TITLE: Bindings
AUTHOR: Kerry Blackwell
PAIRING: Giles/Joyce, Angel/Other
RATING: NC-17 overall
DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own them. Wish I did.
SPOILERS: This series follows the show up to Revelations in season 3, then takes a very sharp turn into its own alternative universe.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is one story, told in - currently - three separate pieces. It was going to be a five part story, but I stopped writing it after three parts instead. All the same, it works fine if you stop here. Maybe I'll write the last two one day. No promises.
FEEDBACK: Well of course! Please...
SUMMARY: Giles discovers his life is inextricably linked to two Summers women. Meanwhile, a totally unexpected fate catches up with Angel.

She was having trouble getting the door locked, trying to find the right key in the dim light. The gentleman in him wanted to help, but he stayed a step back, waiting for her to do it herself. He knew better. She was stubborn and proud - a family trait she shared with her daughter - and neither Summers woman particularly appreciated even well-meant assistance when they thought they should be able to do whatever-it-was themselves. Even if the whatever-it-was was only getting the Gallery door locked.

Finally, the lock snicked closed and he pretended he hadn't heard her exasperated sigh of relief. Joyce turned back to face him and the light from the streetlamp caught her hair, for a moment turning it the same gold as her daughter's. Then she smiled, and the smile was all her own.

"Thank you, Mr Giles. I know it's rather sad, but I really did need an escort for tonight and I didn't know who else to ask. I'm grateful to you for coming to my rescue."

It took a moment for him to choose which part of her comments to respond to first. He decided to start at the beginning, even if it did make him stumble a bit. "You've...you've been calling be Rupert all evening, don't feel you have to stop now."

"Oh." She sounded a little embarrassed. "That was for the clients. It makes a better impression."

"Even so," he insisted, not exactly sure why it was suddenly so important.

She bit her lip, a unexpectedly insecure gesture, then smiled again. "All right...Rupert. Thank you for coming tonight. Just having you standing there, looking handsome, helped me make at least two sales that I know of, maybe more. Even if you were totally bored."

"I wasn't bored," he insisted, a little less than truthfully.

She gave him a look.

"All right..." He pretended to reconsider. "No vampires, no demons, no fate-of-the-world hanging in the balance. Not one single supernatural event in sight. You're right, it was a boring evening."

She laughed and came to join him at the top of the steps. "Let me make it up to you then. Penny's will still be open. How about ice-cream?"

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Is that the Summers' solution to all things?"

"A lot of them," she admitted with a half-embarrassed smile. "Will you let me buy you an ice-cream?"

He offered her his arm and was a little surprised when she took it. Even more surprised at the spark that snapped between them when her hand settled on his sleeve. The way her fingers clenched for an instant told him she'd felt it too, but she didn't draw away, just let him escort her down the steps to the car.

This close to closing, Penny's was almost deserted. They picked a booth near the back and slid into the cracked vinyl seats. A bored looking waitress trailed over to the table, took their orders unenthusiastically and wandered slowly away again.

"Such boundless enthusiasm," Giles commented and Joyce laughed.

"She probably thought she was going to get to go home early and we've ruined that."

"Oh dear. Maybe we should..."

Joyce put a hand on his arm, stopping him from getting up. "Don't be silly. It's her job and I want my ice-cream." He sank back into his seat and she let him go, reclaiming her hand and trying not to notice the sudden, unexpected tingling in her fingertips.

"So," she said in a desperate attempt to change the subject, "How's the vampire slaying?" and could have kicked herself the instant the words were out of her mouth.

He blinked, but answered her question in that endearingly awkward, gentlemanly way he had. "Ah, very well actually. It's been rather quiet lately, which has given everyone a chance for a break." He pulled his glasses off and started wiping the lenses with a perfectly white linen handkerchief, clearly a well-ingrained habit, but one Joyce hadn't seen before. "I...I think the children need that. A little time to catch their breaths. Even poor Emma is starting to get used to the idea of living in a town full of vampires."

Joyce thought of her daughter's latest recruit, who if not exactly part of "the gang" was quickly qualifying as support personnel. "I guess getting attacked by a vampire on your first night in town isn't really the way to be introduced to a new place."

Giles' mouth quirked, but his eyes stayed serious. "She was lucky Buffy was there, or she wouldn't have had a second day." He shook his head. "I think I've taken away all their childhoods."

He looked so forlorn she reached out again, to lay her hand back on his. "No you haven't," she insisted fiercely, vaguely amazed at her need to defend him, even from himself. "You've kept them alive, given them a chance to have adulthoods." She looked up to meet his eyes, caught by the depth of them, no longer hidden by his glasses, and wondered why she had never noticed them before. "I've never thanked you for that, have I Rupert? Instead I've yelled at you, insulted you and accused you. Without you, my daughter would probably have died on her first night in town. Thank you."

He was totally embarrassed now, a red flush creeping up his neck to his face. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, desperately trying to find some kind of answer, but nothing came out. Joyce, highly conscious she was the cause of this distress, wracked her brain frantically for something to say, but couldn't think of anything at all.

They were saved by the arrival of the waitress with their orders. They made a show of eating steadily, attacking ice-cream and chocolate fudge and sprinkles with more enthusiasm and concentration than was really required.

Until their eyes suddenly met, stealing a glance across the table at the same moment, and they both started to laugh. "How silly," Giles said quietly and Joyce could only nod, relieved she hadn't ruined the evening after all.

They found they could talk then, without the embarrassment that had been dogging them for so long, ever since the night they never really acknowledged had even happened. They talked about her next showing at the gallery and he had a number of useful suggestions, ideas and angles she hadn't considered. About his job at the British Museum before he had come to Sunnydale and Buffy and she found she could hold up her end of the conversation without feeling inadequate or sounding stupid. Nice, normal small talk that had nothing to do with the forces of darkness and creatures that walked the night.

He told her about his home in England, growing up amongst green fields, grey skies and age-old tradition, painting an idyllic picture that she suspected was only part of the story. She could tell he missed his homeland, but it was also clear that for now at least, he saw it as part of his past. His place was here, in Sunnydale. With Buffy. Regardless of what the future might hold, his now was here.

She told him about her own childhood, sun and parched earth and water restrictions, so different from his. The ramshackle, messy house that had driven her crazy just as much as she had loved it, getting into mischief with her sister and getting each other out of trouble. Not high school, not Hank, not really even Buffy.

Just the two of them, finally getting to know each other.

They probably could have talked all night, but the bored waitress soon developed into first a grumpy waitress and then a pointedly-looking-at-the-clock waitress, and eventually the pressure got just too intense.

After a particularly ferocious glare, Giles sighed. "I can face demons and vampires and Buffy in a bad mood, but I really don't think I can take much more of this. Perhaps we should go."

"I guess we should," Joyce agreed almost reluctantly and let him escort her back to his car and drive her home.

Joyce was just deciding whether she felt up to making pancakes for breakfast when the doorbell rang. Since she already knew the answer was 'no' (but after hearing Buffy get in after 3am from whatever Slayer duties she had been carrying out last night her 'guilty-mother' mode was running on overdrive), she was glad for the interruption. She flicked a glance at the kitchen clock to see it was 9 o'clock on the dot and she smiled, suddenly knowing exactly who was at the door.

He was back in 'Librarian mode' - all tweed and glasses and understated English reserve. But she found she could still see his clear green eyes behind the glasses now, and she smiled.

"Good morning Rupert."

"Ah, yes, good morning Joyce." He held something up, small, black and sequined, the purse she had been carrying last night and completely forgotten about until now. "You...you left this in the car. I thought I might...that is, it seemed only polite...I, ah..." He thrust it out at her. "I brought it back."

She took it, opening her mouth to thank him, but he kept on talking without giving her a chance to say anything at all.

"And I... I just wanted to say I had a lovely time last night. I thought, maybe, we could, we might, well..." He trailed off, but they both knew what he was trying to say.

He was really quite cute when he stammered like that.

She was just thinking that an actual date might be a distinct possibility - no strings, no complications, no commitments - when something went through her like a bolt of lightning. Something that made her feel lightheaded and weak at the knees, and rather as if she had just been turned completely inside out. A glance at Giles' face suggested the same thing had just happened to him.

And instead of suggesting he call her later as she had planned, she found her self saying in a shaky voice, "Why don't you come in? I'll make us some coffee."

She could see it, swirling between them. Wisps of colour in the air, twisting and turning around them, tying them together, heart and soul.

They had the look too. That "I've just been hit by a Mack truck" look that she remembered so well from when it had happened to her. They didn't know yet, she could see that. All they knew was that something momentous had happened, something that would change the foundations of their world forever. What it was they would only discover when the fog and the confusion cleared enough for them to start thinking again.

"Emma?" Joyce Summers even sounded a little dazed. "What are you doing here?"

"We got back late," Emma explained. "So Buffy said I could crash here, instead of traipsing all the way home in the dark."

"Ah, yes, a ... a very wise idea. One can never be too careful, not ... not around the Hellmouth." Emma swallowed a smile at the words. Poor Rupert, he sounded totally disoriented, more lost even than on the day they had stood together beside his father's grave. If, fortunately, for a happier reason.

The growing soul-bond swirled again and they stepped even closer, neither realising they were doing it.

And that was when the room went dark. For just a moment, a moment when she could See the future, spreading out in front of them. Not all of it, none of the details, just the general way of things to come. Joy and sorrow, laughter and much love, heartbreak and pain, the breaking of one bond and the forging of another. And the sure, certain knowledge that she could never let any one of the three of them know what she had Seen.

She forced herself to focus on the growing soul-bond and the room settled around her again, reality - or what passed for such in this place - reasserting itself. This time, Emma let herself smile. Ah, Rupert and Joyce, what a time you have ahead of you. The bond comes when it chooses, but once it does there is no escaping it. And the greatest bonds, the strongest ones, are those that are sealed in the Old Ways. And whether you know what those are or not, they will find you. As they found me and my own.

She couldn't decide if she was furious, or hurt or just plain crazy. She did know that she wanted to knock Buffy around the head for keeping such an important secret. Mostly, she wanted to gather Rupert in her arms and make it all better, but she knew she couldn't. This hurt went too deep for that and one of the hardest lessons she had been forced to learn was that there are some things you just can't make better for someone else, no matter how much you love them.

So she was going to do something to make herself feel better. Temporarily at least. She was going to stake herself a vampire.

He was easy to find. He was at the Mansion, just as Xander had said. Sitting beside the fire reading a book. When he heard her come in he closed the volume, carefully marking his place before setting it down, and stood. She stopped in the doorway and he walked around the furniture until they were facing each other across the open expanse of floor.

"Who are you?" He sounded surprised, but not particularly concerned, not even when he saw the stake in her hand.

She knew what she looked like and she didn't care: Emma, 17 years old, small and delicate, the gang's new offsider, still getting used to vampires and demons and life on the mouth of Hell.

She smiled at him, smiled coldly with all her 750 years of living and loving and hating. "I'm Rupert Giles' mother. And you are one very, very dead vampire."

There was a brief flare of alarm in his eyes, a stiffening of his posture, but when she started to walk towards him he just stood there, his arms at his sides, waiting for her to come.

She was maybe six feet away from him when it happened.

The truck hit. The sky fell. The world exploded.

She stumbled to a halt, the stake falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. Looking up, she saw he was moving now, the same dazed and confused expression on his face that she knew must be on hers. She couldn't move, could barely blink, could only wait.

The was a small part of her that could still think clearly, a small part that was getting smaller and smaller with every step closer that he came. That part of her understood, knew what was happening here and wanted to laugh wildly at the irony of it.

She had never expected a soul-bond to find her, the way one had found her mother, and later her brother. She had loved Adrian, but she had always known that was all it was, a deep and abiding love and not the linking of soul and mind and heart that the soul-bond brought with it.

But here it was. Caught up with her. Soul-bound to the one she had come to kill.

He had reached her now. He stopped, just a touch away, lost and bewildered, not understanding but as caught as she. She looked into his eyes, soft and brown and befuddled, and her brain shut down completely. No more thinking, no more understanding, just emotion and instinct and the magic swirling between them.

There was nothing tentative about that first kiss. No dominance either, just certainty and strength and passion. His lips closed over hers as her hands slid up around his neck. He clasped her around the waist and pulled her closer and she gasped as their bodies touched. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tracing the line of her lips with his tongue before sliding it into her mouth. She responded by tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him even closer, kissing him back.

Her tongue joined his, teasing, touching, brushing the inside of his mouth and she shivered, feeling the heat coursing through her veins, from her toes to her fingertips and pooling somewhere in between. She could feel a flush breaking out on her skin and while his remained cool, she knew he felt the same. Inside. She could feel it in the way his hands traced patterns up and down her back, tracing the line of her spine and rubbing circles and spirals across her shoulder blades with his thumbs.

He might be stronger, but she had a strength of her own and she broke the kiss at last, needing to breathe. He immediately transferred his attention to her face. His hands moved up to clasp her shoulders and he trailed a line of kisses along her forehead and down her cheek to finish at her ear. She sighed, her breath hitching, as he teased the sensitive spot with lips and tongue and teeth and she let her head fall back into his hand, waiting there to support it.

The kisses continued, trailing down her throat to her neck until he paused, shuddering. The movement was violent, involuntarily, and she could feel it running through the length of his body, in all the places where they were touching. Against her skin, she felt the planes of his face changing, ridging, hardening, turning into that other side of himself as instinct won out over reason and sense and morality. She smiled, and tilted her head back a little further.

"Yes," she whispered softly.

And gasped as his sharp, pointed teeth broke the skin of her neck, sending another shiver rocketing through her, heat and pain and pleasure and desire. Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if his hands had not been holding her up. His grip tightened instinctively and the movement seemed to let something more than simple desire and instinct into his already clouded mind.

He pulled away from her, a horrified look in eyes that slowly shifted from yellow back to brown. And was stunned to see she was smiling.

She ran a finger across the point where her shoulder met her neck and held it out between them, blood covering her skin. She looked down at her hand, then up again to meet his eyes and said softly, "It's all right. It's part of it."

"Part of what?" His voice was ragged, confused.

"Shhh." She shook her head and touched the bloody finger to his lips. "I'll explain later."

He shook his head, but he was shaking, from the blood, the desire, the magic.

She could feel it all herself; the need and the lust and the bond's growing power. "Go on," she insisted softly.

With that permission he stopped fighting. He ran his tongue the length of her finger, tasting the coppery tang of her blood, before taking it into his mouth, licking and sucking until her skin was clean and her lifeblood was inside of him. She tilted her head for him and he leaned forward, doing the same at the puncture marks on her neck. Kissing and sucking and licking until the blood was gone. She stood quite still the whole time, shivering at the touch of his tongue and the feeling of the wound closing itself up under his lips.

He would have continued kissing her, up her neck and back to her lips, but she put her hands against his chest, hard and smooth under her fingers, even through the black silk shirt, and pushed him away. He stumbled back a step, confused, but stilled again when she raised a hand to brush his cheek with her fingers.

She traced a path down his cheek with one finger, her nail scoring a line in his skin, leaving behind a trail of blood. Before he could react her hands moved upwards again, tangling in his hair and pulling his head down so that she could kiss the cut on his face. She ran her tongue along the line of broken skin, tasting his blood, salty and sweet and unnaturally cool.

He leaned into her for a moment, then pulled away, the effort to do so unmistakable. "No," he insisted in a hoarse, ragged voice. "No. Don't. I'll... You'll..."

She shook her head, his blood still on her lips. "No I won't. This is older, more powerful than that." She pulled his head down again, into another passionate, soul-searing kiss and he could only respond in kind, tasting his blood on her lips, his own life, mixing with hers.

His tongue swept into her mouth, exploring with confidence. She leaned into the kiss, even as her hands slid from his hair, down his neck and shoulders to find the buttons of his shirt. He deepened the kiss even further, his hands cupping her face, as she undid each button until his shirt was hanging loose from his shoulders. Instead of slipping it off, she slid her hands around his waist and up his back, tracing the line of his spine, the flat, hard planes of his shoulder blades.

He shifted his attention back to her neck and shoulders, kissing and nipping and teasing. She trailed her hands lightly across his sides, feeling him shiver involuntarily, and concentrated on exploring his chest with her fingers. He stiffened when she brushed one nipple with her thumb and she took advantage of his moment of distraction to pull away from his kiss and let her tongue and lips join her hands' exploration.

He responded by reaching for her waist, his fingers finding the bottom of her top. She felt a shiver of excitement rush through her at the thought of his hands and mouth of her bare skin and she placed one last kiss on his nipple, one last long sweep of her tongue up his chest to his throat, before breaking away and raising her hands above her head, her invitation clear.

He slid her top up her body, his hands moving slowly and sensuously, cupping the swell of her breasts for just a moment before pulling the top on upwards, dragging it over her upraised arms and dropping it to the floor. She didn't move, only spread her arms a little wider, and his hands came down to her back, undoing her bra strap with practised ease and gently, even reverently, pulling the satin and lace away from her skin. Only when the bra hung lose from her shoulders did she drop her arms and let the garment slither from her shoulders to fall disregarded at their feet.

He eyed her for a moment, creamy skin and rosy nipples hardening under his gaze, then dropped his head and took one breast in his mouth. She arched against him as his tongue swirled across her nipple and tangled her hands in his hair, holding him there. He let one hand ghost softly down her side until it reach the waistband of her skirt, using the second to tease her other breast, stroking and tweaking and touching, touching, touching.

That first hand searched blindly for the fastenings to her skirt, but when he found the first button he changed his mind. Before she knew what to expect he had shifted his kisses back to her mouth and swept her into his arms. He carried her to the fireside and carefully set her down on the soft rug there. She caught her balance and knelt there and he dropped to his own knees to join her. His eyes were full of passion and desire, and she knew hers were the same.

She reached out to touch the collar of his shirt and he shrugged his shoulders in a single fluid movement, sending it slipping down his arms. She helped him slide it all the way off and tossed it behind them. She turned her attention back to his chest, running her hands across the muscles, across the skin, until she reached the waist of his pants. With a concentrated expression on her face, she undid the fastenings and pushed them down his legs, pushing his boxers down with them. There was a moment of laughter, near disaster, as she reached his knees, but they negotiated that and soon his trousers joined his shirt, forgotten on the floor.

And he was kneeling in front of her, naked. She ran her fingers down the centre of his chest, from his throat all the way to his erection and ran her fingers along the rigid length, curling her fingers around the shaft. She would have done more, but he shook his head. "Not yet," he whispered harshly, the first words either had spoken in a long time, and pushed her back.

She settled back on her knees obediently and he reached for her skirt. He found the first button and was delighted to discover it wrapped around her. All her needed to do was undo each button and it pulled away from her, a single length of cloth. She smiled up at him, the expression cheeky and passionate at the same time, and just leaned bonelessly backwards, wriggling a little until she was lying on her back on the rug, her feet at his knees, her legs bent, wearing only her panties.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on either side of her knees, and kissed his way up her inner leg from her ankle to her knees. He stopped there for a moment, exploring the joint with his tongue, hearing her breathing speed up, turning into panted gasps. He teased her a little more, then took pity on her and continued the trail of kisses up her thigh. He kissed her though the damp satin and she arched up against him, moaning incoherent words. He hooked his thumbs in the elastic waist of her panties and slowly, sensuously, dragged then down her legs, following with kisses. He pulled them over her feet and tossed them aside.

She opened her legs wide, inviting him in, and he retraced his path, dropping more feather kisses on her skin. He reached the junction of her thighs and kissed her where she was begging him to, nipping at her most sensitive places, stroking her with his tongue, driving her to distraction. Just as he felt her reaching her limit, he moved upwards again, carefully, apparently clinically, exploring her waist and navel with his tongue and lips and teeth, teasing her.

But she refused to be teased. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, urging him upwards and inwards, arching up against him and letting her body do her begging for her. She felt his lips curve against her stomach and he trailed his kisses upwards towards her mouth, moving across her so that he was poised at her entrance. Both of them ready.

Until something made him change his mind.

And she was left cold and bereft when he rolled away from her suddenly, to lie on his back beside her, staring at the ceiling and not-breathing raggedly.

The cool air swirled across her suddenly exposed, heated skin, making her shiver, arousing her even more. "What...?"

"I can't..." he said in a harsh voice, still refusing to look at her. "I can't. I'll lose my soul. I can't let that happen again. Not even for you. I can't." He took a deep, ragged breath he didn't need. "I can't. I want you so much. I... I love you, forever, even if I don't understand how that can be. This could never be anything less than perfect, and I won't let it happen again. I can't lose my soul again. Not even for you." The last words were whispered. Anguished.

Ah, so that was it. She rolled over, slid across him until she was straddling his hips, able to feel the proof of his need pressing against her. "You don't understand, do you? This is a soul-bond. A mixing of minds and souls and hearts. Your soul is safe now, forever. Because it is part of mine." She could see from the look in his eyes that he didn't believe her. He wanted to, but he couldn't.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing across his chest, and felt him shudder. She dropped the lightest of kisses on his mouth and pulled back again, just far enough to be able to look him in the eyes, her hair falling across his face. "Trust me," she insisted. "I'm older and more powerful than you and I know what I'm talking about." She smiled. "And I love you too. We never stood a chance, once the bond hit us. Now shut up and make love to me."

She felt the magic of the bond spin between them again, and this time she actually saw his reaction to it. A widening of his eyes, a tightening of the already taut stomach muscles beneath her, as the bond made him understand. She wriggled her bottom against him, as provocatively as she could. "Make love to me," she repeated and it was an order and a plea.

He laughed suddenly and clasped her to him, rolling them both over until she was underneath him again, barely able to feel the rug beneath her shoulder blades, aware only of the length of him pressed against her.

"I don't even know your name," he said softly.

"Emer," she answered. "My name is Emer. Now would you please stop talking."

He laughed again and kissed her on the chin, trailing a line of fiery feeling up her cheek to her right eye, carefully avoiding her mouth. "I'm Angel."

"I know," she agreed. "I came here to kill you, remember. Now would you just shut up." She extricated her arms from where they had become caught between their bodies and tangled her hands in his hair, dragging his face down to hers. "Just shut up," she repeated breathlessly and captured his lips with her own.

They kissed with a depth of passion that was almost frightening, no more teasing, no more games, only a harsh, desperate need to become as much one with the other as possible.

No time left for subtlety, no time to learn slowly each others most sensitive places, what made them sigh, what made them moan, what made them laugh. They could do that tomorrow, next week, next year, next century. For now, they just wanted to finish this, to be complete in each other.

When he entered her she was more than ready. She felt him slide into her, unexpectedly cool, and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in even deeper. They found a rhythm with ease, as if they had been doing this forever. He thrust into her and pulled out again, and she lifted her hips to meet him perfectly every time. He found her face with his lips and kissed her, mouth and cheek and neck, and she let her fingers dig into the muscles of his back, her nails raking his skin in time with his thrusts.

They were nearly there, and they both knew it. He thrust a little deeper, a little harder, and moaned her name against her neck, nicking her skin with his teeth and tasting her blood in his mouth. She arched her back, wanting to scream. Instead, she caught his exposed shoulder in a kiss and bit down with her sharp, white teeth. Hard.

And they fell together.

The world really did explode. A rainbow of colour spun out of the air around them, encompassing them, red and green, orange and gold, blue and violet and all the shades in between. It twisted through them and around them, contracting about them until it was only a single white light that split itself in two and disappeared, lodging itself deep inside them, tying them together until the end of their days.

Blood and sex and magic. Soul-bonded forever.

Quite unable to resist, Emer let herself give in to temptation. She flashed her son and his newly bonded lady a wicked smile. "I know you'll be very happy. And do have a nice day."

And she skipped out of the kitchen to go and collect her things from Buffy's room, leaving them starting after her in confusion.

Angel found her on the hilltop, gazing out over the city's lights. He came up behind her with that silent, cat-footed grace that had so confounded her at first. Halting behind her, another shadow among the shadows.

"What happened?" He knew something had happened, their bond told him that, but he still needed to ask for the details.

Emer didn't turn, didn't look away from the lights. She simply answered the question, as if she might have been talking to the air. "Rupert just soul-bonded with Joyce Summers."

There was a brush of movement behind her, what would have been an indrawn breath if he had had any breath to breathe. "That's a surprise," he said finally. There was a moment's silence before he added, almost reluctantly, "If I'd been going to guess anyone, I'd have guessed Buffy."

"Her too," Emer said quietly. "When Joyce dies, he'll bond again. With Buffy." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly frustrated. "But that's all I Saw. There were no details, no specifics, no nothing. Just the knowledge that one day Joyce will die and when she does, after a while, he'll bond again. To Buffy."

Angel stepped closer, so that she could feel him now, a solid presence at her back, not quite touching her. "I thought you said a soul-bond was a one-shot deal."

"It usually is. There must be a reason for this. I just don't know what it is."

At last he touched her, wrapping his arms around her. "Then we'll just have to wait and see," he said softly, and bent his head to nuzzle her neck.

Emer sighed and leaned back against his chest, letting him.

Ironic really. The Lady of the Sidhe and her Daemon Lover.

Blood. And sex. And magic. Soul-bonded forever.

"Hey, Emma, slow down!" There was the sound of footsteps in the corridor - one set swift and sure, the other a little more reluctant - and then Buffy's voice drifted back towards the kitchen, just before the door slammed. "Ah, bye Mom!"

"They've gone," Joyce said unnecessarily, her voice sounding bemused.

"So they have," Giles agreed absently, much more interested in the way the light reflected in her eyes and wondering why he'd never noticed it before.

She blinked, tearing her gaze away from his. "So...ah...shall I make that coffee?" She turned towards the bench, stopped halfway and turned back again. "Or perhaps...would you...um...maybe prefer tea?"

"Huh?" Giles mumbled blankly, belatedly realising what she had said. "Oh...oh...tea. Yes, tea, tea would be lovely." He trailed her across the kitchen. "Let me help."

She turned around, her back to the kitchen counter, and smiled at him. "Thank you, Rupert."

There was something in the look on her face, the tone of her voice, they way she said his name, that made him forget all about tea. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a hand instead, to brush her cheek softly with his fingers.

And with that touch it was like something broke inside him. Or maybe it put itself together, all the pieces suddenly falling into the places they had always been supposed to be. He bent his head, to find her lifting her face to his and their lips met in a hard, passionate kiss that was all desire and need. Her mouth was already open under his and he plunged his tongue inside, brushing the roof of her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers. She twisted her hands in his hair, pulling him down as if she could bring him even closer, begging him to deepen the kiss. It was carnal, all lust and hunger, and neither of them wanted it to end.

Eventually, they were forced to come up for air. They pulled away from each other, just enough to breathe, both gulping in great lungfulls of oxygen, their breathing ragged. Joyce let her hands drop from his hair, resting them on his shoulders instead. "This is too fast," she finally managed to say.

Looking down into her eyes, dark and deep with passion, Giles tried to nod. "Much, much too fast," he agreed brokenly.

She smiled at him, her lips rosy and swollen with desire and he felt the hunger rising even higher. "I don't think I can stop though," she added, her voice low and husky.

Giles let his hands slip to her waist and before she knew what to expect he had lifted her and set her on the edge of the kitchen counter so that their faces were level. "Neither do I," he agreed in a distant, clinical, observer's voice and he closed his lips on hers again.

There was nothing distant or clinical in that kiss. If anything, it was even deeper, even more possessive than the first. Joyce felt like she was being devoured, and the fire that built inside her was overwhelming, hot and molten and inescapable, sweeping her away. She dragged her hands through his hair again, her fingers digging into his scalp, and kissed him back with the same desperation. She opened her legs to pull him closer, and he stepped into her without being prompted, only stopping when his knees banged into the cupboard doors. She hooked her ankles around the backs of his knees to hold him there and went back to concentrating on his mind-blowing kisses.

Again, it was only a lack of oxygen that made them break apart. Giles bent his head to rest his forehead on her shoulder and started picking clumsily at the buttons of her blouse. She smiled, knowing he couldn't see, gratified to know she had the power to make his hands shake and pushed those hands away.

"Not now," she said huskily. "Now I want you inside me." She breathed the words against his cheek, knowing he would hear her. "Fuck me, Ripper."

He needed no second invitation; had probably never really needed one at all. He slid his hands down her sides to her knees and started pushing her skirt up. She wriggled as his hands reached her bottom, partly in reaction to his touch, partly to help him slide her skirt under her buttocks until it was rucked up about her waist. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and she shuddered again. He grinned, a rough, feral expression that made her pulse race even faster, and pulled them off her, dragging them down her legs and letting them fall, immediately forgotten, to the floor.

Joyce leaned back, resting her head against the bottom edge of one of the upper cupboards, and opened her legs wide for him in silent invitation. She smiled, a sultry, seductive smile, but said nothing. The way she was feeling right now she wasn't sure she could even form words; coherent sentences were surely beyond her.

Giles stilled, caught by the sight of her, open and inviting, hot and wet and ready, all for him. He ran his thumb along the length of her, through the soft curls, darker than her hair, and along her sensitive skin, feeling it ripple in reaction to his touch. He could feel her arousal on his fingers, making them slick and damp, making him grow harder than he was already.

She arched up against him, gasping, but somehow managed to bat his hand way and reached awkwardly for his belt. "Not your fingers. You. Come on, Rupert. Fuck me."

She had his belt buckle undone, but she wasn't moving fast enough for him. He reached down to help her and together they got the button and zipper undone, undressing him just enough to set him free. Joyce immediately wrapped her legs around his waist again, taking him in her hand to guide him urgently to her opening. It was assistance he didn't need but was grateful for all the same, just to feel her hot, eager fingers on his hard, aching erection.

He plunged into her with a force that made her gasp and tilt her hips a little further to allow him better penetration. She moaned as he pulled out until all contact was almost lost and his feral smile returned at this proof of the power he held over her. Her legs tightened around his waist and he buried himself in her again, hard and fast and urgent, content to acknowledge she held the same power over him.

They made love as if there was no tomorrow, as if there would never be another chance to do this. Joyce met his every thrust, moaning his name in a low, husky voice that drove him wild, making him quicken the pace even further, as if in this joining he could find his way right inside her and stay there forever.

They kissed again, feeling climax coming, each trying to find their way deep inside the other. Their hands met at the point where their bodies thrust and joined and the touch, the pressure, was enough to send them both spiralling over the edge. They came together, a power ripping through them that, as it slowly faded, left them shuddering and spent in its wake.

Finally, slowly, Giles pulled away from her, reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of her. Joyce opened her eyes, a small moan of protest coming from deep in her throat and he smiled, delighted to know she was just as unhappy to lose him from inside her.

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I've got to stop accosting you in inappropriate places and inappropriate ways."

She smiled lazily up at him. "But you're so good at it."

He grinned back at her and before she realised his intention, he had swung her up into his arms and was carrying her out of the kitchen.

"Come on, love. Let's do this properly."

She sighed and snuggled against his chest. "I don't know, it felt pretty proper to me. Wonderful is a word that springs to mind. Among others."

He laughed as he started up the stairs, but his voice was serious. "I want to make love to you in a bed. Slowly. Tenderly. Probably several times." He saw her face flush at his words and smiled. "Do you have any objections to that?"

"Oh no," she assured him, her voice husky. "Just...Rupert, walk faster."

Giles set her gently on her bed and went to close the curtains, shutting them away in their own cool, dimly lit, private space. He turned back to find Joyce watching him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"You do realise," she began conversationally, "that we've done this three times now and I still haven't seen you naked."

"Ah..." he floundered, caught both by the unexpected comment and the realisation that she was right.

Joyce laughed. "Of course, you haven't seen me naked either, but I'm the one lying down and you're the one standing up." She propped herself up against the pillow for a better view and smiled at him. "So you're first. Come on, Rupert. Strip."

If this was what 'properly' was going to be, the coming years were going to be wonderful.

"Now, I like a man in tweed," Joyce prompted casually. "But I'm sure I'm going to like a man in no tweed even better."

Unable to help himself, Giles laughed and obediently shrugged off his jacket. He draped it over a chair and went to work on his shirt buttons. He'd stripped for a woman before - although not recently he had to admit - but it had never felt like this. At bottom, it had always been about him, his ego, his prowess, a chance to show off his body. This was for her and that made all the difference in the world.

By the time he had finished, Joyce had shifted so that she was lying on her stomach with her head now at his end of the bed. She had her feet in the air, legs crossed at the ankles and she'd propped herself up on her elbows, her chin resting on her hands. She looked him over, starting at his toes and moving upwards, pausing a moment at his waist for a better view before moving her gaze up again to meet his, all the while with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "Nice. Very nice." The smirk turned into a wicked, possessive smile. "And it's all mine," she purred.

There was no point in denying it, no reason to protest. "All yours," he agreed simply.

She rolled off the bed and stood up. "My turn now."

He lifted a hand to help her, but she stopped him with a look and a shake of her head. She undressed for him in the same calm, unhurried, incredibly sexy way he had for her until she was standing in front of him, as naked as the day she was born. His breathing was ragged now, shallow, his every muscle tense with need as he took in every creamy, silken, beautiful inch of her.

"All mine," he growled possessively and she laughed and walked into his arms. The shock of skin meeting skin was electric. Giles had probably had more than his share of women in his much misspent youth, but none of them had been Joyce and none of them had felt even remotely as wonderful as this. It was like there was something truly magical between them, a bond that went so deep neither of them would ever be able to break it, and nor would they want to try. And a single glance at Joyce's eyes told him, without words or doubts, that she felt the exact same way.

He bent his head and captured her lips with a kiss, this one soft and gentle, almost tentative and yet no less possessive that the hungry, carnal ones they had shared in the kitchen. Joyce melted against him and he let himself be lost in the feel and the taste and the warmth of her.

Never breaking the kiss, he started edging them towards the bed. When they were close enough he swept her feet out from under her and they both collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of arms and legs.

Joyce looked up and him and giggled. "Oohhh, masterful."

He just smiled back. "I'll show you masterful."

They took their time, getting to know each other, exploring every inch of the other's body. Giles found that under her breasts was a particularly sensitive spot, all it took was one kiss, one long sweep of his tongue to have her quivering beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair to hold him and keep him there. Joyce discovered she could get the greatest response out of him by nibbling at his neck, a fact she found hysterically funny.

"Dangerous reaction for a man who helps hunt vampires," she whispered against his skin, laughter in her voice.

"Hhmph," was about all Giles managed as he tilted his head to allow her better access. "I laugh in the face of danger..."

"Yeah, right," Joyce retorted and quickly proved she could stop him laughing, or even breathing, if she really wanted to.

Before she drove him totally insane, Giles managed to capture her wandering hands and roll them both over so that she was lying on her back, his bigger body covering hers. He pulled himself up just enough to look down at her, admiring her all over again. She raised her arms above her head and stretched like a cat, setting his pulse racing even faster.

He watched the pull and play of her muscles and couldn't resist running the back of his hand up her side and across the top of one breast. She flinched suddenly and gasped, a sound of pain this time, instead of passion and he pulled his hand back hurriedly, horrified to think he'd hurt her.

She shook her head at him, her breathing already steadying again. "It's all right, Rupert," she said softly. "I think it was just your ring. It cut me."

He looked down again, to see an angry red line running across the white skin of her breast, three small, round drops of blood welling out of the cut, crimson against silk. He reached down to brush the blood away, but stopped, his fingers barely an inch from her skin.

Joyce saw the sudden look in his eyes and laughed, low and husky. "Oh, yes," she whispered. "Yes."

And so he bent his head instead and ran his tongue along the line of the cut, licking away the blood, tasting the very life of her, tangy and strangely sweet. Joyce writhed underneath him, and tangled her hands in his hair, holding him there until all the blood was gone and the fine cut was already knitting itself back together.

When he finally raised his head, he could see the same fiery passion in her eyes that he could feel racing though his veins, both stunned by the sheer eroticism of three small drops of blood.

"My turn," Joyce said in a breathless voice and dragged his head down to her lips, tracing the whorls of his ear with her tongue. "You know," she went on almost conversationally, "your should wear an earring more often. I like it. It's really very sexy." On the last word she bit down suddenly, breaking the skin at the base of his earlobe and swallowing the tiny droplets of blood that welled up through the tear.

A shudder went through them both as he slid into her like he was coming home. She threw her head back and raised her hips to meet his thrusts and he could see the slightest trace of his blood still on her lips. He dropped his head to kiss her, his tongue plundering deep, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him further in.

The climaxed together, lost in each other, never seeing the colours that danced around them, finishing the magic and binding their souls as one, sealing them together with an unbreakable bond that would last for as long as they both should live.

hey slept afterwards, tangled together until it was hard to tell where one of them left off and the other began. And then they made love again, softly and slowly and gently, and after that they simply lay curled in each others arms, content and comfortable in the nearness and closeness of the other.

It was afternoon sunlight that was filtering though the closed curtains when Joyce finally commented reluctantly, "I think we should probably get up before Buffy gets home."

"Mmmm," Giles agreed lazily, running his fingers across her cheek and leaning forward to kiss her lips. "Really?"

"Really," Joyce insisted, pushing him away and laughing.

"She'll make enough noise when she comes in, we'll have warning."

"Uh-uh." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and sat up. "We have to be downstairs first."

He stole another kiss, but didn't stop her getting out of bed, just lay back and enjoyed the view. "Why?"

Joyce paused in looking for her blouse and turned back to him, her face full of laughter. "Because my underwear's still on the kitchen floor."

END