Title: The First Time (3/9)
Author: Liz

(notes and disclaimer with part one)

Unfortunately for Rupert Giles, he continued to dream.

For the next several weeks, Buffy still filled his sleeping head, but these were no longer the loving fantasies his mind used to spin. His dream lover was utterly devoid of feeling for him now, just as he knew Buffy herself to be. His imagination recreated with painful clarity the way he felt inside her, the way she sounded when she screamed his name, but the price for this knowledge was his very ability to pretend that, at least in his dreams, she might be able to care for him.

If there was one bright spot, it was that his reassuring and sensitive handling of the situation had prompted Buffy to rediscover a place in her life for her Watcher. Not her friend Giles, just her Watcher. Still, he thought, it was something. And it was, in some ways, better than the previous year when he had all but ceased to exist in her eyes. Buffy checked in with him regularly now, both in the afternoons and after patrols. They had even begun to train together again in the back room of the store. Rupert was exceedingly glad he'd kept himself in shape during Buffy's independence, as she tackled her workouts with a new vigor. He took no small measure of pride in being able to keep up with her, and she no longer seemed worried about holding back or "going easy" on him. They researched together, they trained together - to all accounts, they were a well-oiled unit, Watcher and Slayer. Quentin bloody Travers would have been proud.

The grey, furry demon with the indeterminate number of toes still eluded Buffy, however, and remained a source of mounting frustration. Giles was no longer surprised when, every few days, he would spot the look in his Slayer's eyes that signaled her need of his services. And if her mood during this afternoon's training was any indication, he noted, she would likely visit him again that evening.

Sure enough, he had just put the kettle on to boil when he heard his front door slam. Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he came out of the kitchen and saw at once the futility of asking how her hunt for the elusive demon had gone. He swallowed and stepped towards her slowly, his face as neutral as he could manage, and he told her that he'd have tea ready in a few minutes, if she'd care for any. Buffy didn't want tea. She never wanted tea. What she wanted was plain on her face, and she wrung her hands as she struggled to say the words.

"Giles, it's back again. I need... damnit, are you going to make me ask?"

Of course, he mused, why should she bother with something so personal as asking? His Slayer's needs were clear, after all, and as her Watcher, he should act without hesitation in her service. Maybe Travers had been right to sack him. This all would have been so much simpler if he didn't love her so. But Buffy didn't want his love. All she wanted was release, and it had somehow become his job to provide it.

"Very well," he cleared his throat. "How would you..." How would she care for it? Lord, he couldn't possibly have been about to ask her something so clinical and crass, could he? Fortunately, she cut him off, making her feelings clear.

"I don't care, Giles, can we just do this please before I go tackle some guy at The Bronze?! I'm about a minute away from putting my fist through something, and I hate this!" He wanted to soothe her, to put her at ease, but her frustrated fury had no time for niceties. Well then, he told himself. The lady asks, the lady gets.

He flung the dishrag onto the counter and crossed to her. Her eyes held no hunger for him, just the need for what he would give her. She reached for his shirt buttons, but he caught her wrists and turned her away from him. "Giles, what the-.." He bent her over one of the bar stools, stroked her from behind, and her question quickly became a purr of approval.

Giles quickly found the zipper at her hip and eased it down to slide his hand across her stomach. She arched, seeking more intimate contact, and he didn't keep her waiting. His hand crept inside the elastic of her panties, brushing across the curls he longed to explore at his leisure, and he trailed a long finger down the length of her lips. She moaned and squirmed beneath him, relishing the feeling but still needing more. He was nothing if not attentive. Slipping his finger inside her, he swept his thumb across her clitoris, and she jolted beneath him, a shout of surprise and pleasure spilling from her throat.

Needing no further encouragement - she was already slick with desire - he withdrew his hand to reach for his own zipper, gratified to hear her whimper of protest at the loss of stimulation. He ached to take his time, do this properly for once, but that wasn't what she wanted him for. So he drew himself free of his briefs and tugged her pants down her legs. She wiggled as if to help, or possibly encourage, but they were well enough out of the way. Then he looped a finger through the wet patch of silk between her legs and pulled the material aside. Taking his erection in hand, he slid himself along the length of her, teasing her for just a moment. Her hands gripped the stool, and her knuckles were white with tension. She bit her lip as she waited, caught between begging and demanding. Either way, he didn't disappoint.

Knowing her palpable frustration, he thrust deeply inside her, and she gasped in ecstasy. If this was what she wanted from him, then so be it. He built quickly to a pounding rhythm, the stool's wooden feet scraping against the floor as she moaned beneath him. He reached underneath her shirt, pulling back the lace that covered her breast. Rolling her peaked nipple between his fingers, he slipped his other hand beneath her hips. With no need for finesse, he stroked her clit firmly, insistently, as he continued to thrust. Every nerve ending pulsed with electricity, words pouring from her mouth. "God, Giles... yes... fuck... Giles, Oh... GILES!" Bucking against him, she cried out his name, and the familiar fire coursed through his belly. He came with a roar, and her legs locked as she found her own release.

Physically sated, she pulled away, and they both spent several seconds putting their clothing back in order. As always, she was the one to break the silence. "Thanks, Giles. You're a lifesaver. I'm gonna grab a shower and hit the hay." And she was out the front door without so much as a backward glance.

The kettle's shrill whistle sounded, echoing through the empty apartment.

Giles no longer wished for tea.