Title: The Visitor 4/5
Author: Gail Christison
Disclaimer: All belongs to Mutant Enemy...well the bath is mine, though my tiles are Italian bronze not faux marble <g>
Feedback: chriscln@ozemail.com.au Always love to hear what you think
"Then I at least had that," he said softly.
"What?"
"What? Oh. I said: I wish Lassie had been there, then," he improvised, winced at the result and then glared when she rolled her eyes. "At least she wouldn't have listened to Ethan or used the bloody letter opener."
"So I'm dumber than a dog now?"
"I didn't say...you're the one who brought up sodding Lassie. I will simply never understand why you were trying to kill the only lead you had as to where I was. Why on earth would you ever want to listen to Ethan bloody Rayne, for God's sake?"
"You can talk! You got drunk with him," she shot back sullenly. "And I told you why. I thought you were dead. I thought my world had collapsed in on itself."
"Your wha...?" Giles gaped at her. "Your *world*," he growled. "You didn't even bloody know I was alive. You had the Nancy Ninja boy and Walsh and everything you wanted. How the hell did you even notice I was gone?"
It was Buffy's turn to gape. Yelling, except at Ethan or Travers, was not a Giles thing. Something niggled at the back of her thoughts. *Except for...except for when he thought she was going to die and he wanted to give them Dawn instead...*
She closed her eyes. *He wanted to sacrifice Dawn, because they had to sacrifice someone, but he knew if they saved Dawn, there was only one other...he knew, even then...Of course he knew! God, could she be any more stupid?*
She looked up at him. "I hurt you more than I ever have, that year, didn't I?"
The flash died in his eyes and after a beat he looked down and shook his head. "It's done with, past history..."
"No, it's us. And it's now," she insisted tremulously. "I can't make it right, any more than I can make The Prom or Jenny or Angelus, or running away...or any of the bad things right, no matter how much I want to. There's no way. There's so much..."
He raised a hand, then stepped toward her and touched her troubled face. "None of it matters anymore," he said very softly. "Only one thing matters now."
Her eyes lifted to meet his and their gazes held for a long time. "Maybe, but there's so much. Don't you get it? The times I hurt you the most...think about it: I come to you when I'm hurting and there's Olivia, and you in your robe sending me away, telling me to go do it myself, to get lost...that I don't need you any more. And look what happened. Look what I did...look what I did to us-to you-to pay you back for not loving me. Not just then...but when you left me this time...I did it again. Spike, the violence, the not talking to you, not mentioning your name...God, I've been such a jerk, to everyone. And the horrible thing is by tomorrow I'll probably be just as stupid again, but right now I know. I know all the horrible things I've done, and I know why."
Giles' look was unfathomable. It was impossible for her to tell what he was feeling. Then he spoke quietly.
"Are you saying I caused all your flaws? That it's my fault you've been acting the way you have?"
"God, Giles, no. I'm saying that it's me. That only you could hurt me enough for me to be that stupid. I've had a lot of pain, a lot of things to grieve, and a whole universe of things that hurt me: really, really hurt me, but none of them made me as crazy as being hurt by you. Riley and the Initiative and ignoring you were my way of showing you I could do it without you, that if you felt that way then I didn't need you either. As bad as it was, at least that time I was being proactive. This time...this time it was all totally destructive. I was already a mess after being dragged back and all the badness that went with that spell, and I couldn't see any way out. And then you were gone. After everything else that had happened, you just left.
"I shutdown, not just emotionally, but everything. I totally didn't care about anything. The violence...I didn't know why then, but it's obvious now. I was punishing both of us. I was taking out all my rage at you on Spike, and I was letting him use me and abuse me because I hated myself, not just because I was destroying myself. Not just because I thought nobody would want me, or that I wasn't human, but because I thought *you didn't want me*."
They both stared then, slightly open-mouthed, both shocked by her revelation, and astonished that she should have found such insight after being so blind for so long.
Buffy finally swallowed, not sure what Giles was feeling. He was pale and still staring, and not moving. She was shocked by what she had said, what had come from her heart out of desperation, but she knew it was true, and in a truly shocking insight, she knew at last exactly how incredibly horrible she had been. It was all she could do not to turn and run right then.
Giles was watching her, not able to do more than marvel that after so much time Buffy had finally opened her mind, and her heart. It seemed inconceivable. He thought they'd all lost her...that amazing girl he come to assume Watcher duties for so long ago, who while still little more than a child, had the strength of character to joke and laugh and make friends, all the while terrified for her own mortality and tortured by the loss of freedom, choice and future that being the Slayer represented.
He'd known they were losing her after she returned from Los Angeles that summer. Certainly she was never again the Buffy they all knew, and by the time Angel had moved on and she started college, it was obvious that they were unlikely to ever get that girl back again. She had carefully packed away that generous heart of hers after Angel was done with it, wrapped it up tight and put it far away where it couldn't be broken again. None of them were allowed to see it, and not even Riley, for all her neediness, was privy to the lacerated, broken thing it was, particularly after her mother's death.
What was stunning in her revelations was that, of all of them, it was he who had the most power to hurt her. He'd always assumed the opposite...that she gave not a single whit nor felt a moment's censure over anything he said or did...or felt.
Now he wanted that single malt more than ever. He was such a turmoil of emotions, not sure what he wanted more: to throw her out, to hold her close, to shake the living Christ out of her until her teeth rattled, or to take her in his arms and teach her how to truly love...and then to love her until both of them dropped.
Buffy, watching the subtle changes in his expression, the torment in his eyes, couldn't hurt him any longer. The words were wrenched from her.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!"
And with them, feeling as though her heart had exploded and imbedded itself in tiny, hurtful pieces in the wall of her chest, she fled.
This time, however, she did not count on the speed with which he could move with enough warning. By the time she'd reached the front door he was there, and his powerful hands had seized her. They were hurting her as he turned her and lifted her off the ground. She could have killed him easily, but she did nothing, ready to take whatever he felt the need to do to her.
With just as much force she was dragged against him, his arms wrapping around her and crushing her, and kissed, harshly, demandingly, until her lips were bruised and he threw back his head.
"I didn't say you could go," he growled.
Buffy was almost afraid to look into his eyes. They were blurred with pain, and anger, and desire.
"I'm done with hurting you, Rupert," she said miserably, using his given name deliberately. "I won't. Not any more. I love you too much."
The pain and anger faded away, leaving the green eyes bright with love and blurring once again with desire.
"Then love me instead," he demanded and met her seeking mouth with the same desperation and greed.
Their kiss transformed into a kind of erotic dance, seeking, taking, provoking each other's lips, mouths, tongues in a sensual exploration, questioning, answering, merging into each other's souls.
Somewhere amid the passion, Buffy had wound her legs around his waist, and he had moved his hands to cup her buttocks. The momentum of their desire drove their movement...Giles turning obliviously toward the stairs. She weighed next to nothing, and the combination of his desire, adrenaline and the hypnotic effect they were having on each other, meant that he'd reached his bedroom even before either of them realised what they were doing.
He finally forced himself to relinquish her lips, breathing heavily and desperately wanting to plunge back into them again.
His body language told her he wanted to put her down, but didn't want to let her go. Buffy, electrified and almost exploding now with unresolved desire, didn't make it any easier, deliberately keeping her legs around him as she slid, until her warm centre contacted the hard contour of his jeans.
He groaned loudly, echoing her soft moan. Both of them trembled then grew still for a moment. Then Buffy let go and landed easily on her feet, still feeling the waves of pleasure rolling over her and Giles' warm hands on her arms. One of them moved to her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin as he looked down at her.
"I love you so very dearly," he whispered.
For the first time in her life Buffy felt a rush of love, a sense of belonging, so powerful, so strong that it took her breath. She wanted to love him, hold him and take him, all at the same time, forever and ever.
"Then love me," she whispered, her love, her desire, lighting up her face and her eyes with a glow the like of which he had never seen in them before.
It was true. He had never seen Buffy truly happy...until this moment.
This time the kiss was slow and tender and impossibly intense. By the time they parted both of them were finding it difficult to think straight.
Buffy smiled at him a little when he hesitated before reaching out to unbutton her coat with trembling fingers. She stroked his forearms reassuringly as he worked his way through the buttons then helped shrug it off so that it slid to the floor. Then she raised her arms slowly.
Giles drew a rattling breath at the implicit invitation and swallowed hard. As a lover he was without fear or peer. Normally nothing phased or truly challenged him, but at that moment the enormity of what he was doing was almost suffocatingly upon him.
As though she understood, Buffy shifted and began undoing his shirt buttons instead. He did not object, but the rhythm of his breathing changed as her knuckles brushed his skin and her fingers worked their way toward his belt.
If his desire had wavered in that one moment, by the time she reached his belt and began unbuckling it, it had got over itself and was once again straining the limits of the denim of his jeans. When the buckle was unfastened he stopped her from proceeding further.
"I-I want to see you, but it feels..."
"Wrong?" Buffy filled in, pulling the pins from her hair. "I know. But things change. We change." She reached down and slowly pulled the sweater over her head, listening to his guttural exclamation as her bra-less form was revealed. She smiled. "Now that's something I never expected to hear my stuffy Watcher say out loud."
"My God, Buffy," he whispered. "You are beautiful...but so terrifyingly young."
She stepped toward him, took his hand and placed it over a small, full, breast. "No I'm not," she said quietly. "I'm old. Way older than you'll ever be."
Their eyes met again, and Giles could see the truth in hers. Life and death had taken so much from her, as it had from him.
As if to reinforce her point, Buffy's fingers unbuttoned his jeans and slid the zipper down slowly. The tension was growing almost unbearable, but neither one of them wanted to rush.
Slowly, but drawn, like a moth to a flame, Giles bent his knees and his head to caress her right breast with his lips. Her cry of pleasure was audible, as were the small moans that followed while he pleasured her with all of his considerable experience. He found himself trembling as he did so, still stunned at the way fate had turned, and almost overwhelmed both by his own passion and the very act of finally being able to touch her, to love her.
Buffy shuddered as his warm, firm mouth closed around a tender bud and held it while his tongue explored the soft, sweet skin and toyed with the rigid peak. Her whole body was resonating with the intensity of her arousal.
She brought her fingers to his hair, the act of burying them in it as erotic as what he was doing to her. As he continued, her skin became more and more sensitive to his touch, so that when his lips slid across to the other breast she gasped and threw her head back, arching when she felt him unbutton her pants at the same time, and burning with anticipation.
Never before had she been so completely aroused, so connected to her partner. Never before had she been so in love...
His fingers slid inside the open zipper, just enough to make her groan with pleasure.
And then they both stopped at exactly the same moment, each of them flushed and glowing-eyed, and looking longingly at the other.
Each knew why the other hesitated, why this moment was so breathtaking. And neither could bring themselves to make the next move.
Instead, Giles took her in his arms, and when Buffy's had wound around his neck, they kissed each other with all the pent up passion and longing in their bodies until finally he swept a hand beneath her knees and lifted her, carrying her to his bed and sweeping all the covers to the floor as he lay her on it.
Buffy watched his jeans fall and shuddered as he removed her boots and easily slid off her woollen pants. She liked the dark blue designer boxer-briefs he was wearing. They were small and made of a soft, stretch fabric that hugged his legs, his waist, and the very obvious evidence of his desire for her. And it was equally obvious that Giles was entranced by the tiny slip of lace she was wearing.
Nice underwear was Buffy's one continuing fashion vice as the Slayer. Regardless of what she was required to wear or how disgusting the mess got, she could always feel special anyway by wearing pretty underthings. They were not one of her favourites, cut too high and too narrow at the back, giving them a tendency to ride up and pinch, especially in pants, but she'd worn them for luck.
Never in a million years would she have believed Giles would ever see them...yet here they were, and he was running a forefinger under the lace. She shuddered and gasped as it caressed her soft folds, aware of the muffled sounds of desire he was making as his fingertips contacted the tender flesh.
"You are so very lovely," he whispered and bent to kiss the rising curve of the pale blue lace.
Buffy groaned again, and arched to him, but he was moving again, to lie beside her. She turned immediately, wanting to run her fingers across that broad chest and to touch...just to touch all of him.
"So are you," she said whimsically, aroused even more by the feel of the soft golden mat of chest hair and amused by the sprinkling of grey ones. She kissed his chin and mouthed his neck.
"Nice to know," he said, the words coming out in a breathy whisper as he caressed the small, creamy breasts she presented to him once again as she turned.
"Giles," she said as her fingers roamed his torso.
"Mm?"
"I love you."
He paused. "Buffy, are you all right?"
She looked up at his concerned face and nodded. "I-I wanted to say it out loud...I needed you to know. Whatever else I've done. You're the first...the only one I ever truly loved. I just wanted to tell you."
He drew her into his arms and held her close for a few minutes. "Silly girl," he chided gently. "How am I to remain suitably aroused, if you're going to get all sentimental and silly?"
From her blissful snuggling against his chest, Buffy shifted and let her hand slide down to his boxers, allowing her fingers to search out the contour of his erection and to caress and play with it. Within moments he was again stretching the fabric to its limit.
"Problem fixed," she giggled.
In reply he trailed his hand down and slid his long fingers beneath the band of her g-string, letting the tips caress and stroke once more the swollen flesh beneath, until she groaned and whimpered in his arms.
"Turn about is fair play," he pointed out, then lapsed into silence, albeit a groaning one, as Buffy slipped her hand back into the opening of his boxers and extended that thought.
Her touch was an exquisite experience, like fire along his length, the movement of her fingers sending waves and waves of pleasure through his whole body. He felt about eighteen again and just as hard...not to mention in just as much peril of disgracing himself like a nervous virgin.
It was time to take things in hand. He leaned down to kiss her then eased her back, before setting his mind to removing the slender g-string and his own briefs.
When the last barrier was down, he hesitated just slightly before laying down beside her once more.
Buffy had been watching him and smiled at his small discomfiture. "You're beautiful, Giles. And in tip top condition too, circulation wise, judging by the kind of extreme attention your friend is standing at, there." She caressed his almost painfully hard erection again, her admiration genuine, as genuine as his shudder of pleasure.
He smiled and coloured slightly, but continued to caress her body as they spoke, letting his fingers roam over every curve, enjoying the small sighs and gasps and occasional groans that he managed to elicit from her.
"And so are you, I see," he replied, trailing fingertips down the inside of a creamy thigh and smiling again when they parted a little more, and she made a small whimpering noise.
She was painfully lovely, if too thin after the long road back from her traumatic resurrection, with her ripe breasts, their pale pink buds also at attention, and those womanly curves all the not eating in the world couldn't hide. Whether she liked it or no, Buffy had baby-bearing hips...woman's hips, and if she would only let herself relax long enough to actually ingest sustenance, she would again know the glory of them...
For a moment he allowed himself to remember the full-figured sixteen-year-old Buffy and how much promise she held of the woman she would become, before fashion took hold and she'd succumbed to the temptation to turn herself into, at times, an almost androgynous coat hanger to the modern trends. Something that made him wish all fashion houses, designers and magazines to hell and a fiery death for the risks they drove their young devotees to endure for the sake of fashion.
"But you're too thin," he told her, letting his fingers play across the heat beneath the small triangle of dark curls.
Buffy gasped, then scowled. "I am not. I'm just right."
"Something we can argue about on cold nights," he said gruffly, "while I feed you buttered toast and bacon to fatten you up."
As though to reassert herself she pushed him back and straddled his hips. "First of all I can think of better things to do than arguing and better things to eat than toast and bacon. Second of all..." she said, settling her damp heat over his hard length and wriggling a little for effect, "I can think of way better things to do right now than worry about how much I weigh."
Almost beyond speech at that point, Giles agreed, but stopped her for a moment and reached down to the side drawer next to his side of the bed. He drew out an open box of condoms and spilled them onto the cupboard.
"It's open. Should I be jealous?"