Title: Anywhere But Here - Rupert Giles
Author: Firedrake
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: G/You
Email: Email: cogbehaviorist@ivillagecom -or- fanficrdr@ivillage.com
Summary: Y'all know what Anywhere But Here is, right? No? Then you need to brush up on your Buffyverse. ABH is a game the Scoobies play, where they come up with scenarios of where they would like to be other than where they are.
Disclaimer: the majority of these characters, except where noted, are the property of Mr. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, UPN, Warner Brothers, and anyone else who pays for a little piece of the pie. All music belongs to various and sundry other people, most often MCA Records. All original characters are the sole property of the authors who created them. I have no money, I only do this for fun, please don't sue me.
Feedback: I gave you TWO email addys. Come on, do I have to *pay* you or something?

Y'all know what Anywhere But Here is, right? No? Then you need to brush up on your Buffyverse. ABH is a game the Scoobies play, where they come up with scenarios of where they would like to be other than where they are. This will most likely end up being moved to a different page, but it'll go here with my other fic for now. It is, of course, NC-17. Enjoy!

You slip into the crowded, dimly lit coffee shop. Offering a casual wave to the waitress, you quickly move across the floor to your favorite booth. Smiling, you turn the ‘reserved’ sign onto its face and settle into the dark corner. Almost immediately the waitress shows up with a steaming cup of tea. She’s gone as soon as you offer her the standard generous tip. It’s a little more than someone on your budget should be able to afford, but there’s no sense in messing up a good thing; she not only makes sure that this corner booth is reserved for you every week, but she also keeps a low profile while providing a bottomless cup of the best tea this side of the ocean. You glance at your watch as you savor the first drops.. it’s almost time .

Right on schedule, Rupert Giles steps onto the small stage and begins to tune his guitar. Here, in the darkness, unnoticed, you can watch the Watcher. His strong hands move easily over the strings, and you can’t help but sigh. How would those hands feel tangling in your hair? Sliding over your bare skin? Everything else seems to disappear as his soft, deep voice floats toward you. Your eyes close, and you’re lost in the safety and comfort he always- even unknowingly- provides.

You can tell his set is drawing to a close; it’s almost time for you to slip back out of the shop. For what seems like the hundredth time you wonder how long you can keep this secret. When will you finally be caught? How will he react when he discovers you’ve been attending every one of his performances, hiding in this dark booth? No matter. It won’t be tonight. Gathering your coat, you wait for him to introduce his last song. You’ll leave, as usual, just before he finishes, while he’s still distracted.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to dedicate this last song to someone very special to me, who happens to be in the audience tonight. I believe she knows who she is.”

You freeze, every nerve in your body taut, as from across the room his green eyes meet yours. He knows! Your mind moves in a myriad of different directions as Giles plucks out the first haunting chords of Iris. ::Run:: your brain screams. ::Running would be very, very good right now. Just. Go. Now.:: But the rest of you simply isn’t cooperating. You’re trapped by the pull of his voice, by the implications behind his dedication. ::And I’d give up forever to touch you…:: What would happen if you stayed?

No. Time to go. You shake yourself out of your stupor just as Giles finishes the song. Not sparing a glance toward the stage, you’re out the door faster than even you thought possible. Once outside, you pause long enough to take several great, heaving breaths. ::Calm. Gotta stay calm. Wouldn’t do at all to get jumped by vampires because I’m not focused.:: The breathing seems to help, and you turn in the direction of home. You can work this out in the safety of your house, preferably with a large drink.

As you walk past the alley next to the coffee shop, an arm reaches out and grabs you around the waist, pulling you into the darkness. You would have screamed, had it not been for the instant tactile recognition. You know who it is, even before the scent of his cologne reaches you. How many times has he touched you in passing during research nights with the children? The feel of his hands on your shoulder, on your arm, on your back, every time has been frozen into your memory. Still, you find it difficult to turn around and look into his eyes.

“You disappeared so quickly. I was going to offer you a ride home. You shouldn’t be out alone at night, you know that.”

::Please don’t let my voice crack. Please don’t let my voice crack.:: “It’s.. it’s not that far. And I don’t want to be a bother..”

“You could never be a bother. Were you not paying attention earlier? Do I have to make myself more clear?”

Where did that wall come from? And how did you come to be firmly situated between it and Giles? You frantically look around for an escape route, but his hand on your cheek- god, those hands- stops you.

“Don’t run from me. Don’t run from this, from what we could have. Please. I’ve been waiting so long, waiting for just the right moment. I’m not waiting any more.” His voice is little more than a whispered growl, and the spark in his eyes serves to underscore the truth of his words. Your tongue peeks from between your lips, wetting them, attempting to buy you some time to form a coherent reply, but that was apparently the wrong choice of action. You hear him suck in air, and then his lips are pressing tightly to yours. He is crushing you against the wall, one hand entwining itself into your hair, the other wrapping around your waist. His kiss is positively animalistic, born of long-denied, desperate need, and you meet it with your own desire. Tongues and lips clash, teeth mark as they move across jaws and down necks, fingers dig into soft, yielding flesh.

He pushes his leg between yours, the strong, hard muscle of his thigh against your core, and you instinctively begin thrusting yourself against him. There is surprisingly little shame at the thought that you are essentially humping Giles’ leg in an alley; there is only the pure, sweet pleasure of his body. His hand slips into the waistband of your skirt, pulling you tighter against him, speeding up your rhythm, as he nips at the lobe of your ear. You’re so close…

“That’s it, baby. Let go. Let go for me.”

And that pushes you over the edge, your cries swallowed by the warm cavern of Giles’ mouth as you buck against him. You’ll swear later that your release was so intense that you passed out for a moment; the next thing you know you’re panting hard, your face pressed into Giles’ neck. When your breathing slows, he pulls back to look at you.

“Car. Now.”

You’re a bit taken aback at this new, forceful Giles, but really, like you would dream of saying no? He grabs your hand and almost pulls you to the parking lot, ushering you into the passenger seat. He takes your hand again as soon as he settles into the driver’s side, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb.

You don’t remember the particulars of the drive (only that it was made in record time), or of your arrival at his apartment (only the unfamiliar noise of the lock turning behind you as added insurance against the Scoobies). But you remember, in vivid, minute detail, every second of what happened when you reach his bedroom. You remember the way his fingers trembled slightly as he slowly undressed you; the way his gaze softened as he lowered you onto his bed and stood over you, admiring the beautiful sight before him. The way he seemed to undress himself much faster than he undressed you, not even attempting to hide his eagerness. The first sight of him naked; the light dusting of hair on his chest, the corded muscles, the scars that you would later trace reverently with your fingertips, the very impressive erection that curved out from his dark curls. The feeling of his body covering yours, pressing you into the mattress with its weight, warming you to a fever pitch with its heat. The discovery of exactly what his hands felt like sliding over your skin, cupping your breasts as he brought each one to his lips in turn, teasing the puckered nipples and making you gasp. And finally, perhaps the best memory of all, the way he gathered you into his arms, holding you tightly, as he entered you, his eyes never leaving yours, his moan of pleasure matching your own. How you seemed to fit perfectly together, how the moment of your joining lasted an eternity before Giles began the torturously slow pace of your lovemaking. How your legs wrapped easily around his waist, your hands running over the smooth lines of his back, your hips rising to meet him. The feather-light kisses he placed on your face, on your neck, on every inch of skin he could reach. The soft, loving words that rumbled from his throat and seemed to connect directly with the fluttery place in your abdomen. And then.. oh, and then. The way he sped up, reaching between you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, the way he begged you to come for him again. The way the fingers of his free hand tighten into your back when you whisper his name as you fall over the edge.

And no matter how many times you’ll hear it in the future, you will never forget the sweet song of him crying your name in pleasure as he fills you with his warm seed for the first time.

He pulls you into his arms, pressing your body against him, not letting even a bit of you lack for his touch, and lifts the comforter over both of you. You smile as he tucks the edge of the comforter under you, pinning you in place, before he finally settles down and rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Comfy?”

“Mhmm.”

“No more running, luv.” he whispers into your hair.

You sigh, and nuzzle deeper into the hollow of his shoulder.

“Never.”

END