TITLE: Sound the Deep Waters 5/5
AUTHOR: Crystal Paulk byron_wilde@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: BTVS belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, UPN, FOX and Mutant
Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. Manchild belongs to the
BBC. Don't sue cause I have nothing.
"This is so cool," Buffy exclaimed, examining the cherry finish of the railway car's interior. "How'd you find it? We can really stay here? It's like something out of a trashy detective novel."
"Umm .. It … It actually belongs to James."
"What? Huh? He's got that loft. What … does he need ….Oh."
Trying to soothe her embarrassment, Giles explained. "I hope you don't mind. And I know it's awkward. But I called him while you were at the restaurant's facilities. Apologized actually."
"Why did you need to apologize?" she asked, accepting a glass of wine.
"Well I sort of punched him," he admitted.
"Really?" she said, tamping down a surge of pride that Giles had defended her honor. Even if she hadn't really deserved the defense. "And he wasn't mad?"
"No. He was actually … well occupied," he said, judging her response. She had after all spent the night with the man.
"You mean he was with a woman?" she asked, accepting her Watcher's silence as an answer. "I'm not at all surprised."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Why should it? It's not like I was in love with him. We just had sex. No biggie."
Giles didn't like her tone. He hated that Buffy would treat her body so carelessly. Not that she had much reason to do otherwise. Her taste in lovers was abysmal. Starting with Angel and ending with James. Crossing to the velvet sofa, and sitting at her side, he said seriously. "It is a biggie. Sex. Intimacy is a gift. One you shouldn't offer lightly. I know you've made some poor choices in the past, but that doesn't mean you should assume all men are asses. You need to respect yourself, your body. Don't accept less than you deserve."
Her laugh was bitter, and mocking. Cold. "And what do I deserve exactly, Giles? Love is about honestly. Well in my life honesty gets people killed. Hell, my mere presence gets people killed. Death is my gift. Remember? The gift that just keeps giving."
He'd seldom seen her so angry and self-loathing. It was that moment in the Magic Box all over again. Him trying to explain why he must leave and her begging him to stay and then storming off. Refusing to say goodbye. "I know it's difficult. Our lives. And I haven't been the best example for you. My own love life has not been the stuff of great romance."
"And that's my fault too. Olivia totally wigged after that thing with the Gentlemen and .. and … Miss Calendar." She was crying. Great gulping sobs. Her chest heaving and shoulders shaking.
Giles took her glass from her fingers, placing it and his own on a side table. Then drew Buffy into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin as if she were a small child.
"Shh. Shh. Olivia leaving was not your fault. We'd been friends long before and I'd never made it clear exactly what my world entailed. She thought it was all dreams and fancy. Bedtime stories to make me appear dashing and heroic."
"But you are dashing and heroic," she protested, her sobs subsiding as she cuddled on his lap.
Praying that she would cease wriggling, Giles continued. "Nonetheless, the reality was terrifying and not your fault. And as for Jenny. Yes, I loved her. But she placed herself in a position based on lies. Withheld information that could have cost your life. As it was it cost hers. And I am sorry. I'm sorry she died. I'm sorry I couldn't avenge her. But what happened to Jenny was beyond your control."
"But it wasn't," she said earnestly. "That fight after we blew up the Judge. He was there and I had the stake and instead of killing him I kicked him in the balls."
Despite himself Giles chuckled, imagining the big vampire on his knees, clutching his bruised scrotum. "And I bet it was a very satisfying kick." Speaking seriously. "And, yes, looking back killing Angel might have saved Jenny. But nothing would have salvaged our relationship. She'd betrayed you and by betraying you, she betrayed me. I'm not sure that's a wedge that could have been overcome."
"Giles," she argued. "I saw your apartment that night. The scene was set. You were expecting her."
"All I was expecting was that the two of us might talk without the threat of Snyder or anyone else listening. The scene was Angel's. A perfectly designed stage meant to send me mindless after him. By killing me he hoped to weaken you." Stroking her hair, wiping her drying tears. "You kept that little tableau from its ultimate ending."
"He hurt you so much," she whispered. "How can you stand knowing he's alive."
"For a long time I couldn't," he admitted. "I hated him. Hated him more than Xander if that's even possible. But more than hating him because of what he did to me, I hated him for hurting you. That first time you were together. Neither of you knew the repercussions, though Angel might have taken some time out of 100 years of brooding to research into his curse."
Speaking honestly, and more from the heart than he intended, Giles continued, "But I came to understand that Angel's return from hell was also a curse. He's not alive. To love a woman and know that you can never have her. Never walk in the light with her. Never to have a future. To see her happy with another. Know that she's moved past you. Knowing that in all likelihood you will stand witness to her death. That is also a kind of hell."
His hands were quiet, gentle holding her. The room silent, but for their raspy breaths. The sounds of night in a city muffled. She heard the roar of an airplane or maybe the rush of blood in her veins. "Loving someone is never easy is it?" she asked hesitantly.
"No," he agreed, his voice rough with emotion, barely audible over the steady thud of his own heart. "In fact, except in rare moments, love can be quite painful. Almost unbearable."
"It's a wonder we even bother," she said. "It must be because the alternative is truly unbearable."
So warm and soft in his arms. How he wished the rest of the world would just go away and leave them alone. "Perhaps. Perhaps we're just a couple of fools."
"Better a fool with you than any other fool," she said softly, her hand reaching up to lightly cup his cheek. She felt wetness on her fingertips and realized he was crying. Tipping his face toward her own, a tear dripped on her own cheek. Their lips barely a whisper apart.
"Buffy?" a question. A promise.
"Shhh." Her fingers sliding into his hair. Her hold was steady, but not unbreakable. He could still move away. Instead he moved into her mouth. A light, chaste brush of lips. Soft, warm. His stubble rough on her skin. Their tears mixing. Another kiss. This one much less tentative. Blood boiling. A fire igniting the flesh. His own fingers tangling in her golden hair. No past, no tomorrow. No slayers or watchers. No bloody demons. All the reasons why this should not be were cast aside. The miles between them. Mistakes. Pain. An empty grave and too many others filled with lost friends. Just this moment with this woman. Her tongue teasing his lips, seeking entrance. A whimper. Her? Him? The watcher retreated, leaving only the man. He turned the kiss against her, plunging his tongue in her mouth, seeking submission. Tasting sweet wine, dinner's exotic spices and her own essence beneath. Deeper, richer than he'd possibly imagined. Her shirt discarded. The ties of her halter top ripped in eagerness. Her own fingers impatient with buttons, fumbling with need to touch bare skin.
Pressing together. Naked breasts. Perfect. With diamond hard nipples that burned tiny holes in his chest. His shirt gone, tossed to the side. Still too many clothes. He cupped her ass, forced her tight into his groin. Her bucking, dry humping him. Her lips latching on to a nipple. Teeth tugging at the hard peak. Sharp fingernails teasing the other, making flesh shiver and pebble. His mouth found the scar on her throat. Angel's dark kiss. Dracula's. Spike's? Giles' mind roared that these creatures had dared touch her. The hard pulse of her artery. Teeth scraping the skin. He bit lightly, then harder as her thighs clutched his sides, still riding him. Sweeping her into his arms, their mouths fused, nipping viciously. Teeth and tongues sliding and dueling. The bedroom. Dark, only light from the window. Enough to see her. Skin glowing. Magic lit from within. Good skin. Soft skin.
Nipping her belly. Feeling it quiver under his touch. Boots off. Leather pants peeled away. More skin. Smooth silk. Her fingers on his shoulders. Tugging his hair. Urging him. And those sweet cries. Glorious whimpers as he bites the sweet skin of her thigh. Gentle bites and lapping. Her flat stomach taut. His fingers sliding over the scrap of silk covering her mound. He can smell her. Feel the heat, the wetness. Flailing legs. He holds her thighs to the bed. Teases her folds through the cloth. Taste rich. Like her mouth, but more. Fuller. Still Buffy. More. Needs more. Dragging the panties down her legs. Perfect legs. Strong. Able to cause terrible pain. Tonight they'll wrap around his waist as he rides her. Naked now. Quivering. Trembling. Skin like pink coral. She's a natural blond. He'd always wondered. Moisture, beading in the folds. Her clit ripe, swollen. Still teasing. Soft and delicate motions. Taste is unbelievable. Still in his jeans his cock is hard. Painful. It hurts from wanting. Her foot sliding against the denim, seeking his need. Soon. One finger sliding to the knuckle. So wet. So tight. Inside her muscles clench. Every part of her is strong. Squeezing him till he might pop. Another finger finding, stroking her pleasure point. Teeth scraping endlessly over the swelling nub. She's crying now. Pleading. Begging. He likes it. Music in his ears. When she cums, her thighs clench so tight his head pounds from the pressure. Taking her over the edge again so easy. Riding the waves of her pleasure nearly as sweet as cumming himself.
"Jesus, Giles Fuck me." Pushing him off snapping the buttons of his jeans. Stripping him as if he's a doll. Both of them naked and her sliding down his body. Pink kitten tongue dipping into his navel. Better than heaven. The tortures of hell. Endless moments of hot breath on his shaft. Balls heavy in the sack. Tongue slippery and electric against his scrotum. Then back up the shaft. He's never been so hard. Afraid he might spill before he gets inside, but can't stop until he's felt her mouth on his cock. More of that warm, wet, electric heat. Clutching sweaty handfuls of bedding. Desperate not to grab her head and force her mouth where he needs it to be. Evil woman. Bad Slayer. Lips circling the cockhead and tongue lapping at the foreskin. And then it's nothing less then fire. Tingling fire and a dull throbbing ache deep in his gut and behind his balls. No more. Too much. He drags her soft wet mouth from her prize. Reluctantly, but wanting her other heat more.
Rolling so that he's looking in her eyes. Sparkling, flashing. It could be magic. Poised at her entrance. Loving the way she wriggles. Those lovely, lovely legs locked around his waist. Dragging the tip of his penis through her sobbing folds, over the swollen bud. Damp curls tickling his cock head. More pleading. A soft insistent growling. Her legs tighten and his first thrust is deep and true. Those inner muscles he'd felt earlier on his fingers gripping his cock, not wanting to let go. He pushes deeper. Can feel the hard wall of her womb. His balls against her ass. And that lovely mouth with its perfect, clever tongue sucking sweat from his throat. He withdraws, thrusts again. This time she cries out. Animal. Primal. Once in his youth, traveling with his parents in Africa, he saw cheetahs mating. The male powerful. Muscles bunched and tight beneath tawny smooth fur. Claws raking its mate. Buffy's cries are like the she-cheetah's. Out of the darkness and the wild. Her fingernails leaving bloody welts in his back. But what is a Slayer, if not wild. Wild and wonderful. Passionate and more alive than any other. He answers her roar. His howl a deeper echo of her own. Reaching between sweating bodies to find her clit. Pinching the slippery nub and loving the responding spasm around his cock. So close. He worries the clit again, ripping the orgasm from her core as his own release fires.
They lay together for long moments. Buffy curled contently at his side. Her hair damp with perspiration. Giles has never loved anyone so completely. In her sleep she is peaceful. Their lovemaking has exhausted her and Giles feels pride in the knowledge that he has loved her so throughly. Sleep beckons, but his thoughts are too tumultuous. And though she is warm, safe and alive in his arms, he knows her life will seldom be those things. Peace. A normal life. She begged for those things. Death is her gift. But her death will be hard. Destiny dictates that her death will be violent, brutal and painful. Death by the hands or claws of some creature who only cares that she is the Slayer. Perhaps a vampire seeking glory and fame. Whatever, it won't care that the life it snuffed was special. That this Slayer was not just an instrument, but a warm, vibrant, loving woman with dreams and passions. Death is her gift.
She sighs softly, whimpers, fingers curling in his chest hair. So breathtakingly beautiful. He kisses the top of her head. She smiles in her sleep. He slips easily from her grasp. Straddles her. Kissing both breasts reverently and the nipples pucker and harden from even that slight contact. The pillow in his hands. Over her peaceful face. She bucks hard and he's ashamed that his penis responds to her movement. Writhing, shuddering, she nearly throws him from the bed, but while she is strong, he is large and dead weight. He cries as her leg jerks once, twice and is still.
Dripping with sweat Giles awakes. His own bed. The flat in Bath. Gasping, sobbing. Oh Jesus, just a dream. None of it real. A sharp ringing. The telephone. His answering machine picks up. And his blood is ice to hear the voice of a dark-haired young man across the ocean.
"Giles!" Xander is crying and screaming with fear. "Oh Jesus Christ, Giles. Where the fuck are you? It's Willow. Oh God it's Willow."
The End