"That's the third time you've asked me that. You're starting to sound like those bloody Simpson characters."

Buffy looked up at his fiercely concentrating profile. "Tell me you don't watch the Simpsons."

"Of course I don't…well, all right, when I'm extremely bored and there's nothing on the telly." He squinted a little more trying to peer through the deluging cascade of rain against which his wipers had absolutely no chance.

"We're going to have to stop," she told him, changing radio stations for the fifth time.

"Will you stop that…and I told you I wanted to drive straight through."

She sighed. They had been together exactly two weeks. Two weeks since he'd almost gotten himself killed patrolling with her for the first time in Gods knew how long…

The shock of seeing him sprawled on the ground…unconscious…as it later turned out, with blood all over his head, had finally brought her to her senses. She had believed that he was dead and the only thing she could think of, as she started to die inside herself, was how much she loved him…how much she needed to tell him…and that it was too late.

And of course, later that evening she had…

She looked up at the handsome profile again and wondered exactly how long he'd been in love with her too; how long she'd been hurting him by being so blind…

At that moment something blew out. The rental car started to slow as Giles braked frantically, then began to aquaplane across the road in a terrifyingly uncontrolled fashion and slid off it into a fence. By some miracle there was no traffic coming the other way. When they came to a halt Giles turned off the ignition and both of them sat silently for long moments, only the sound of the pounding rain invading the stillness.

"What the hell…?" Buffy finally croaked.

"Blow out. Tyre," Giles croaked back. "In the bloody rain."

Buffy rested her head on the glass of her side window. In their whole two weeks together they had hardly had any time to themselves at all… Everything from Slaying to College, to her mother suddenly deciding it was mother/daughter bonding time and springing for tickets to a movie, had conspired to keep them apart. Coming on this trip was supposed to remedy that.

"Do we have a spare?" she asked flatly, wondering if Giles' friend would hold his flight if they were as late as they looked like being now.

"Most certainly," Giles sighed, peering out the window again, before making a noise under his breath, snatching the keys and opening his door.

"Great," Buffy muttered. "Now pneumonia to keep us apart for another how many weeks…?" After a beat she decided it would be better to have pneumonia together and opened her own door.

He already had the tyre out of the trunk and was looking at the jack.

"Something wrong?" she asked, watching the water cascading down his face and running into the collar of his shirt, and streaming in countless rivulets down his leather jacket, unaware that she, also had already been turned into a bedraggled, plastered down urchin, her white cotton top semi-transparent against her soft curves.

His otherwise annoyed eyes lingered appreciatively for long seconds before he frowned again. "Bloody jack. They gave us a broken one…or a least one with a part missing."

Buffy looked more closely. "No stick thing to stick in the slot thingy and…" she made a cranking motion.

Giles stared at her for a long moment. "Yes," he said through his teeth. "No stick thingy." He turned and looked at the rear flat, made a half-hearted attempt to lift the left rear fender. "Perhaps you could…?"

Buffy put her hands on her hips. "I'm the Slayer, not Superman. You, I could lift. A ton of steel…not on your best day, bud."

Giles dropped his head and threw the defective jack back in the trunk, followed by the spare and slammed it closed.

"Damn," he said quietly.

Buffy went to him immediately. She knew how badly he wanted to see the archaeologist friend from his British Museum days whom he was going to visit in San Francisco, how important it was to him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly and put her arms around him, felt his circle her, and his warm lips touch the top of her head.

"Never mind," he said as they continued to be deluged upon. "Gilbert will understand. It's just been so damned long…and my book…"

She leaned up and kissed his chin. "I know. Maybe we could arrange some kind of courier for the book. I know you don't trust the mail and stuff, but there has to be some kind of secure way for him to send it to you…"

Giles shook his head. "Not that book. It's too risky. If it fell into the wrong hands…"

"Sorry," she repeated.

"It isn't your fault," he said quietly then tensed as the solid sheet of water that had been falling thinned to a veil of misting rain in the evening twilight. Through it he could see a long, meandering drive lined with trees leading up to…heaven help them…a motel only a few dozen yards up the road.

They trudged into reception wet, bedraggled and weary, luggage under their arms. The middle-aged woman tending the desk looked at them sympathetically as they dropped their bags and walked up to it.

"Hello," Giles said, interminably polite. "I'm afraid our car broke down. I was wondering if you might have a room available…?"

Her expression was apologetic. "It is Friday and we're pretty much booked for the weekend. All I have left is a family apartment, with a kitchenette and two bathrooms. Sleeps five," she mentioned a hefty tariff, "and the deluxe suite. It's kind of pricey, considering, and most folks don't need the little extras." She mentioned a second tariff, not all that much lower than the first, but Giles was in no mood to wait.

"We'll take it," he said and handled the paperwork at record speed.

When he unlocked the door and the two of them deposited their gear inside, Buffy's mouth dropped open.

"Deluxe indeed," Giles said softly, his weekend beginning to look up at last. He had something similar planned for San Francisco after his visit with Gilbert, who was flying out first thing in the morning. He made a mental note to cancel that booking and then focused again on their near-luxurious surrounds.

"Wow," Buffy said softly, dripping on the soft pile carpet as she tracked across to the bathroom, passing the king-sized bed with its ruffled aquamarine covers and pillows. It contrasted brightly with the light champagne coloured carpet and cream walls. Even the subtle prints were framed in attractive metallic frames and the lamps were expensive and pretty.

"This is not how I picture a seedy motel," she giggled.

"For the price we're paying I should think not," he drawled, never so glad as when he spied the obligatory coffee and tea makings tucked away on a shelf next to the impressive looking television set in its whitewood cabinet.

"We should get out of these clothes," Buffy said suddenly. "We shouldn't be dripping on the carpet like this and you'll catch pneumonia if we don't get you warmed up."

He snorted, then came close and put his arm around her, rubbing hers briskly. "If I were you I'd bear in mind your last prolonged hospital stay. You are not immune microscopic invasion either, young lady, Slayer healing or no."

It was her turn to snort. She shrugged his arm off and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the bathroom only to again stop and gasp.

It was fitted out in marble-like material, decadent and pretty, gold coloured fittings and lots of glass, but Buffy hadn't really noticed. She was too busy staring at the very large hot tub that took up most of the room.

"Giles…?"

"I see it."

"I'll run the water."

"I'll get the towels and find something for us to wear…"

"Wait!"

Giles looked back over his shoulder.

"Take off those wet clothes first, she ordered. No more dripping on my lovely carpet."

For a moment their eyes locked in a mock battle of wills, then he snorted again and slid the wet jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door.

Buffy found a plug and turned on the faucets, getting the water running and adjusting the temperature before turning back.

Giles was undoing the last of the buttons on his new blue sports shirt. His shoes and socks were already off. She watched appreciatively as he peeled the sopping shirt off, the relentless rain having run down his neck and under the leather jacket, soaking everything.

A warm flush of desire swept over her as she studied the long torso, remembered the feel of the soft, dark gold hair that tapered down into his pants. Then they, too, were coming off. A tingle went down her spine when she saw that he was half aroused, the small, bottle green, satin boxers she'd bought him damp enough to show exactly how aroused he was…

Without realising it, she, too, had kicked off her sneakers and had slowly begun to strip. Giles looked up to ask her if she wanted a hot drink while they were in the tub, and froze as she drew the blouse over her head and dropped it before undoing the zip of her jeans.

He watched her as she slid it down, pushed the saturated pants off her hips so that they dropped to the floor, and then stepped out of them.

She looked up to meet his gaze and smiled before slowly removing the small, lace bra she was wearing and dropping it as well, as her soft, surprisingly full breasts tumbled free.

"I'll just get the towels," he said softly, in direct contrast to the erection now straining in his shorts, the flush in his cheeks, and the desire that burned in his eyes.

"You do that," she replied in a sultry voice, then turned to check the water, bending over the bath so that her tiny briefs, little more than a lacy ivory coloured g-string, accentuated the round curves of her bottom.

She heard the door open as she turned off the faucets and grinned to herself. She also heard the expletive he'd muttered under his breath before he left.

A moment later he was back, with towels, soap, his robe, her nightshirt, discarding the whole lot in an untidy heap on the vanity bar with barely a glance before striding over and sweeping her up, climbing the couple of steps next to the bath and stepping into it.

"Giles!" she shrieked as he sat down with her still in his arms. "It's hot and…you forgot something," she spluttered, tweaking the band of his shorts.

"I don't think so," he told her and pushed the button to start the jets, which obligingly bubbled to life just seconds later. "They were already soaked. Now they're rinsed as well," he teased and captured her mouth easily.

Buffy turned in his arms and slid hers around his neck, growling with pleasure under her breath as their kiss deepened. She'd waited so long it almost seemed a surfeit of riches to have him like this, all of him, all to herself. At least she thought so, until his large hands wandered over her body, her breasts, and she groaned into his mouth. At that point she decided there was no surfeit…just exactly the right amount of him…

Giles held and then caressed the soft breasts, playing with the hardened nipples until Buffy groaned again, before letting his fingers trail down under the water to the wisp of lace laying so prettily against her glorious womanhood.

He lifted his head and she moaned, opening her thighs a little more as he caressed the edges of the lace with expert fingertips. He could feel her shuddering as they played along the sensitive flesh just inside her groin, sweeping ever so lightly under the lace every now and then, drawing gasps and small panting breaths from her, each time.

Then she opened her eyes and shifted slightly, so that her soft mound moulded itself to the hard bulge in his wet shorts.

"God, yes," he hissed and arched against her as she moved provocatively, teasingly, and caught her lips again, their mouths merging and catching fire, demanding, giving, taking, wanting…

Their lovemaking grew wilder and wilder as she ground against him in the roiling bubbles, their hands caressing, exploring, claiming as the kiss burned out of control and their bodies strained.

And then Buffy's small hands were sliding inside the wet boxers and drawing him out, pushing the slip of lace aside and moving so that she could bring him to the soft opening. An exclamation of pure pleasure was wrenched from him as she finally took him inside herself in one long movement, dual moans echoing amid the roar of hot tub's jets as he slid home.

Buffy groaned again, feeling him twitching, feeling the throb of desire denied too long in her own loins and began to move, slowly at first, overwhelmed by the sensation of his not-inconsiderable shaft stretching her, filling her, as she rocked up and down.

Giles let his hands slide back up to the moving breasts, caressed them, held them, massaged them as she made love to him, enjoying her groans and shudders as he shifted his hips and pushed deeper and deeper until she finally began to accelerate, her strokes almost as fast as his might have been had he been making love to her. His fingers slid around and down to take hold of her waist and he started to push back in earnest, barely able to control the desire to just let go and explode inside her.

"God, Giles, more…" she groaned, shifting again and thrusting herself against him, tilting her pelvis so that he buried himself even deeper inside her as her orgasm approached. "More," she demanded again as her pelvic floor muscles clenched, squeezing him so hard her next stroke sent him into a sensual frenzy, the climax starting from his toes and screaming all the way into the depths of her warm, beautiful body, filling her with his seed as he arched and bucked beneath her, her own strokes turning to uncoordinated jerks and spasms as she threw her head back and screamed out her own, long, long awaited completion.

For endless moments they both revelled in the power of it, the ecstasy of the moment, their bodies throbbing and alive with the intensity of their passion. Then slowly, they came down, each winding their arms around the other, snuggling close in the warm water, Giles sliding down until only their heads and shoulders were above it.

It was several long minutes before Buffy lifted her face from the crook of his neck and kissed his nose.

"God, you're good," she told him contentedly.

"Why thank you, Miss Summers. You have a certain quota of charms, yourself," he chuckled and kissed her softly.

"You're very welcome," she purred when he lifted his head. Then she spied some small bottles behind him. "Hey, we forgot something," she announced, unscrewing a tiny lid and upending a little bottle of thick green liquid into the bath.

"Buffy...!" he objected, too late, as the jets turned the bath foam into a growing froth of thick bubbles.

"Oops," she giggled.

"I'll give you oops," he growled as the mountain of froth continued to grow.

"But bubbles are fun," she teased and disappeared into them. A moment later his eyes bulged as Slayer hands lifted his butt, and he then let out a long, low moan before closing his eyes for some time, his mouth slightly open and turned up blissfully. Not until he arched violently and they flew open again and rolled back in his head as he gasped, did Buffy finally emerge again, looking very pleased with herself.

"Can I keep the bubbles now?" she purred, moving up to snuggle into his neck again.

His big arms closed around her slender body and drew her tight against him. "I'd buy you all the bubbles in the world if it would make you happy," he whispered, still a little breathless. "I love you so very much…"

For a moment Buffy just pressed herself into him, then she slid hers arm around his neck and kissed his throat. "Almost as much as I love you," she said tremulously, and lowered her sleepy head back down to his shoulder. "I wonder if it's okay to sleep in hot tubs," she mused drowsily.

"Silly girl," he chuckled and drew her even closer.

She made a half-asleep sound distinctly like a raspberry. "Just don't forget to write down the name of this place before we leave…" she sighed. "No demons, no mothers, no school…just rain…and hot tubs…and you."

The sound of his contented laughter echoed out into the night...

The End

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