Title: A Shark Tale of a Different Kind 1/4
Author: Gail Christison
Rating: PG-15 for mild nudity, sexual references; sharks
Summary: You take Rupert with you on a shark diving expedition
Timeline: Post-Chosen. A few references to the seventh season.
Disclaimer: S'all Joss's. Just playing with Rupert for a while
Feedback: Would be lovely chriscln@iinet.net.au
Distribution: All those who have permission feel free :-) Anyone else wants it...ask and it's yours.
Author's Note: The ship is fictional though inspired by a real one. No I haven't been shark diving. Yes, I've watched way too many documentaries <g> Yes I have been diving and snorkelling and yes I've been sailing on an 81 foot ketch, and yes I know the area I'm describing ...some more, some less, but it is my home state :-)
Dedication: This is for Kim, who loves sharks and Giles...not necessarily in that order <g>
Pairing: ABH; G/OC
It's a glorious, blazingly hot day in Port Lincoln, with vibrant blue sky, tiny wisps of cotton cloud here and there and a sun with attitude burning down on the countryside, including your courtyard table, beneath its pretty turquoise umbrella.
You, however, don't care. You look across at your companion, noting that the deep lines of bone weariness he's worn for months have now begun to fade. He's obviously enjoying his scotch and soda, the tinkling of the ice in it as he picks it up again part of the peaceful atmosphere of the hotel. You smile a little remembering his initial reaction when the friendly female bartender, noticing the beads of perspiration on his brow, sacrilegiously suggested the ice.
It's not exactly the Ritz, but it's comfortable, and Rupert did give you a couple of days luxuriating in the Adelaide Hilton before taking the seemingly-tiny commuter plane across the gulf to Port Lincoln to pick up your leg of the tour. You cast your mind back to your arrival in Adelaide, and the fact that both of you didn't last much past a very pleasant shower together before collapsing into a near comatose-state for twelve hours. Neither of you were prepared for the effects of such a long straight-through journey, particularly given your own workload and how stressful things had been for Rupert, constantly torn as he was between the agenda of the newly-emerging support organization for the world's Slayers, and abiding concern for the one Slayer who would always be his, and the welfare of her friends.
It had been easier to adjust to the dry, shimmering heat of an Australian summer after the wind and rain in Somerset, than to deal with the relatively rapid time-zone changes.
After a good rest, however, the stay had been most pleasant. The two of you discovered a huge undercover produce market behind the hotel and, despite the gorgeous breakfast available in the lobby with its brass kettles of sumptuous hot food, and trays of fruit and pastries, couldn't resist the mouthwateringly fresh bread, cheese and astonishing variety of fresh fruit available in the Central Market.
The changing fragrances as you wander along the rows of stalls, from hot nuts to fresh peaches, mangoes to melons, hot bread to Italian coffee were gorgeous, as were the colors as you passed displays and piles of plums, nectarines, oranges, tangerines, kiwi, apples, pears, apricots, passion fruit, pineapple, rambutan, paw-paw, mango papaya, cantaloupe, strawberries, cherries, bananas...a myriad of varieties...you give up naming them after that, content to choose what you want and move on to the displays of cheeses and sausage of all kinds, flowers, and the continental food stalls.
Rupert had even found himself some Stilton, and worse, smoked eel, much to your chagrin, though he had raised an eyebrow at your one frivolous treat: curried roasted peanuts...until he tried them. It was fun...poking around in the rows of produce and marveling at the veritable cornucopia of races and cultures and voices blended together under the Australian flag...a lot of fun.
And neither of you had had fun in a very long time.
Adelaide had also been a pretty city, with its bay trams and green squares of grass and trees, and a mixture of old and new architecture; also an extremely walk-able place. You'd both enjoyed the luxury of doing exactly that from Victoria Square to the banks of the River Torrens, day and night, without worrying about what horror might be lurking around the next corner. The Festival Center at night had been quite breathtaking from across the river, but you were more inclined to remember the knee-shaking kiss on its banks than the lighting of that unique building...
Southern Australia was also far too far away from the nearest Hellmouth for most denizens of the dark to linger in, making it one of the most peaceful places Rupert had been in for many years.
"Penny for them," he says softly, watching you drink.
You stop toying with your Tropical Itch and look at him over the tiny parasol on it. "I was just remembering how much I enjoyed Adelaide. It's so pretty for such a small city. And you seemed so...relaxed."
He smiles and nods, before looking around at the not-quite-luxury standard décor of the hotel behind you. "Are you still glad you came? We can always go back to the Hilton for a few days, then pop up to the Reef for a week or so, if you like. They have just as many up there, you know. Probably more. Or I read that there are often Humpback whales along the coast..."
You take a long sip of your drink and mock-frown at him. "Whales?" you tease. "Cute, but...not here for the cetacea, remember? Not around until July, anyway. Besides it's not quantity, it's quality. I've dived plenty of tropical reefs and studied plenty of smaller sharks...white tip, black tip, tiger sharks... mako, you name it...that's not why we're here. If I were going to look at something else, it would be Grey Nurses. They're in trouble here."
"Mako...Isurus oxyrinchus," he muses. "Horrid teeth."
You grin again. He's an incurable researcher. You frown suddenly as something occurs to you. "You really are worried about this, aren't you?"
He raises a lazy eyebrow at you, trying to register irritation, but failing utterly, that mischievous smile peeking through again, instead. "You think this adventure will be any more dangerous than an army of Turok-Han in full flight? Or even Buffy in on the warpath, for that matter?"
You laugh, aware that he's making light of all of it, but allow yourself to be drawn into your own thoughts, momentarily. You know he's worried about a great many things. Worried about the new Council, about Buffy's association with the Immortal, and more than a little concerned about Willow and Kennedy's activities in South America, working as they are, more or less independently, on the recruitment of young Brazilian potentials who'd suddenly found themselves fully-fledged Slayers, with no way of understanding why or how. When Rupert had discovered that they were also making trips alone to far more dangerous locales outside of Brazil, from Colombia to Guatemala, and even to some remote village high in the Andes, he'd hit the roof, then stayed distracted and irritable for days. And now he was worried about you...
"I suppose not," you admit, "but I really want to do this and I'd really like you to enjoy yourself too. You enjoyed the refresher course, didn't you?"
He rolls his eyes at you, but the grin returns. "I survived it. Bones aren't what they used to be. Twenty years ago it was easy, even fun, doing something like learning to dive. You never even knew what new muscle groups you were using..." The smile faded. "Even if it was less for recreation than as a requirement for a department the Council was moving me into at the time."
You watch the shadows from the past play across his face and realize it's time to move on to other topics. "Well, I think your new wetsuit is damned sexy," you tease. "I know you'll thoroughly enjoy yourself once we get out there."
He snorts and polishes off the last of his drink in one shot. "Multi-coloured, seven millimeter neoprene long johns don't strike me as particularly attractive," he points out, looking down his impressive nose at you. "Particularly since, at my age, without a custom-made suit the damn thing clings to all the wrong bits."
You laugh, enjoying his deliberately humorous self-deprecation, content in the knowledge that he looked damn fine when he tried the new suit on and grudgingly modeled it for you in the change room. As far as you were concerned it clung to exactly the right bits...
Even the hired short suit he'd used to train in had looked great on him, though he would never appreciate the aesthetics of those legs or that amazing arse of his...
"You'll appreciate every millimeter when you hit the sixteen degrees C water out at North Neptune for the first time," you chuckle. "And so will I."
He snorts again and raises a subtle hand to a passing waiter. "You'll be so bloody busy with that infernal camera of yours, you won't even know I'm there."
"I always know you're there," you purr provocatively. The banter between you has become so relaxed and so comfortable in the time you've been together that even his grumbling is sexy, and you don't really mind. With his mind on a hundred different, often stressful, things at any given time, he's still taken the time to research for you...
And above all else he's here, now, and there's color in his cheeks, a light back in his eyes, and, God, he's actually sprawled in his chair. You can't remember the last time he wasn't at least slightly on edge or didn't look ready sprint off at any moment.
Just then the afternoon sea breeze catches his hair and a returning fishing boat attracts his attention. When he slides his prescription Serengetis back on to look out to sea, your breath catches and you wonder, not for the first time, how you managed to be lucky enough to fall in love with someone like Rupert Giles...
*******
After a sumptuous dinner at the Moorings restaurant, where you floated through Oysters Michael followed by local garlic king prawns and crowned by a main course of sumptuously fresh local King George whiting - washed down, in your case, with Rosemont chardonnay, while Rupert contented himself with a crisp Barossa Riesling which he savored with obvious relish - you walk back to your harbor side room for the night.
The cleansing smell of the ocean is omni-present, and the sound of the waves meeting the nearby shoreline of Boston Bay makes a soothing background as you explore the Town Jetty on your walk back to your hotel room. The one or two fishermen still out at the end of it, one patiently jigging for squid, his catch laid out on newspaper next to him, and the other, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, just as patiently cleaning his gear and packing up for the night, both look up and smile absently before continuing what they're doing. When you reach the very end of the old wooden pier, the sea smells distinctly fishier and it echoes a little, lapping at the pylons underneath in a regular rhythm.
The evening is warm and the stars are astonishingly bright. You say as much to Rupert.
He stops and looks up, contemplating the milky wash across the roof of the sky. "Pity about the lights of the town," he says idly. "Wait until you're out on the boat."
You refrain from pointing out that you've done enough dives around the world to know how much better stargazing is out on the water, where there's no light to obscure the view. Still, for various reasons, you haven't really had much quality time with the southern night sky, for all the traveling you've done. So you readily agree that you're in for a treat.
You move closer to him and lean against his arm as you gaze up at Crux...the Southern Cross, contemplating the ship's arrival the following night, and having to join it so late in the evening. You are both excited, and apprehensive about the trip. One thing, of which Rupert has confessed to having precious little experience, is sailing, either under motor or canvass, and you will be doing both over the next few days. Being stuck at sea for four or five days when you're seasick can be a miserable experience...and not something you would wish no anyone, especially him.
"You asked me if I was sure," you venture quietly, "but what about you? It's a long time to be out at sea when you haven't really done it before."
He curls a large arm around you and pulls you close to him. "Don't worry about me, love. A little mal de mer is neither here nor there in the great list of my life's...less pleasant...moments. And failing all else, I brought Quells," he adds dryly, turning you toward him.
You look up slowly, feeling the heat of his chest through your thin dress, and inhaling the mixture of his personal scent and the subtle cologne he's wearing. You can just see the glint of the new earring you gave him in the light of the beacon at the end of the jetty. While you love the diamond stud you know means so much to him, you wanted to see him in a hoop...not to mention it gave you the perfect excuse to buy him a gift.
He loved the antique silver earring on sight, and has worn it for the whole trip so far.
"What are you thinking?" he asks tenderly, looking down at your face in an endearingly puzzled way.
"I was thinking about your earring," you tell him honestly. "And remembering how much I love you..."
A slow smile lights his features, shadowed though they are against the glow of the main street and the spill of the beacon's light on the water.
His head bends slowly and you melt into the kiss. You will never tire of the power and the velvet softness of that sensuous mouth. It's a long time before either of you is ready to surface again. And even then, it's only because the departing fisherman suddenly hacks over what is probably his last cigarette for the evening, making both of you jump like guilty teenagers.
You giggle and he chuckles sheepishly before dropping another kiss on your brow and pointing out how much more comfortable it would be in your hotel room, right about now.
You can hear the cheekiness in his voice. It's wonderful...and new, and exhilarating. You've seen glimpses before, but up to now this side of him has mostly been buried under responsibility and finances and worry, not to mention the constant fight against evil and the mind-numbing sorting of the affairs of all the Council's fallen. Someone had to confirm the seemingly-endless casualties and inform the next of kin, and of course he'd assumed full responsibility as naturally as though he'd always been 'where the buck stops' in that organization; an organization which, essentially, had forsaken *him* a very long time ago.
He's watching you think. "You sure you aren't mentally rhapsodizing over your beloved sea wolves with their bloody great teeth and bad dispositions?" he teases.
"Nope," you shoot back, kissing him again. "No sharks right now. Just enjoying being here with you, like this." Moisture actually rises in your eyes and your throat tightens, because you know how precious this time is...that it can't last. You reach up and touch his face. "I love you so much...but until now I've never seen you like this..."
The puzzled look was back.
"Relaxed...content...happy," you explain softly.
His fingers play across your cheek and slip into your hair. "You make me happy," he says, equally softly. "Even the flight was more relaxing than my life has been...for just about as long as I can remember," he adds ruefully.
You can't help smiling. "You hate air travel. All those flights you took, gathering potentials and organizing Council affairs. Even talking about it always makes you grumpy," you tease.
Rupert nods. "I did get heartily sick of airports and planes...but of course they had one grave handicap...you weren't there..."
You stare into the sea green eyes that have always been able to mesmerize you. It's a romantic sentiment...frivolous even...but you know better. Rupert isn't on speaking terms with frivolous. His charm is in his innate honesty...and that makes you flush to the roots of your hair as his head bends again. Then the world disappears for a while...and you don't remember anything, except his expert lips reiterating the sentiment...deliciously.
*******
You let yourselves back into your executive suite...the term, of course, being relative to the location...and you cast yourself on to the bed, kicking off your shoes as you go, whilst Rupert slips into the bathroom. It's been a lovely evening, and you just know that the rest of the night is going to be equally wonderful.
He emerges in just his shorts, lays his clothes over the back of one of the chairs and turns toward the bed.
"Mm," he says, his eyes tender. "Am I meant to be unwrapping...?"
You stop stretching and grin back. "Depends what you're going to do with your present..."
The laughter lines crinkle, oh so sexily, at the corners of his eyes as he grins back wolfishly.
"I think something can be arranged," he answers, and joins you on the bed. Your dress is cast aside within moments and, lying on your stomach, you luxuriate in the feel of his hands traveling over your back, massaging, caressing, making you shiver with pleasure before he unsnaps your bra and you turn over to allow him to ease it off and throw it on the carpet with the rest of your clothes.
You roll back and he continues to rub his fingertips over all the right places to un-bunch and un-knot muscles you didn't know were bunched...and knotted...his touch gradually melting every knot, and nerve, until, finally, you feel you could just about be poured like cream, you're so relaxed. At this point you decide that turn about is fair play, and maneuver him into a position where you can return the favor.
You adore his back. He's not Arnold, but beneath the smooth skin of the lean torso, you can feel the power won by sheer hard work and years of training. You love the feel of his skin under your hands, and he's obviously enjoying your ministrations... including the not-unskilled massage you're intermingling with the caresses.