Title: WHEN IN ROME .(Rupert Giles ABH) 1/2
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Rating: NC17 - woohoo!!!
Notes: Well, you said you wanted Giles in a Roman Centurion outfit ..
Dedication: This fic is for 2 people ... firstly, for CAT - who has spent a great deal of time listening ... and helping me "heal". She is one hell of a great listener! Secondly, for Donna - who not only beta'd this fic but also gave me encouragement and help when I needed it most - thanks guys!!!
DISCLAIMER: The characters don’t belong to me … I’m only borrowing them for a short and exceedingly profitless time.

It's the Annual Fancy Dress Ball of the local Archaeological Society and, due to your exalted position as Museum Curator, you have, of course, been invited. The theme this year is "favourite eras" and your passion for all things Roman outweighs any practical considerations . like how on earth you're managing to keep your car on the road whilst trying to untangle yourself from the "lady of leisure" long, flowing robe you're wearing. You sigh as you pull into the car park, watching the various couples making their way towards the brightly lit hotel before you. You were sent a batch of tickets but, with no-one to bring, you passed the other tickets to your assistant. No doubt, you think, as you scramble out of the car, he'll bring along that remarkably strange woman he's currently hanging around with.

You walk slowly to the hotel entrance wondering, not for the first time, what possessed you to accept this invitation. There are too many people here you really don't want to talk to. Oh well, you brandish your invitation and the doorman nods, ushering you towards the conference area. You immediately head for the bar at the far end of hall. You decide to stay for a couple of hours and then leave - stay long enough to be seen and then go. You push your way past a variety of costumed attendees - there are Egyptians, Greek Gods and even a few in Victorian outfits. You smile slightly as you realise you seem to be the only one dressed in a Roman outfit. A soft tap on your shoulder causes you to turn around.

"You won't believe this," hisses John, your assistant. "Guess who's here?"

"Go on," you sigh, "do tell."

"Rupert Giles."

"Oh no!" You suddenly feel that you've made a major mistake coming tonight. Rupert Giles - that's all you need. The man has made your life a living hell for the past couple of months with his seemingly endless telephone calls. It's all very well for him, you think, but you've only got a small museum. The kind of changes he proposes would probably work in the British Museum but you just don't have the resources. A groan escapes your lips and you snag John's arm before he leaves.

"Which one is he?" You ask and John shrugs.

"I'm not sure . I think he's one of the old guys in the Victorian gear."

Right, you think as you head towards the bar with renewed purpose, avoid all Victorians.

A few minutes later and you're standing near the bar, nursing your orange juice - enjoying a quiet game of "who looks the biggest dickhead?" with yourself, when you catch the eyes of a tall man at the other end of the bar. He's dressed in a Roman Centurion outfit and, boy, does he look good! Long, gorgeous legs, shown off to the full in the short tunic, strong bare arms and a slight, quirky smile on a face which reddens delightfully when he realises how intently you've been checking him out. His eyes suddenly widen and a look of almost horror passes across his features. You frown and look around, grinning as you see the rather imposing figure of Mrs Grey, the Head of the Archaeological Society bearing down on him. Awww, you can't really let him suffer that. With a slight giggle, you walk across to him, catching hold of his arm and then turning to Mrs Grey.

"I'm sorry," you remark sweetly, "may I borrow him for a few minutes?"

Not giving her a chance to reply, you pull him away, aware of the sigh of relief he utters.

"Thank you," a soft, amused voice whispers in your ear and you have to suddenly concentrate hard on walking. The voice sends shivers along your spine, practically turning your knees to complete jelly. "I really didn't want to get involved in a conversation with her this evening," he continues, oblivious to the effect he's having. "From what I hear, she's a complete dragon."

"Mrs Grey?" You stop and turn to face him, an incredulous expression on your face. "She may be a bit ... overwhelming but she's not that bad."

"Mrs Grey?" He suddenly looks endearingly befuddled and you can't help your soppy grin. "I thought she was that Museum Curator woman ... "

The grin slips from your face. "And that would be bad, why?"

He catches your change in tone and starts to stutter.

"Well ... I ...um.... well ... is she a .... friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," you smile slightly, "but I do know her."

"Ah," he seems relieved somehow. "It's just that I can never make her see sense."

"I thought you said you didn't know her." It's your turn for the befuddlement now and this intriguing Centurion runs a hand through his hair.

"I don't," he replies, "not exactly. I've spoken to her on the telephone a few times though."

Suddenly you have clarity. Rupert Giles ... he just had to be Rupert Giles. You sigh slightly. Just when you think you've finally found someone, it turns out he's been the bane of your life recently. Your brain quickly cuts in - deciding that it's entirely possible you've misunderstood him. Maybe he just wants to help ... maybe he just cares. Your opinion of Rupert Giles is quickly and conveniently revised in your mind from insufferable prig to a man who is clearly passionate about his beliefs. Much better, you think with a smile.

"Oh, do forgive me," he says with a smile, holding out his hand. "Rupert Giles."

You smile sweetly, taking his hand and then telling him your name ... adding "the museum curator woman" as a final touch. A look of complete shock crosses his face and his mouth opens and closes a few times. His hand suddenly becomes sweaty, clammy and he instinctively pulls away. You can't help it, you find the whole situation incredibly funny. As you look up, your eyes catch his, the barely concealed merriment in the green depths quite irresistible and you both start giggling.

"Oh dear," he manages between giggles, "it is quite ironic, isn't it?"

"And the fact that I was avoiding you as well only makes it funnier."

He looks surprised at this and then acknowledges it with a rueful shrug.

"I'm sorry," he says with a smile. "I do tend to get carried away sometimes."

You raise an eyebrow and he starts giggling again.

"Okay," he replies, "most of the time."

"And I apologise too," you say with a smile. "I can be a bit ... short ..."

"Especially if you feel someone is criticising the way you run things?" He finishes your sentence and you nod. "That was never my intention."

"Alright," you reply. "Then no more shop talk tonight."

"In that case, may I buy you a drink?"

A couple of hours later you are very glad you decided to attend tonight. Rupert hasn't let you out of his sight and the conversation between you has been wide-ranging and remarkably stimulating. It was quite an eye-opener for you to discover the incredible number of things you have in common with Rupert Giles. At the moment, he's lounging in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, affording you a delightful view of his long, gorgeous and completely perfect legs. Your palms are positively itching with your desire to reach out and gently run your fingers up those strong calves, along those firm thighs .

"Would you like to dance?" Rupert's soft voice interrupts your intriguing thoughts and you flush slightly. You didn't realise the music had changed. It's gone from a rather lively tune you didn't recognise to Barry Manilow singing "Even Now". It's one of your favourites and you nod, accepting Rupert's offer. He stands quickly and ushers you to the dancefloor. As his arms wrap around you and you snuggle into his chest, you cast fervent thanks to whichever gods and goddesses are listening that Rupert had the foresight to discard his metal breastplate earlier. The music drifts over you and in Rupert's arms you feel safe, protected and . warm. You could lose yourself in the sensation completely if it weren't for Rupert's Roman Short Sword that keeps banging against you. An old, corny expression crosses your mind and you start to giggle. Rupert pulls away slightly and looks down at you, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What?" He asks, smiling slightly.

"Is that a sword in your pocket or are you pleased to see me?" You giggle and, with a wicked grin, Rupert suddenly pulls you flush against him. You feel his arousal and smile up at him as you start to slowly wriggle your body against him. A sharp intake of breath is your reward and his grip on you tightens. Lowering his head, he captures your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue immediately probing, demanding entrance. You open to him without hesitation and the sensual feeling of his tongue duelling with yours causes you to moan and press yourself against him.

"Get a bloody room, you two."

The irritation in the voice brings you back to your senses and you pull back. Rupert sees your embarrassment and casts a breathtaking glare towards the man who interrupted before turning his attention back to you. He leans down, whispering in your ear.

"I've got a room," he kisses your earlobe before pulling back.

"I'm driving home," you reply softly, without conviction and Rupert smiles, his hand caressing your cheek.

"Stay," he whispers softly and, in that moment, you know that you are lost. Your grin is your reply and Rupert takes your hand, leading you from the conference room. To your surprise he walks past the lifts and heads for the stairs. He catches your questioning glance and shrugs.

"First floor," he mutters, "seems a bit of a waste. Bloody lift takes too damn long anyway."

"Sounds like someone's in a hurry," you smile and Rupert grins, turning to look at you with such an expression of desire and downright lust that it quite takes your breath away. You're barely aware of the answering expression on your own face before you're pushed back against the wall and Rupert is kissing you with a passion and intensity you've only previously dreamed of. You groan - but in frustration this time as you realise that your long robes are preventing you from wrapping your legs around him, from feeling him completely. In one swift movement, Rupert breaks the kiss and hoists you over his shoulder.

NEXT