw his head back, moaning out loud. The sound was amazing. Buffy wanted to hear it again. So she applied herself, marveling in every trip in his breathing, every soft sigh, every strangled moan.

"Wait." Buffy looked up from her work, pausing with his shaft trapped between her lips. Giles lifted her head, hissing as her mouth slid away. He pulled in a deep breath. Some of the intensity left his face.

"I'm not doing it right?" Buffy asked, pouting a teensy bit.

"For God's sake woman does it *look* like you're not doing it right?"

"Uh . . . well . . ."

Giles reared up and took her mouth in a hard kiss. "You're doing fine. I just want my turn. Lay back."

Buffy did as she was told. Giles pulled up the hem of her shirt and blew a zerbert on her tummy. At her delighted laugh, he did it again. "Giles! What are you doing?"

"You're taking this," he said, pulling her up to a sit and lifting off her top, "altogether too seriously. Besides, I love hearing you laugh. You don't do it nearly enough."

"I got it, I got it, I just . . . I don't know."

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"Just please . . . let me play." Forestalling further argument, his hands slid down her front side. They were hot and fit her like they'd been created only to touch her.

Buffy lay back, sprawling on Giles's bed. She shut her eyes, surrounded by his scent and his touch and the soft sound of his voice. Her gasp echoed through the apartment when his mouth found her breasts. With teeth and tongue he drew her nipples into unbearably tight little knots. His hand settled between her legs, touching her cunt lightly through her slacks. Buffy squirmed. It made her sex life up to now seem like an overblown groping session, never rising much beyond the level of you-show-me-yours-I-show-you-mine. Women fake orgasms because men fake foreplay.

Off came her pants. Giles scootched down, kissing her hips, her thighs, the insteps of her feet, the creases of her knees. All the time his fingers just barely rested on the front of her panties. Buffy could feel her clit swelling, seeking his direct, not teasing touch. His mouth wandered up the insides of her thighs, nibbling the soft skin. One of her hands went up by her head, clenching the pillow in her fist. The other combed fingers into his soft hair.

Giles glanced up from what he was doing. "I wonder," he said softly. "I've wondered . . . how you would be." A soft kiss to the wet silk before him and Buffy's heart skittered over several beats. "How you would sound. How you would taste . . ." the way he lingered over that last word had Buffy writhing on the sheets.

Buffy heard something rip. She sat straight up, casting about for a stake. //Can't the forces of darkness give me even *one* little break?!?//

"Easy sweetheart easy," Giles soothed. The shy smile was back as he held up the remains of her underwear. "I hope they weren't a set."

"You *ripped off* my underwear?" Buffy demanded.

"Erm, well . . ." he turned red. It was so adorable Buffy burst out laughing.

She took up the scraps of silk and lace. "Is this how you got the handle?"

"What, Ripper?" Buffy nodded. "Well yes."

With a flick of her wrist, Buffy pitched the shreds and grabbed Giles for another kiss. //All naked now. Shouldn't we be doing the interchangeable parts thing?//

//Christ, what are you five? Can't you just say, "Please Giles, please fuck my brains out"? Might be worth it to see what colors he turns.//

Buffy's run of thought clipped off clean as Giles pressed a kiss to her soaking wet bush. Her legs parted and strained wide, opening all of her to his eyes. And he kept right on teasing, with tiny kisses and little feather strokes of his fingertips. With Riley the sex would already be over. It would be enjoyable -- okay, mind-blowing, let's be fair -- but it would still be over. Parker hadn't been any better. And Angel . . . they'd only had the once, and that had been more about comfort than sex. Giles had all day, and he acted like he planned on using every minute.

With just the tip of his tongue, he guided her clit out to the air. He blew a cool breath across her wet parts. Buffy groaned. He did it again. Her hips rolled upward. She wanted him, mind and heart, body and spirit . . . mostly body. For the first time in her life she begged; begged him to fuck her hard, fuck her fast, fuck her deep. To touch her and feel her and make her complete.

Giles's tongue dove through her folds in long sweeps, scraping his incisors ever so carefully along her lips and clit. He paid extra special attention to every hollow and crease. Buffy's entire being focused on that touch, begging with splintered little gasps for that last touch . . . that one little kiss . . .

Lips fastened over her clit, sucking slow and strong. His tongue traced the hood and everything shattered. Buffy shrieked, shoving her hand into her mouth and biting down hard. Blood burst from her skin. Pain howled up her arm. All irrelevant. Her body thrashed on the bed, wringing affronted creaking noises from the mattress. And it went on and on, remaking her, changing her from the inside out.

And then he was there, stretching out over her, warmer than any blanket, and Buffy felt him press into her, felt her muscles clench around him, welcoming him in and holding him close. Buffy clung to him, helpless and incapable of anything except hanging on. As the shockwaves from her climax eased, a new one came barreling at her from another direction. Giles cried out against her shoulder, again and again. His weight pinned her square to the bed. Buffy was beyond caring. Their cries chased each other around the apartment, finally and for always banishing the empty echoes.

Giles stiffened against her. Buffy felt his cock shudder and swell inside her just as her second climax hit. And blew her away. She couldn't scream. No way was a scream big enough. Mind and body, remade new and whole, shut down. Together they collapsed on the sheets.

Buffy lay inert. She could see the rest of herself, which was a good because she couldn't feel any of it. She tried to speak and all that happened was a loose bit of spit dribbled from her lips. She couldn't even wipe her chin. Giles didn't seem to be in any better shape. He sprawled on top of her, chest heaving in time with hers.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy managed to make some noise. A soft laugh sighed out of Giles as he peeled himself off of her and shifted aside. She tried to burrow into his side, but the network connections between her head and her body were still down. She did manage to wiggle enough to clue Giles into what she was doing. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Buffy worked her mouth and tried again, "God."

"Thank you." He laughed as Buffy weakly smacked his arm. Soft kisses brushed her temple, and after a moment of gentle touches, he breathed it like a sacred promise; "I love you."

Buffy burst into tears.

Giles pulled her close, kissing all over her face, stuttering over apologies and shushing noises. Buffy shook her head, kissing off his mortified words. She put her hand over his lips and laid her head down on his chest. His heartbeat throbbed against her cheek. A fingertip picked up one of her tears.

"I'm sorry," Buffy sniffled. Giles snatched a Kleenex and handed it over. Buffy started to laugh. //Of course.// She blew her nose and tried again. "I think I've blown a fuse or something. But . . ." she swallowed. "I love you." She didn't even know it was true until she said it. But it *was* true.

Giles stretched his neck and they shared a soft kiss. They lay together for a while, pulling themselves back together, exchanging small kisses and soft touches.

The harsh bleep of the telephone made them both jump halfway to heaven. Giles reached for the extension by the bed. Buffy put her hand on his wrist. "Don't you dare. That's why God made answering machines."

"So 'tis." They body stayed put. After half a dozen rings the machine clicked on and they heard Giles's voice repeating his number and asking for a message.

"Boss are you there?" Anya's voice. "You're supposed to be here helping me, because it's Beltane tonight and we're really busy, and I tried to call Buffy so she could come and help but she's not home, and Xander can't take another day off just so you can have sex with Buffy--" Buffy and Giles exchanged a look of utter horror. "--and when I told Xander that he told me to shut up. And I've been working for hours without a break and I know you're there so pick up the phone!" Anya paused. "Please?" Another pause. "Giles pick up. I'm worried. I don't like being worried."

Rolling his eyes, Giles reached over Buffy and picked up the handset. "Hello?" he sniffled.

The answering machine kept going. "Well there you are! Why didn't you pick up the phone?"

"I'm not well Anya. You woke me out of a dead sleep."

"Liar liar, pants on fire," Buffy whispered.

"Is Buffy there? I called her house and she wasn't there. I asked Willow and she said she went over to see you yesterday."

"No no, Buffy's not here. She left a little while ago."

Pause. "So she spent the night."

Giles covered the phone and said something nasty.

"Giles!" Buffy squeaked.

"Who's there?"

Giles said something even nastier. "No one."

"Yes there is! I heard a squeak!"

"Mice."

Buffy smacked him.

"No that's-- oh! Buffy's there isn't she?" Anya's tone turned huffy. "Well I'm sorry Giles but shouldn't conducting your *business* be more important than giving the Slayer orgasms?" Giles didn't say a word. He just shut his eyes. "Just remember to use condoms. Tonight's Beltane, and the Pill does have that pesky two percent fail rate."

"I am *not* hearing this," Buffy groaned.

Giles ran up the white flag. "Anya, call Willow and Tara and ask them to help cover the store. I'll be back to work tomorrow. You may take the weekend off. For today, Buffy's just finished screaming my name and I'd like to see if she'll do it again. Now good *day*!" He slammed down the phone and switched off the ringer.

"You couldn't have found a more graceful way to let everybody know?" Buffy asked.

"Sorry. I wanted to wrong-foot that girl just once, her and her bloody orgasms. You know she actually asked about getting me a prescription for Viagra? She said, and I quote, 'Just because you're getting older doesn't mean you can't have sex like normal people.' I'm forty-four, not eighty. Despite opinions to the contrary."

"I'm going to be apologizing for that forever aren't I?"

"Only until *you* turn forty."

A bitter laugh crawled out of her chest. "Giles you know better than that."

"No I don't." His fingers combed out a strand of her hair. "You'll cover it, but eventually you'll go gray. You'll be surrounded by little children and you'll pass on peacefully, in bed, many many years from now."

"You know that's not how it works."

"Oh really? Up until very recently the Slayer was a child used as a sort of guided missile by a pack of stuffy old men. You're rewriting all the rules. Thank God."

Buffy snuggled closer, loving the feel of his skin against hers. She kissed him. "Like the one that says Watchers and Slayers shouldn't get attached?"

"That in particular." Giles rolled her to her back and kissed her breathless.

"So, 'a father's love'?"

"At the time, maybe. But . . ." he kissed her forehead. "All last year, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I wanted to find that Parker wretch and -- how did Xander put it? -- 'deconstruct' him with a tire iron. Then you knocked him on the head and it seemed a little redundant."

"You weren't ever going to tell me?"

"I didn't want to complicate your life."

"Uh, hello, newsflash? Slayer here. Life already pretty complicated."

"And I didn't want to drive you away. Not again."

Buffy snuggled some more. "When I'm old and gray, will you still love me?"

"Darling, if a thousand years from now an archeologist finds us laying side by side, nothing but dust and bones and a pair of your ridiculous shoes--"

"And tweed."

"--and tweed -- I'll still love you."

Buffy shuddered. "Thanks for the thought.

"It sounded nice when I thought it up." Giles took a breath and tried again. "I've seen you covered in grave dirt, sewer water, dust, blood, and slime -- all in the same night sometimes -- and you've always been radiant. A few gray hairs won't change that. And the first time you find one, I suggest we throw a party."

"Over my dead body."

His tone went a little frosty, "Was that supposed to be funny?"

Buffy assessed the hurt in his eyes and amended, "I don't mean like, literally, I just . . ." She started laughing. "Never mind. One gray hair party. It's a date. But . . . can't we lie and just say I felt festive or something?"

"I suggest we cast it in acrylic and send it to the Watcher's Council, with our compliments."

"Good idea." Buffy wiggled up and kissed him. "And you know what, Watcher mine?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't feel so good." She undulated her bare body against his. "I just all of a sudden feel like staying in bed. All . . . day."

"Well of course. You've probably caught my virus. I really must insist on bedrest." He rolled on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. "Enforced bedrest, if necessary."

"Mmm, and this enforcing would consist of what, exactly?"

That was the last thing she said for a very long time.

The End