Title: Viticulture 2/3
Author: Kimmerwoman (kimmerwoman@yahoo.com)
Feedback: Absolutely. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss, ME and other corporate bigshots.

Anya propped herself up on her elbows, her blouse open and hanging off her shoulders, and dug her toes into the sand. The air was cool on her hot skin and Giles' voice was hitting those low registers that always turned her insides to liquid. Still, she couldn't let that pass.

Giles eyebrows shot up and he, "oomphed," as Anya scissored her legs around his middle and flipped him on his back. "Honey, you've been senior partner entirely too often lately." She straddled his lap, trapping him with her thighs. "Now it's my turn." She got up on her knees and unzipped her pants. She pushed off her jeans and lingerie and tossed them aside before reclaiming his lap. As she settled in, rough denim chafed pleasurably against her damp and tender skin.

Giles let out an exasperated breath as he squirmed beneath her. This was not exactly the grand seduction he had in mind. "Anya, dearest..." he began, his voice strained.

Anya pressed him down and stretched herself over him. Mouth on mouth, toes on shins. She gripped his face and pushed her tongue through lips and teeth to find his. Giles brought his hands up, caressed her naked back before moving them down to cup her perfect arse. Anya gave a full-body wiggle before releasing his mouth. Giles lifted his head, trying to follow. "Nope, not yet," she commanded, as she reached back to remove his hands from her bottom.

She put her hands on each side of his head, then pushed herself up. Her breasts swayed gently with the motion and it suddenly occurred to him that denim was not a terribly forgiving fabric. "Where are you going?" he grumbled.

She balanced herself on one arm and put a finger to his lips. Her belly performed a complex series of leaps when he sucked it into his mouth. "I'm not going anywhere, honey," she answered shakily. "But, I find there are certain shopkeeping tasks I must perform." She silently congratulated herself for staying on-task. "In fact," Anya continued, as she withdrew her finger from his mouth. "I think it's time I took a little inventory." She ran her fingers through his hair and leaned in for a closer look. "Hmm. Forehead a bit higher since the last inspection."

"Hey!"

"Hush, honey. You'll make me lose count." She removed his glasses. "Two beautiful eyes - both thankfully green, one with that cute little bit of amber in the corner." She kissed each one then pushed herself down his body until her head rested on his chest. Her hair spilled over him. It tickled. "One heart, beating a bit fast."

"Is it any wonder?" Giles' voice was low and rumbly. She looked up at him and saw he was watching her, his head cradled in his hand. Always good to have an extra set of eyes during stocktaking.

"Well, it is concerning," she answered, a thoughtful look on her face. "I'd better take a closer look." She nimbly worked the buttons of his shirt, pausing to yank the tails from his jeans. Starting at his belly, she parted the soft cotton, working her way up to his chest. Her fingers found the soft mat of hair over his heart and twisted gently. "How would you describe this, honey?" she asked sweetly. "Salt and pepper?"

"I prefer tawny with a smattering of silver," he replied sardonically. His skin was hot, and tiny beads of sweat had gathered on his lip. As he swept them away with his tongue, his body gave an involuntary heave.

"Nipple!" she announced, her thumbnail scraping back and forth on the tiny nub. "Huh. Who knew it was so sensitive?" She gave it a pinch before pressing her ear to his chest. "Oh dear, that heart rate's not getting any better." Her hand skittered down, resting on the now prominent bulge in his pants.

Giles gasped before grinding out, "Anyanka, dear. If you don't get to it you won't be the only one wreaking vengeance in this family."

Family. At the word, Anya pushed herself upright, a complicated look crossing her face. She turned away and hugged her knees to her chest.

Within seconds Giles was at her side, his hand lightly rubbing her back. "Anya?"

In the moonlight, Anya could see the waves rolling toward the shore, crashing against the rocks. The tide was rising and she thought she might be swallowed by it. "Family?" Her voice was raw. She looked at him, her dark eyes shiny with unshed tears. "You think of me as family?"

Giles gathered her into him, hugging her close. "Dearest Anya," he answered. "You're more than family. You're home."

Two little words. Until that moment, Anya hadn't realized the barricades she'd built inside her, around her. High walls of mud and stone, constructed to keep out the hurt and disappointment that inevitably followed when she allowed herself to love. Safe in his arms, she could almost feel the blocks fall away, crumbling into dust. The tears that threatened earlier now spilled down her cheeks.

Giles felt the dampness on his chest. With two fingers under her chin, he drew her face upward and brushed away the bits of hair that adhered to her face. Her eyes were closed. "Anya, what's wrong?" He gently stroked her face, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "I don't understand. Why are you..."

She stopped him with a desperate kiss. "Shut up Rupert," she murmured, her lips pressed against his. Her hand snaked downward to work the snap and zipper of his jeans. His ardor had cooled only a little. "Shut up, shut up," she continued. Her tears still fell. She freed his cock and held it, warm and hard, in her hand. "Just shut up and love me."

Giles laid her on her back and moved away long enough to divest himself of his boots and jeans. He then covered her body like a blanket, his legs between hers, wanting nothing more than to protect her from the hurts and cares of the world. He kissed her like it was the end of all things, made every touch of his tongue a memory. Her hands were on his back, he felt them as she stroked - then scratched - as his agile fingers teased at the damp curls that framed her center. His fingers found their way inside her and Anya dropped her head, unable to continue their kiss. Her back arched as he found her rhythms.

She moaned and broke beneath him, her muscles in spasm around his fingers. He continued stroking her, slowing his cadence with each pass. He propped himself on an elbow and looked down at her. So beautiful. She was breathing deeply and her body continued to quiver with the receding waves of pleasure. Her eyes were still closed.

He leaned in to kiss her. "Open your eyes, Anya," he requested softly. After a moment, she complied, their brown depths unreadable. "I love you." He smiled at her. "You need to know that. You need to know I love you and that you're mine and that I'll never let you be alone again." It was a vow.

Anya looked at him, saw the truth in his face. She said the words she never thought she'd say again. "I love you, too." She knew it was an answered prayer. Anya took his cock in her hand, felt his hot blood coursing through it, and guided it to her. "Now, Rupert. I need you inside me now."

He started sweet and slow, but the fierceness with which Anya gripped his arse, urging him deeper, propelled him to a ferocity of his own. They each were staking a claim, marking their territory. Every thrust was met by one of equal power. With a cry, she wrapped her legs around his back, opening herself to him completely. He felt his control slipping away. There was the sound of a thousand flash bulbs popping as they came together, their shouts drowned out by the sound of the surf. Giles collapsed on top of her, and they both looked up to see a shower of embers, like fireworks, coming down around them. The remnants of their magic cocoon.

As the sudden breeze cooled their hot skin, Giles and Anya lay on their blanket, and laughed.

*****

Giles' nose itched.

He didn't feel particularly inclined to discover the cause, entwined as he was with Anya's naked body in the warm and comfortable bed. He kept his eyes closed and gave his nose a wriggle that just made it worse. Damn. Still in his arms, Anya muttered something unintelligible and he tried to summon the mental exercises he'd learned long ago as a defense against torture. They failed utterly when she shifted and pressed her bottom into his morning erection. Giles gave up. With a barely repressed groan, he cracked open an eye and saw it was the tickle of her hair that awakened him. Carefully, so as not to waken her, he delicately extricated himself and rolled onto his back.

It was early yet, just enough light to see the shapes and outlines of the room and it's furnishings. Giles stared at the ceiling, its detail blurred without his glasses. He still felt rootless, cast adrift by the events of the last several months. His original plan, and that was a generous definition of the word, had been to head east until he hit ocean, then on to England, where he'd do...what? Potter about the garden? Keep bees in Sussex? Giles scrubbed at his beard-roughened face and turned to look at the woman who warmed his bed. She wasn't part of the original plan, but she was one reason for it. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, unconsciously matched his rhythm to hers. He hadn't intended to ask her along, never dreamed she'd say yes when he did. He made no plans after that and found himself living in a cheap trailer court outside Vegas; dodging Scooby emails, ferreting away the odd newspaper clipping and going to bed each night with the woman he loved. He was wrong, he thought. He might be rootless, but he wasn't adrift.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It was time, he decided, to deal with the Cholorus. Stifling a yawn, he grabbed for his sweats and put them on before heading for the bathroom. Business finished, he walked to the window. With two fingers, he pulled aside the shade to take a look outside. The fog was in, certainly explained the morning chill. He threw on a sweatshirt and after covering the sleeping Anya's bare shoulder, he went quietly out the door.

An hour later, Giles returned, a newspaper tucked under his arm, to find rumpled covers and an empty bed. Before he could shut the door, he heard a noise from the bathroom. A moment later, he was graced with the of vision Anya, still gloriously nude, streaking for the bed.

"Cold, cold, cold, cold," she muttered as she jumped into the bed. She'd pulled the covers up to her chin before she noticed Giles standing by the door. "Oh! Good morning, honey." Her smile broke like a sunrise across her face. "Please get your English ass...no...that's not right." She thought for a moment. "Arse. Get your English arse over here and warm me up!"

Giles laughed as he crossed the room, tossing the paper on the bed as he sat next to her. He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a soft kiss. "Good morning to you too, dearest," he answered. He reached behind her and fluffed the bunched pillows. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept great," she asserted. "But what the hell kind of good morning kiss was that?" Anya crooked her elbow around his neck and pulled him toward her as she settled back on the pillows. She jutted her lower lip in a pout. "I think I said something about warming me up."

Giles took the luscious bit of skin between his teeth. "Well," he garbled, "Let's just see what we can do about that." He let go of her lip as he pressed her deep into the pillows, then took her mouth with his own. Giles could feel her hands on the back of his head, her fingers entwined in his hair. He thrust his tongue through her soft lips and saw stars when she gripped and pulled in response. He put his hand on her throat and she moaned as his fingers began a southward migration. Giles paused to cup her breast, feeling the weight in his hand as he brushed her nipple with her thumb.

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh crap," Giles sagged, then looked at her ruefully. Another knock, more insistent this time. "There's a very good possibility that's our breakfast." He sat up and adjusted himself, before grabbing her robe from the end of the bed. "You might want to put this on," he said as he handed it to her.

"Oh my God," she bit out. Anya threw a daggered glare his way and took the proffered robe. "You so owe me," she grumbled as she climbed out of bed.

"You're warmer, though. Right?" Giles grinned as he headed for the door.

She blew him a raspberry as she threw the robe over her shoulders and made her way to the bathroom.

The knocking resumed, and through the door Giles could hear a muffled, "Everything all right in there, Mr. Smith?" He opened it and saw Gene, the kitchen assistant he'd spoken to earlier. Tall and thin, with a cadaverous face, the young man held a large silver salver that was laden with food.

"Your breakfast, Mr. Smith," Gene said as he crossed the threshold. "I'll just be a minute setting this up." He set the salver on the dresser. "Lovely day, isn't it?" he small-talked. "Are you and the Mrs. enjoying your visit?"

Giles watched him shake out a cloth of deep blue linen then center it on the table. "It will be, once the fog burns off and, yes, we're having a delightful visit."

Gene worked quickly and efficiently, placing the napkins and silver settings in their proper position before moving the warm breakfast plates to the table. "You're right about the fog, though we're used to it around here." He completed his task by placing a vase of deep orange, yellow and red ranuncula on the center of the table. "What are your plans for the day?" he inquired.

"No plans in particular. Just a drive I think," Giles replied evasively. Nothing about this young man tripped any alarm bells, but he nevertheless felt disinclined to be more specific. He walked to the bedside table and picked up his wallet, removing a $5 bill.

"Thank you, sir!" Gene said graciously when Giles placed the tip on the tray. "Well," he continued as he headed for the exit, "You and Mrs. Smith enjoy your day. I'll see myself out."

At the sound of the closing door, Anya peeked around the bathroom doorway. "Is he gone?"

"Yes, you can come out now," Giles responded. He watched her cross the room and noted she'd haphazardly pinned her hair up. Stray tendrils fell around her freshly scrubbed face, making her look impossibly young. He put his hand out and, as she took it, spun her once and drew her close. "Shall we breakfast, Ginger?" he queried.

"We shall Fred" she answered happily.

*****

The fog had given way to cloudless skies and a hot sun by the time they'd finished breakfast. As they headed for the car, Anya wondered aloud where they were going.

"I thought, since we're here," said as he opened her car door, "That we'd pick up some wine to take back with us." He shut the door and walked to the driver's side. "I have a particular favorite that I'm anxious to share with you."

As he put the car in gear, Anya quirked an eyebrow at him. "Honey, we don't exactly have a wine cellar back at our place." She thought of their small dwelling and the penetrating desert heat. "Where are you going to store it?"

"All taken care of," Giles off-handedly replied as he carefully steered the car toward the drive. "Everything, in fact, is taken care of."

Anya gave a quick nod and leaned back against the seat. It took a moment or two for Giles' response to resonate before she sat back up. "What do you mean, everything is, in fact, taken care of?" Confined by her seat belt, she managed a half turn toward him and continued, her words clipped, "Where were you this morning, by the way?" She paused before adding the kicker. "Rupert?"

Oh dear, he thought. "I called Gregor - arranged for a small refrigerator to be set up for the wine." His eyes on the road, he felt her continuing to glare at him.

A stray lock of hair, caught by the breeze, danced in front of Anya's eyes. She batted it away with a frustrated swipe before prodding, "And..."

Giles blew out an exasperated breath. She wasn't going to like this next bit. "I talked to the Cholorus, negotiated a deal that would allow us to return with our heads intact."

"You negotiated," her words were flat and cold. "You negotiated? Without me?"

Giles threw her an unrepentant look and pulled off the road. Almost before the car was stopped, he'd thrown the gearshift into 'park', unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face her. "Yes, I negotiated. I negotiated without you." He ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "I had an idea and I acted upon it. I'd do the same again, a hundred times over, if it meant keeping you safe!"

Anya blinked, felt her anger rising to meet his. She pushed herself away, hard up against the passenger door and just stared out the windshield. At one point, she thought she might say something but opted, instead, to chew on the inside of her left cheek and ponder the stupidity of men.

After a while, she heard him call her name. Silently, she unbuckled her seatbelt and slid her way across the bench seat. Taking his head in her hands, she looked him in the eyes. "We're partners," she stated simply. "You had time to confer with me and you didn't." She kissed him then moved her hands to his shoulders and gave him a light shake. "Don't do it again," she commanded. She leaned toward the dashboard and turned the ignition key. The engine roared to life. "Let's go honey," she said, as she took her seat.

After an hour traversing west-county back roads, Giles spotted the rooftop of his destination. He slowed the vintage Ford and allowed a stream of on-coming traffic to pass before turning into the drive. He drove into the lot and parked in front of a high hedge that lined the far end. As he got out of the car, he thought back to his first visit to this place - was it really 3 years now? It had been a flying weekend with Olivia; a sad final attempt to salvage their relationship. He opened Anya's door and extended his hand to help her out. She hopped out and, as he watched her smooth her hair, it occurred to him that Jagger was right. Sometimes you do get what you need.

He felt a soft hand on his cheek and a voice like chimes intruded his thoughts. "Rupert honey, come back." He looked down and focused on her upturned face.

"Sorry darling," he said contritely. "A bit of wool-gathering I'm afraid." He took her hand and kissed it before lacing his fingers through hers. "Let's go." They ambled through the parking lot, aiming for the path on the far side of the hedge. As they rounded the corner, a break in the heavy foliage revealed a formal garden and their first glimpse of Villa Ferrante.

A score of wineries dotted the vine-covered hills and shallows of the Dry Creek Valley. Most were small, rustic affairs; harkening back to the 19th century origins of the region. Villa Ferrante was the exception. Inspired by Tuscany, the faux-Italian villa sat like a queen atop a small rise, her gardens and vineyards rippling like a robe about her feet.

They stepped through the hedge and into a garden as lush and seemingly untamed as the Mediterranean itself. Flagstone paths led them past informal beds of lilies, alstroemeria and gladiola. The soft purples of lavender, framed by native grasses, gave way to tiger-striped orange canna. They moved out of the hot sun through a cool and fragrant tunnel of trellised bougainvillea. As they emerged on the other side, the couple were met by the sight of the small stream that cut a lazy trail through the landscape. An arched wooden bridge straddled the water, beckoning them to the rose garden on the other side.

Halfway across the bridge they paused and studied the creek as it moved quietly beneath them. Anya rested her head on his shoulder and watched a leaf as it tumbled and dipped it's way in the slow-moving current. "You know," she said pensively, "This reminds me of the gardens of the Medici's. I did a little work for Catherine, back in the day. She's really been maligned by history; she was just a mother looking out for her..." Anya looked up to see Giles amused faced looking down at her. "What?" she asked, a little affronted.

Giles curled an errant hair around her ear. "It just occurred to me the number of historical accounts I could re-write just from listening to your stories."

Her stories. Anya felt a small pang deep in her belly. Can't go there, won't go there. "Yes, but won't most people think you're insane when you reveal your source?" she replied evenly, her face betraying nothing. She was an excellent poker player.

He laughed. "Yes, undoubtedly." He crooked his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Let's go see the roses then head up to the shop."

They reached the far end of the garden and began their ascent to the villa. At the portico, Giles released Anya's hand. "Wait here," he requested. "I'll be right back." He disappeared inside the doorway.

Anya walked to the balustrade that separated the terra cotta patio from the steep embankment on the other side. She rested her backside against the stone rail and stared at her feet. The tiny knot of insecurity and fear she'd felt earlier had receded somewhat. She trusted Rupert in all things. Yet...

"Darling?"

Anya's favorite endearment broke her reverie. She looked up and smiled as she saw Giles approach her with an open bottle and two red wine glasses. She pushed herself off the rail and met him halfway. Taking the glasses from his hand, she looped her arm through his. "Let's look for a table in the back," she suggested.

"Excellent idea, but I'll do you one better," he said excitedly.

Together, they walked toward the back of the mansion and onto the sun-drenched terrace. At first, Anya had to squint her eyes; the glare of the sun made it difficult to see what was in front of her. As they arrived at the end of the patio, the light shifted to reveal a technicolor picture in perfect composition. A reflecting pool, with water of azure blue and surrounded by ivory stone, extended in a line precisely north. The stone was flanked on either side by an expanse of emerald-colored grass, neatly manicured and edged with flowers of violent summer hues. At its head stood a small riser which lead to the upper terrace. Water curtained down the center steps and into the pond below. "Let's head up there," she suggested. At the top of the stairs stood three pairs of doric columns, unadorned except for a plain stone lintel that capped each set.

Together, they climbed the 15 narrow steps that led to the terrace and went to the bench situated between the center columns. As they sat, Anya put her hand in Giles' jacket pocket and removed the linen handkerchief she knew would be there. "Just wiping off the fingerprints," she remarked sunnily, as she put cloth to glass. She held the stemware up to the sunlight and pronounced them clean.

"Ah darling, you are a treasure," he intoned, barely repressing a grin. He took back his handkerchief and draped it over his arm. Inserting his thumb in the punt, Giles balanced the neck of the wine bottle across his arm. "Would mademoiselle care for some wine?" he asked in a horrifying accent.

Anya looked at him, her dark eyes pinning him down. "Honey, I love you." She patted his shoulder. "But seriously? Don't try that accent thing again." She held out the glasses. "What was that? Bulgarian?"

Giles finished pouring and set the bottle on the ground. "French, actually." A swift look of regret crossed his face and gave he an exaggerated sigh. "There goes my career with MI-5. They do require a certain facility with accents, you know."

Anya stood up and looked down at him. "You...you want to be a spy?" she asked sharply. What the hell was he thinking?

Giles quickly took her hand, pulling her down beside him. "Oh dear lord, no!" He kissed her forehead. "Anya, dearest. I was joking."

Anya relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat silently together, meditating on the tidy rows of vines, heavy with zinfandel and sauvignon blanc grapes. Anya's eye caught the strips of colored mylar fluttering in the breeze and wondered at them, before realizing their purpose - to frighten birds greedy for a free meal. She took a sip of the ruby-colored wine, savoring the tantalizing hints of black current and cherry. "You haven't said, you know," her voice subdued.

"Said what?" Giles responded, his tone matching hers.

"What you are planning to do." Anya sat up and looked at him. "It's been, what? Two and a half...three months, since we left Sunnydale? Do you know what you want?"

Giles opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He could hear the water behind him, spilling into the pool. "I plan," he said at last, "To sit here with you a bit longer, finish this bottle and return to our room." He leaned into her, giving her a kiss that was swift and urgent. "And tomorrow I return, with you, to Nevada."

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