Title: Never Leave Me 2/2
Author: Kim
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Joss, ME, Fox etc. Although I'm sure they have more fun in my world. Beginning lines of dialogue are from the episode transcript found at buffyworld.com
Feedback: Constructive criticism is desperately wanted; although if you just want to tell me you liked it, I’d love to hear from you.
WARNING: This is a VERY Dark Story. Violent Sex with D/S and S/M overtones. Angst abounds.
Giles stood rooted by the conflict raging within. His battered feelings screamed at him to deny her the comfort she was so clearly asking for. He turned away and put his hand on the doorknob to leave. Abruptly changing his mind, he was across the room in a flash and gathered Buffy up in his arms. He rocked her mindlessly, whispering soothing words against her hair, letting his guilt at leaving seep out of the deep recess where he kept it hidden.
He had no idea that she was still so broken from her death and resurrection. After Willow’s attempted world destruction, she had seemed to come away with a renewed sense of purpose and peace with the world. Obviously, that had been yet another mask. With longing, he thought of the bright vivacious girl who first walked into the library seven years earlier. Her tiny shoulders had born the brunt of the world’s darkness time and again. Had she truly been pushed too far?
During his musings, Buffy had maneuvered them so they were sitting on her bed. She had burrowed her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. A thousand times, he had pictured this in his mind, but never was he clutching a shattered shell of his Buffy. “Don’t leave me, Giles,” she whispered frantically against his sweater. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I’m not going to leave you. We’ll figure this out somehow.
“But,” he said, as he tried to disentangle himself and stand, “I should go, and let you sleep.”
“No!” She wrapped her arms tighter and refused to let him get up. Her eyes were wide and frantic, unfocused as if they did not see him. “Don’t leave me. I need you to make it better.” Stretching up, she pressed her lips against his.
Giles recoiled, trying to push her away. “Buffy,” he said sharply. “What are you doing?”
“I told you. It’s cold and noisy here. You can make that go away. I need to feel, Giles. I need you to help me.”
“Buffy, this isn’t what I had in mind. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to have sex with me.” She ran her hands up and down his back. “You said you understand. I want to feel something other than empty. Or,” she said, drawing back. “I could go ask Spike.”
Giles’ arms tightened involuntarily on hers, holding her down. The thought of her, moving under Spike, was enough to make him want to go stake the vampire himself.
Buffy continued her attempted seduction, nuzzling along Giles’ neck. “Don’t make me beg,” she whispered… “Unless you like that sort of thing.”
Giles felt himself begin to respond. In the back of his mind, he knew this was wrong. The last thing Buffy needed was one more man to take advantage of her. As much as he wanted to allow himself to believe Buffy was coming to him because she loved him, he knew it wasn’t true. He knew giving in and making love to her would wound him deeply the next time she stood up for Spike. But she was warm against him, and it had been so long since he had this most basic of human contact; his flesh craved it. He rationalized in his mind that if he didn’t provide this service to her, she would go and seek out Spike. That thought was enough to drive his lips to hers.
Once their lips met, Buffy’s hands shot to the back of Giles’ neck. She firmly held his head, as if afraid he would leave. Her mouth devoured his hotly, with such fervency he soon couldn’t breathe. No magical first kiss. No tender enchantment to wax poetic about. Just lips and teeth, clashing in a cacophony of need.
He broke his mouth away and slid kisses along her jaw to her ear. “Patience, Buffy, patience. There’s no need to be in a rush.”
“But I want,” she whimpered.
“And you shall have,” he promised. “Just lie back; let me love you.” If he was going to have one night to make love to her, then he was going to do his best to make it as close to his fantasies as possible.
Buffy lay back on the bed with a pout, which Giles was only too happy to kiss off her lips. Each time she tried to turn the kiss deeper or harder, he drew back and barely brushed her lips until she gave in to his pace.
His hands drifted down her sides, and his fingers slid under her top, caressing the soft skin of her stomach. She reached down, grabbed handfuls of his sweater, and started to tug. Giles let her slip the sweater over his head before he went back to tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue. With her breathy sigh, he moved his kisses down her neck, lingering in the hollow where her crucifix lay.
“Mmm. More,” she demanded.
He obliged by lifting her shirt over her head. Looking at her, spread out beneath him, her golden hair a spill across the pillow, Giles felt a momentary twinge that this was wrong. But he pushed the thought aside, rationalizing that he was only doing as she asked.
His mouth traced a lazy, gentle path down her chest between the valley of her breasts. When Buffy captured his head in her hands, to force his mouth to her breast, he looked up at her and shook his head. She groaned in frustration but released him.
He spent the next several minutes kissing everywhere but her satin covered nipples. Finally, he slid a hand behind her and unsnapped the hook. He reverently covered her with his hands as he slid the bra out of the way. His thumbs briefly teased each nipple before he bent his head again. He listened in satisfaction to Buffy’s frustrated moans as he set a tortuous path around one breast, moving with agonizing slowness to her erect nipple. When he finally arrived, he circled it with his tongue, flicking it lightly.
“Bite,” Buffy demanded.
Obligingly, he gently scraped it with his teeth.
“Harder,” she urged.
He caught it between his teeth and continued to tease it with his tongue.
“Giles,” Buffy moaned with frustration. “Harder, please.”
Giles bit down with gentle firmness.
Buffy bucked her hips encouragingly, but when no additional pressure was forthcoming, she looked at him. “Giles. You have to do it harder. I like it harder. Spike played rougher than that, even with the chip.”
At the mention of Spike, Giles saw red. That Buffy would mention Spike, here, in bed, brought all of his anger flooding back. Visions of Spike hitting then kissing Buffy, swirled in his head until it was a blur. Furious, he fiercely bit down on her nipple, expecting a grimace of pain. Instead, Buffy moaned louder, urging him on.
Her eager sounds enraged him further. She liked pain? She craved violence? His ideas of Buffy and love were stripped bare of their illusions. Entirely irrational, the thought bubbled up that Spike had tried to rape Buffy, and he wondered if on some level she liked it. Giles had dreamt of this moment for years, and now, with Buffy underneath him, she didn’t want to make love; she wanted someone to punish her.
Regret at his lost fantasies of passion lingered but a moment before being swept away by a tidal wave of anger and disappointment as Giles broke the dam holding his memories. Every sarcasm-laden insult, every slight to his masculinity, every callous brush-off of his feelings, every second of torment that she had put him through in the seven years of their relationship surged through him, flooding his senses until a feral grin crossed his features.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Giles was no stranger to pain during sex. He had sworn the last time he would never do it again. The lines between hurting for pleasure and hurting simply to hurt were too easily blurred. His relationship with Ethan had been a spiral of destruction; eventually anger and pain were the only things they shared -- or inflicted -- on the other. But if Buffy wanted to go that route, he could certainly oblige.
He removed his mouth from Buffy and sat up on his knees. She looked up at him questioningly. “Why did you stop?”
“Beg,” he said, feeling a frisson of satisfaction at the brief confusion on her face.
“What?”
“I think I was clear. I want you to beg me to continue.”
Staring up at him, commanding and powerful, Buffy felt a flood of wetness at his harsh tone. She should have known Giles would understand. He would help her feel.
She licked her lips tentatively. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please touch me.”
Giles hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His grip was cruel as he pulled her up to him with one arm.
“Is this how you want me to touch you?”
Buffy swooned at his actions. “Yes.”
He twisted her wrist until she gave a tiny gasp. “Is this the only way you want me to touch you?”
“No,” she breathed, eyes wide and pupils dilated.
He let her go suddenly and she fell back on the bed. He followed her down and ground his erection between her legs. She hissed in pleasure and strained her head up to meet his mouth. Their lips met in a flurry of tongues. Giles grunted in surprise when she bit his tongue. He tangled his hands in her hair, clutching the tawny waves in his fists; tugging her mouth more firmly to him and continued his plunder of her mouth. It was Buffy’s turn to groan when he bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Drawing back, Giles looked at her, blood smearing her lips. While his stomach roiled as he watched her tongue languorously lick the crimson off, his erection grew even harder.
He gathered her hands between one of his and pinned them over her head, holding tight enough to leave bruises. He dropped his other to her nipple and pinched cruelly. “You stopped talking.”
She laughed, a low wanton sound. “Am I still begging?”
“Not hard enough.”
“Touch me, Giles,” she moaned. “Grab my breasts. Suck and lick and bite me. Then I want you to fuck me until it all stops. Make it hurt.”
His love for Buffy sent up a last muted wail of despair as he set about doing exactly that. With teeth and rough fingers he marked the skin that only the day before had been a creamy, unblemished fantasy. His hand left hers, allowing her to launch a counter-attack on his body. Her nails raked his back, gouging deep furrows, as her teeth marked him possessively. Long neglected pleasure pathways receptive to pain awoke under Buffy’s assault.
Giles’ hands moved to the button on Buffy’s pants. He undid it and slowly slid her pants over her hips, stopping to remove her shoes and socks, all the while enjoying her pleas for him to hurry. On his knees between her legs, he moved to undo his pants as well. Clad only in her panties, Buffy undulated on the bed, impatiently waiting for him to finish undressing. Briefly, he stood to shuck off the remainder of his clothing before returning to his position between her legs. He reached down to grab the satin of her underwear with one hand and ripped it from her body with a sharp tug. Without pausing, he plunged one finger into her heat, causing her to arch her back off the bed and cry out. Idly, he pumped his finger in and out, noting the flush that spread up her chest as she widened her legs and pressed down.
“Oh please. Don’t stop! I’ll do anything you want! Just don’t stop,” she begged, incoherent with desire. When he used his thumbnail to scrape her clit, Buffy pushed frantically against him as she felt her orgasm approaching.
Before it carried her over, Giles stopped and withdrew his hand. Buffy, eyes closed from the earlier pleasure, roared in frustration. In a swift move, Giles lifted her by her thighs and dragged her down the bed towards him.
“Look at me,” he commanded. Her hazel eyes met his. In one thrust, he impaled her on his cock. He held her legs wide, fingers digging into her thighs. He began with long shallow strokes, simply enjoying the feel of her tightness around him.
Legs held in the air, Buffy couldn’t get any leverage. Her hands scrambled in the covers as she desperately looked for a way to force him deeper inside her. Moving her hands to the headboard finally allowed her to push and lift her hips to meet his thrusts.
“Harder,” she demanded.
Giles continued at his pace; focused on his pleasure not hers.
“Damn it, Giles,” she yelled in frustration. “Do it harder. Fuck! Me! Harder!”
Taking her at her word, Giles began to ram into her, with no finesse and no care as to whether she enjoyed it or not. Each thrust carried with it memories from their past. Giles grunted as he slammed into her and thought of finding Jenny’s broken body. Buffy’s back left the bed with his next thrust, as he was propelled by memories of his torture at Angel’s hands. The slapping sound their bodies made was drowned out by memories of a summer wondering if she were alive or dead. The hurt and pain and terror that she had caused jumbled into his head until he was no longer fucking her; he was punishing her for her every transgression.
Through it all, Buffy was oblivious to anything but the sensations in her body. Her moans and panted pleadings to do it harder and faster told him that this was the only kind of love she understood. For an eternity, he plowed her body, locked in the past because there was no future in what they were doing.
Her cries of rapture as her orgasm approached brought him back to the present. Watching her breasts bounce, covered in a sheen of sweat, her face consumed by pleasure, Giles imagined that it was his name she called instead of a steady stream of ‘oh god, don’t stop, it feels so good, do it harder.’ The thought of his name on Buffy’s lips was enough to push him over the edge at the same time he felt her orgasm clutch his shaft.
“Yeeesssss,” Buffy cried in satisfaction as he throbbed inside her.
Exhausted, he dropped to the bed beside her, belatedly realizing that he hadn’t even considered the issue of protection. They lay side by side, not speaking. Giles, body aching and guilt-ridden, was overcome with the wrongness of what had just happened. He had spent years loving Buffy silently; his sole purpose in life to protect her. Now, his shadowed eyes roved over her nude form, taking in the bruises on her arms and thighs. He knew there were other bruises hidden from his sight; bruises he had left. When his eyes fixated on a bite mark on her shoulder, the last of his romantic illusions shattered. Doing as Buffy had asked was the worst thing he could have done. His role as a Watcher, and his love for Buffy, were now thoroughly corrupted.
Before Buffy drifted off, she ran her hand appreciatively over his stomach. “That was wonderful.” As sleep claimed her, she asked, “You’ll never leave me, will you Giles?”
“No,” he replied, disgusted with their violence and heart-sick with the knowledge that he had given over the last part of himself to a cause…no, he corrected himself, to a woman, he was no longer certain he believed in. “I’ll never leave you.”
The End