TITLE: WARLOCK 10/14
AUTHOR: vatwoman
DISCLAIMER: JOSS WHEDON, MUTANT ENEMY AND FOX/UPN OWN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE ‘BUFFY.’ NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. THE CHARACTER OF KOVACS IS MINE.
FEEDBACK: YES PLEASE, TO VATWOMAN@Y...

Giles let go of the door and turned back into the room. Buffy, Willow and Xander were lined up at the end of the table waiting for him. He pushed his hands into his pockets and walked towards them.

“So, what’s your homework situation?” No-one said anything, so he tried again. “Homework?”

“I’m hallucinating, right?” Buffy asked the room at large. “ ‘Cos even though we’ve got this big Hellmouthy-thing going on I thought he said something about homework.”

“Then I’m having the same hallucination.” Willow added, conversationally. “ ‘Cos I heard the same thing.”

“Yep. Me too.” Xander agreed. “Must be another big Hellmouthy-thing.”

“Must be.” The conversation had come, naturally enough, around to Buffy again. “What should we do about it? Oh, I know, tell Giles and he’ll do the research thing.” Her expression hardened. “Except he can’t cos he’ll be too busy doing library things, like … ooh … cross-referencing.”

Buffy and Giles stared at each other from across a gap of ten feet, the tension crackling between them. He allowed himself to be stared down.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” There was a shifting of emotion as everyone let go of the breaths they had been holding. “Willow, I want you to get on the Net; we’ve spent too long concentrating on the magicks, it’s about time we looked at the man. Find me everything you can about him.” Willow grinned, turned and headed towards the computer on the end of the long table. His voice called her back. “And Willow? I don’t particularly care what you have to hack into to find what we need.”

Willow’s grinned widened. “Oh, wow! Carte blanche! I am so going to enjoy this!”

Giles nodded. “Find me something.”

She nodded along with him. “Don’t worry, if there’s anything there to be found, I’ll find it.”

“Buffy? Xander? We need counter-spells, especially those relating to curses.”

“But you destroyed the tablets.” Xander objected. “How come we still need the spells?”

<Because the tablets aren’t everything he’s got - and I don’t know yet what to do about that – and what we’ve got at the moment is nothing> Giles looked into the eyes of each of them in turn and saw what he always saw, the expectation that he, ‘research guy,’ would come up with the explanation. He could give them the explanation now. He could even give them the answer: for all the good it would do them when ‘research guy’ was falling apart and the answer would almost certainly end up getting them killed. So he lied … just a little. “Because he’ll have a fall-back position.”

“Oh, ok.” Xander glanced over his shoulder at the stacks. “What do we start with?”

Unthinking, Giles pushed his hands through his hair and grimaced as he brushed across the wound on the top of his head. <Give them something to do> “The old favourites, I think; The Black Chronicles and the Malleus Maleficarum.” Giles frowned. “They’re in my office.”

“Ok.”

Xander strolled off to fetch the books, leaving Giles alone with Buffy.

“He won’t give up, will he?”

Only half listening to her, Giles replied, “No.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry? What did you say?”

Buffy walked away and perched on the end of the table. “Why won’t he give up? He wants Ms Calendar and he’s decided to kill you to get her - a bit extreme but he’s a bad guy and who knows what really goes on inside their stupid heads - but he knows you know, he knows you aren’t going to give her up, he knows you can do the ‘magic thing’ just like he can, he probably even knows he’s dealing with all of us. So what’s his deal? Why doesn’t he just head for the hills while he still has the chance to get out without a butt-kicking from the Slayer?”

“I don’t know.” <Liar!>

Xander came back out of the office with the books, settled himself at the table and began to read.

“And why all the magic still? He’s got to think we’ll eventually find a way to stop him?”

“I expect he thinks he’ll kill me first.”

“So why doesn’t he just kill you now? You know, run you down or shoot you or something, like Cordelia said?”

“Because he knows that he’ll never get Jenny that way.”

Buffy frowned. “But he’s not going to get her any way, unless he figures that killing you slowly is gonna earn him some kind of sick-guy eagle-scout points!”

“Or unless …” His eyes fixed on the doors through which Jenny had exited. <No, Jenny. Please!> “I … um …I have to go home …” He deliberately pulled at his clothes, indicating the blood on his shirt. “… clean clothes.” He caught Buffy’s eye. “You’ll be alright? You know what you’re looking for?” Buffy nodded. “ Willow?”

“Yeah, Giles.” Willow glanced up from the screen and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this covered ... and I’ll keep these two a-workin’ away.”

“I … um …” He pointed at the door.

“Go already.” Xander pushed, not looking up but waving his hand in the direction of the exit nonetheless.

“Alright, I’ll … um … see you later?”

“You know where we’ll be.” Buffy spoke to his retreating back and frowned, “Or maybe you won’t ‘cos I’ll be patrolling later.” The doors swung closed on Giles. “In which case, I’ll see you much later.” She stood there staring into space.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Work!”

Buffy turned and smiled at the slave driver that was her best friend. “Yeah.”

**************************

He’d made it home and here she was, leaving him.

“What is this?”

Jenny walked past him and dropped her toiletries into her bag. “I’m leaving you.”

She turned around and scanned the room, looking for anything else that was hers.

“Why?”

Looking at his battered head, the blood on his shirt, the deep shadows under his eyes, she replied, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Giles pushed his hands into his pockets, glanced down at the floor, taking a deep breath as he did so, then back up.

“Not to me.”

“I’m taking myself out of the equation: if he wants me, he can have me.”

He saw a frown flash across her brow as she looked up to the loft. He caught her arm as she moved to pass him, heading for the stairs.

“What did you say?”

“If he wants me, he can have me.”

His hand tightened on her arm for a moment before he let go of her and took a deliberate step back. “I don’t suppose you’d consider just leaving town instead?” A coolness had settled on her features, one that spoke of decisions made. He felt his guts twist into a knot. “No, I suppose not.” He smiled icily, “So, the ‘I’m leaving you’ part of this gothic melodrama is designed to do what - spare my feelings?”

“I’m guessing you won’t want me back …”

“… I don’t want you gone!”

“It’s too late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s done. I’m seeing him tonight.”

“What? No! No! That is sheer bloody madness! What do you hope to achieve? This has long since stopped being just about him wanting to take you from me for some quick fuck! You going to him isn’t going to make him stop!”

“You don’t know that!”

He threw his glasses onto the table and dragged his hands down his face. “Oh, god, Jenny, where have you been for the past week? Of course I know that! I know him! I was him! I am him! He isn’t going to be satisfied with just you. He wants everything: my magick, me dead, you his!”

“And I’m supposed to just keep standing by while he rips your control to pieces and then kills you? I have to do something!”

“You are doing something. We’re all doing something …”

“… but it’s not enough!” He watched as she suddenly reined in her emotions. “If you die and I had the means in my power to stop him and I didn’t use it … I don’t think I could live with that.”

“We’ll find a way.” His voice was urgent. “I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you make this sacrifice.” There was a long, desperate silence and when her mouth formed into a sad smile he knew he’d said too much. “Jenny …”

“… they say the third’s the charm …”

“… No! No!” He frantically shook his head as he felt the panic start. “I’m a Watcher. I was born to this.”

She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. You did walk away. You sacrifice yourself because you know it’s the right thing to do; the only thing to do.”

“It’s different …”

“Why? Why is it different? Why would you expect it to be any different for me?”

“Because …”

“… because of what he wants from me?” Again the half-smile formed and her voice softened. “It’s just my body, Rupert, it’s not my heart.” A tiny shrug. “It’s just sex.”

“ ‘Just sex.’ ‘Just sex.’ “ He laughed harshly. “Oh, and that makes it perfectly alright then, doesn’t it!” He paced towards her, stopping when he was only a few feet away. His voice came out as a snarl. “He’ll shove his dick into you and you’ll be doing what? Lying back and thinking of the ‘good ‘ole U. S. of A’? ”

The sound of the slap reverberated around the room as the stinging blow rocked him back on his heels. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her bodily against the wall. Looking down into her eyes he saw a flash of anger spark through them before the studied coolness settled once more.

Ire, hot and deep, fed his pounding heart, and closed his fingers on her skin. Childishly, he wanted the coolness broken and he wanted her marked, wanted her to carry forever some visible sign that she belonged to him, so he put his teeth to the juncture of her shoulder and neck and bit down on the soft skin.

Her hands drove into his hair and dragged his head upwards.

“No, let me go!”

Her eyes were black pools and for a moment he allowed himself to fall into them, submerging himself in her, before shaking her off.

“Don’t touch me!” he demanded.

The pulse in her throat jumped and he narrowed his gaze on it, watching it, watching it speed up as her heart raced. He touched her, one finger only pressed to that spot and felt the blood in her body move impossibly quickly.

“I don’t understand what you want from me.”

In reply he closed his hands on the neckline of her dress.

“Take this off or I’ll rip it off.”

She shook her head. “We’re not doing this.”

The gauzy material tore down the middle of her body, no match for the strength in his hands, leaving her bare to the navel. Soft skin. Hard nipples. The tell-tale flush across her chest. One finger to her pulse-point. Dark pools of her eyes. Harsh indrawn gasps of air.

He framed her face with his hands letting her feel the heat of his grip and bit down on her neck once more. Mouthed with lips and teeth. Leaned back to watch the skin bruise red before his eyes. Looked into her eyes and wondered if what he saw there was pity.

“Don’t look at me like that.” he ground out. An angry plea and he kissed her, brutally, hiding from her eyes in the warm cavern of her mouth.

She struggled under him, trying to push him away. Even then he caught her hands away from him, afraid that she’d feel through his skin how deep his anger ran and how shallow was his control over it.

He dropped to his knees and in one movement stripped her of her dress and the panties beneath it. He tossed them aside then slid her feet from her shoes. Gripped her hips. The soft skin of her lower belly was under his mouth and he breathed on her, not touching her yet, and saw the muscles shiver. Looked up and found her watching him, her face unreadable.

And found her clitoris with his thumb. Pressed it up hard against the pubic bone. Slid fingers into her, slid them in deeply. He pumped them slowly, drawing her up and out, forcing her to match him stroke for stroke. Looked into her eyes and saw the coolness replaced by a shuddering heat.

“Touch yourself.”

“No.” She denied him.

“Touch yourself.” He demanded.

Her hands drifted up her belly and ribs. Settled on her breasts. Skimmed her nipples. Rolled them. Pressed. Squeezed.

Her hips bucked and he felt for her with his mouth, tongue laving her, helping her over. He hooked his fingers forward inside her, seeking that spot, found it and rocketed her into another orgasm before she’d finished with the first. He stood and swallowed her helpless moans with a deep, carnal, kiss. Held her up with his body, letting her feel, finally, how hard he was for her.

He pushed his hips into hers as he stripped off his jacket and shirt. He caught her head in his hands once more. “Open your eyes.” He watched her as she blinked them into focus, as the blackness developed around the brown. Watched the fire flare once more. “Touch me.”

And he put her hands on him.

Her palms were cool on his chest and he trembled through that first touch. Her fingers pushed into his skin. Then his belly hollowed out as she pressed her fingernails into him. They dug into him, had to, to make short, practical, nails mark his skin. Dragged down him, slowly, god, so slowly, down his chest, across his nipples and down his stomach, leaving trails that started bleached white of blood and then bloomed a fiery red. His hands fisted on the wall beside her head as he fought not to cry out.

He held her gaze. Watched the frown appear as he bent down to pull her right leg up. Watched the frown deepen as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his waist.

Knees bent slightly to the wall, arms up her back, he held her against him. Tightened his hold as she tried to push her chest away from his, but with her back against the wall she had nowhere to go.

“Giles …”

There was fear in her voice and he went a little mad then. He gave her kisses that invaded and reddened her mouth, nipped bites that patterned her across throat, neck, shoulders and breasts, and, on freeing himself from his trousers, he gave her his aching cock in one long, unstoppable, thrust.

Then withdrew.

“Mine.”

Drove into her again: the hot, wet, depths of her.

And withdrew.

“Mine.”

Filled her again. Trying to touch bottom. Looking for some way to mark her. To make some part deep inside her, his. And as he felt her internal muscles contracting and relaxing on him he, unaccountably, burst into tears.

He felt her ride him through it. Felt her arms and legs tighten around him. Felt her hands gently stroking his back. Felt her heels on his buttocks urging him into her. Felt as much as heard her ‘yes’ everytime he thrust upwards and told her she was his. Felt her grind down onto him and hold him inside her as they both came with agonising force. Felt her kiss away the sweat and tears from his face.

“No!”

He wrenched himself from her arms, pulling out of her with all the shocking suddenness with which he’d entered her. He backed off half-a-dozen steps, saw her bruised and ravished, and wondered what part love had played in what he’d just done to her.

The sudden attack of nausea had him bending at the waist to put his hands on his knees. He drew air into his lungs in great, gulping, breaths. The tears began again, making his vision swim. Then he felt it, where he always felt it, coiling in his groin.

“NO!”

But the magick was strong in him. He pushed off the rest of his clothes, throwing them to the floor with angry, driven, movements.

Skyclad.

He was still half-hard from his emptying into her. Let the magick do its work and stiffened fully. Pressed himself full length down her body. “Say it, damn it! Say it!” The hands he wound into her hair, shook. His whole body shuddered. “Tell me you’re mine!” His eyes misted again and he dropped his head onto her shoulder. “ Oh, god, I want you.”

She’d stood motionless in his arms but now reached up to touch his face. “ I know, but not here. Not this time. Take me to bed.”

Speech wouldn’t come. He couldn’t trust his voice to say anything that wasn’t a desperate plea. So he spoke to her with his body. He carried her to the loft, placed her gently in the middle of their bed and in the midst of his anger, found his tenderness. He moved over her, drowning willingly in her eyes, and softly kissed each mark he’d left on her. Breathed in the scent of her. Stroked her hair, her face and, at her whispered invitation, stroked deep into her. The magick pulsed through him with each arch of their bodies. It surged between them, crackled across them and hurtled them towards completion. The power in him spiralled tighter and tighter and as it burst out of him he pulled her upwards into his lap, drove deeply into her, touching bottom, marking her inside as his, as she had marked him as hers.

And hours later, as he lay on his stomach, finally spent from the sex and the anger and the tears, he felt her move over him. She placed whisper-soft kisses on the dimples of his lower back, the scar of the crossbow bolt, his shoulder-blades, the nape of his neck.

“It’s just my body. It’s not my heart.”

“… don’t …” He heard himself beg – but his words found her already gone.

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