Title: The First Time (1/9)
Author: Liz

Pairing: B/G
Rating: FRAO
Spoilers: Takes place in S5 after Into the Woods.
Summary: Buffy has a raging attack of "want, take, have".
Distribution: Oakpark Street for starters. Anyone else? I'd love it! Please just ask.
Disclaimer: As it turns out, I don't actually own any of the characters from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". It's Joss's world - I'm just playing in it.
Feedback: Absolutely - yes, please! Like it? Hate it? I'd love to hear why.

Dedication: To silver, for your beta-licious help in whipping this long-suffering plotbunny into shape. Your willingness to approach a new 'ship with an open mind has really made all the difference. I also want to thank Gail for the support, help, and encouragement - you guys are the best!

Buffy was getting frustrated. She had spent the greater part of the evening tracking and failing to kill a particularly slippery demon. Not literally slippery - he (she? it?) was actually covered with a coarse, grey fur. But he was tricky. And when she finally caught up with him, after he doubled back for about the fourth time, a buddy of his surprised her from behind. The buddy paid dearly for it, but the first demon got away.

And now here was Giles, sitting calmly on the sofa and asking her pointless, stupid questions.

"Look, I wasn't counting his toes, Giles. I was a little busy trying to stab him!" She paced in front of the fireplace, wishing her Watcher would quit with the third degree.

Sighing, he put his book down and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to ease the headache he knew would be along any moment. "I understand you were... busy... at the time, but this is rather important." He ran his hand through his hair and tried, yet again, to explain the reason for his question. "There are differences, you see. Two, ah... two branches of the family tree, if you will. Those with an extra digit are also venomous, and..."

"Fine. Whatever, Giles." Buffy clenched her fists as she continued to pace, her skin practically humming with pent up frustration. "They're both bitey, which means they both get to get dead. Anything else?"

He finally stood, his patience near its end. Giles opened his mouth to suggest she at least pretend to care what he had to say, but he stopped at the look in her eyes. She had been pacing like a caged leopard ever since she arrived, but when he stood, she turned towards him, shoulders square. He had assumed at first that she was merely anxious to finish her report so she could join Willow or Xander at The Bronze, but the smoldering glint in her eyes told him in no uncertain terms that this was something more.

"Buffy?"

She didn't answer him. Nor did she particularly seem to have heard him in the first place. She continued to clench her fists, her chest rose as she drew a ragged breath, and her darkened eyes narrowed.

"Buffy, are you quite...?"

Giles never got to finish the question. Buffy launched herself at him, hands grabbing hold of his shirt. He stepped back in alarm, but the sofa behind him caught him at the knees. He fell, sitting in an ungainly heap, and Buffy followed him down to the couch, climbing onto his lap. Her fingers worked with a will of their own, nimbly unhooking the buttons of his shirt, simply ripping apart two that had the audacity to give her any trouble.

When she reached to pull the bottom of the shirt from his trousers, Giles' shock finally withdrew enough to let him react. He grabbed her wrists before she could undress him further, pulling back when she tried to nuzzle the base of his neck. Not that he wanted her to stop, exactly. He just... he had to be sure.

More than once, he had awakened in the middle of the night with her name on his lips and an erection so hard it ached. And more than once, he'd been embarrassed to wake up with that erection waning, the rapidly cooling evidence of his release sticking his pajamas to his thighs as he tried in vain to erase the image of her from his mind. Regardless of how much he might want her, Buffy was the one woman he couldn't allow himself to hope for. In the years he'd been at her side - training her, teaching her, protecting and defending her - she'd grown from an angry and frightened girl to a fiercely beautiful young woman. And he had spent those years growing to love her in more ways than he could have imagined. Except the way she approached him in his dreams. And the way she sat astride him now.

Frustrated when he pulled away, Buffy turned to look into his questioning eyes. "Giles, what?"

"I, um..." He lowered his gaze, released her wrists, and somehow willed himself to speak. "I was about to ask you the same thing, actually."

If she truly wanted him (*don't be a fool, old man, she couldn't possibly...*), he'd like nothing better than to drown himself in the taste and feel of her, and it took every ounce of hard-won determination he could muster to stop his hips from moving against the young woman in his lap. But something had been off about her ever since she'd arrived; that much was plainly obvious. If this was some sort of spell, or mental control... if this wasn't something she truly wanted, he knew they would both hate him for not putting a stop to it. And even if she didn't blame him, he'd never be able to bear the look of horror on her face when she realized what they'd done. Because nowhere, save in his dreams, did he entertain the notion that she'd ever see him as anything but the old man whose guidance she sometimes relied upon, whom she occasionally rescued when he'd been knocked about the head yet again. Except that here she was, literally throwing herself at him. So why wasn't he happy?

Buffy glared at him, wicked mischief in her eyes. "You don't think I'm pretty?" she purred. "You don't want me? It doesn't feel good when I do this?" She punctuated the question by pressing her lithe, strong fingers against the hardness between his legs, and it was more than even his self-control could fight. Involuntarily, with a whimper of defeated longing, he thrust against her hand, and she grinned. "But if you don't want me..." she pulled her hand away, satisfied at the hungry look he gave her as he fought the urge to pull her to him again.

"Giles, I don't wanna talk. I don't wanna dissect and discuss. Please, just... I need this."

He'd always had a devil of a time saying no to her. Not that he didn't try, but they both knew it did him no good. In the end, he always acquiesced. And now, when it was something he'd literally dreamt of being asked for, when he could hear the desperation and need in her voice... He closed his eyes a moment and nodded his head, saying a quick prayer that he'd made the right decision.

Buffy immediately resumed where she'd left off, hastily pulling the rest of his shirt from his trousers and sending the last buttons flying. She feasted on the sight of his bare chest, running her fingers through crisp curls of hair that were dusted over muscles she'd never known he had. The part of her brain that still possessed the capacity for rational thought tried to remind her that the man who trained the Slayer would naturally be fit, but she'd ignored that part of her brain for several minutes now and intended to continue doing so.

She slid her hands to his shoulders, pushing his shirt away from his chest as she buried her mouth against the base of his throat. She inhaled the scent of him, committing it to memory, and parted her lips to snake her tongue along the pulse that came quicker and quicker as she nibbled and licked her way to his ear. Then she tugged his earlobe lightly with her teeth, gratified at the sound that escaped his lips. She wiggled her hips, grinding herself against him. He was definitely enjoying the attention. Except... "Giles, hands?"

When she began to explore his chest, Giles had sat utterly still, arms at his sides, afraid to betray his feelings for her and giving her every opportunity to change her mind. He had resolved to follow her lead, but now that he'd been given the chance to realize his fondest dream, he hesitated, silently waiting to be assured again that she truly wanted this too.

Buffy definitely wanted. Breathing heavily, she brought her lips back to his ear and whispered, "Touch me."

Slowly, too slowly for Buffy's taste, he brought his hands to her hips. With a final groan of resignation, he pulled her to him, feeling her heat as she met the thrust he could no longer restrain. But he was still too gentle, too hesitant, and she needed to feel his hands on her. She reached down and pulled her shirt over her head, delighted at the look of awe and longing on his face. He'd dreamt and fantasized, but his imagination had come up short. Peeking out of a bra of thinnest black lace were the softest, most inviting breasts he'd ever seen, and his hands moved without thought to cup them reverently.

She curled her hand behind his neck and pulled him towards her. Moving one hand to her back, he trailed soft, hungry kisses across the swell of her breast while the fingers of his other hand traced the satin strap at her shoulder. So softly, so slowly. Too slowly. Buffy impatiently pulled off her bra and clasped his head to her chest. Understanding, he drew her nipple into his mouth, and she gasped her approval, hips grinding against him more wantonly than before. She raked her nails over his back, and he winced, teeth closing around the nipple he teased between his lips. For a moment, he worried he might have hurt her, but if anything, she responded even more fervently, bucking against him as she held him tighter to her breast.

Between the insistent motion of her hips and the sounds of pleasure assaulting his ears, Giles feared he wouldn't last very long. Fortunately, it seemed Buffy wouldn't either. Abruptly, she stood to divest herself of the last of her clothing. A silent "oh!" flashed across Giles' face at the sight of her standing naked before him. Never had he seen such unguarded beauty. He ached to taste her, to please her with hands, lips, and tongue until she begged for mercy, but she had other ideas. She leaned towards him, snowy breasts tantalizingly close to his suddenly parched lips, and he took the opportunity to lavish attention on them both. Remembering how she'd responded before, he rolled a nipple gently between his teeth, and she groaned with delight, hands reaching down to unfasten his zipper. Deftly, she pulled his penis free, her finger swirling around it for just a moment, and then her hands moved to his hips. She pulled his pants to his thighs and climbed into his lap once again.

His hands trailed past the curves of her breasts, intent on exploring the soft curls she'd exposed to him, but it was her turn to imprison his wrists. She held them behind his head, against the top of the sofa, and raised herself up. Then, with a swift stroke, she lowered herself onto him, burying him to the hilt inside her.

"Aaah!" Giles bit his lip and did his level best to maintain some semblance of control, but she was so tight around him, so soft and wet and warm. He tried to put his arms around her, but she held them still behind his head and found a rhythm of her own. Faster, deeper, she rode him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. Already he could feel the sharp sweetness building inside him, and he shifted his hips beneath her. Her startled gasp told him he'd found the spot he was aiming for, and he gritted his teeth, determined not to come yet. He just had to hold on until...

"Don't stop, Giles, I'm... oh god, I'm gonna... Oh, God, Giles!" Buffy threw her head back and cried out, shuddering as her orgasm coursed through her. Her muscles fluttered and gripped his cock, pulling him over the edge with her, and with a final, delicious thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, shouting his release.

Several long moments passed as they came down together. Every few seconds, she would shudder and quake, her muscles clamping around him again as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm. Finally, she released his wrists and broke the silence. "Wow, Giles, that was so... oh, ew." She suddenly pulled away from him, and his face was a mask of confusion until he felt what had made her jump.

"Ah," he supplied helpfully. Then panic seized him as he realized what it implied. He hadn't even thought to get a condom before... and now... He looked up at Buffy, stricken that he'd been so careless. "Buffy, I..."

"It's okay," she said, quickly pulling her shirt over her head. "I've been on the pill since... Unless there's something...?"

"Yes? Oh, um, no. Nothing... You're sure...?"

"Yeah, just... gimme a second to..."

"Ah, yes, of course..."

And with that, she turned and walked to the bathroom. Giles, for his part, sat in stunned disbelief until the breeze from the air conditioner made him acutely aware that he was sitting in a wet spot on his couch with his pants around his knees.

This was nothing like his dreams.

In his dreams, he'd been able to hold her, to tell her of his love and have her return it in kind. To coax gentle sighs of pleasure from her lips as he discovered all the secret places she loved to be touched - the graceful curve of her throat, the valley between her perfect breasts, the inside of her thigh, the small of her back... And in his dreams, he'd been allowed to kiss her.