"Wanna Bet"
Author: Holly
Email: trbl@one.net
Buffy arrived at Giles’ house for training right on schedule. Which is to say that she was a half-hour late, just as he had expected.
She was wearing shorts and a tank top, very much dressed for the weather. He on the other hand, was wearing his usual tweed, including a sweater vest. She looked at him, stunned that he would be wearing so many clothes in this incredible heat.
"Giles," she began. "You’re gonna’ pass out in all those clothes. It’s way too hot for tweed."
"I shall be quite all right, Buffy. Thank you for your concern." He moved to get the weapon for the day-Quarterstaves.
As he handed her one, she shook her head at him. "I’m serious, Giles. I know you love your tweed, and hey, who of us doesn’t, but… it’s too hot for it. And a sweater? A sweater, Giles? As in sweat-y-er. You’re going to pass out."
He took the en garde stance as he replied. "Buffy, really. Your concern is heartwarming, but, I assure, I shall be fine."
She looked at him, and some imp caused her to say, "wanna’ bet?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Do you want to bet?" She enunciated clearly.
"B-bet what?"
She thought that over for a few seconds. "Okay, here’s the deal. If I knock you on you’re a… rear, I win."
"I see, and what exactly do you win?"
"Tweed."
"T-tweed?"
"Yes. You take off part of your cocoon"
"I’ll do no such thing!" He responded indignantly.
"So you admit that I’m right." She said triumphantly.
"I most certainly did not! Your ‘logic’ is flawed. You’re the Slayer; of course you can defeat me. You knocking me down, proves nothing."
"Does so. Usually it takes a while, so if I knock you down within…say a minute… it proves that you’re overdressed, and not at your best. And if you’re not at your best, training is pointless."
That was a valid point, as much as he hated to admit it. If he wasn’t at his best, he was useless to her. And just standing and arguing with her he was starting to sweat. "And what do I get, should I manage to knock you ‘on you’re a… rear’?" He asked, eyeing her scanty outfit with some interest.
Buffy blinked. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she saw in his eyes. She felt a shiver work it’s way up her spine. "You get to be right. That ought to make you happy." She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Right?"
"Hmmm?" He responded distracted. "Oh, of course. Right." He shook off the disappointment.
"So you agree?"
He knew it was a mistake, from the second he agreed to it. Buffy knocked him on his rear within 9 seconds. As she helped him up, she unbuttoned his sweater vest, and pushed it off of him.
He had to admit that he felt better without it. And if he weren’t so stubborn, he probably would have stopped there, gone and changed, and been done with it. The next fall took over 15 seconds. He unbuttoned his Oxford shirt. Buffy helped push it off of him.
The next fall some 20 seconds later saw the removal of his shoes (and socks, since the mat was too slick to try to move around in socks). She watched amused as he sat on the floor and kicked them off.
A mere 26 seconds later he debated between his undershirt and his trousers. To Buffy’s pleased surprise he decided on his trousers.
She hadn’t realized that he had such nice legs. Muscular, with light brown hair dusting them. Distracted as she was, it took her 40 seconds to knock him down again.
This time the undershirt joined the rapidly growing pile of clothes. She frankly stared at his chest. Hair, the same color as the hair on his legs, lightly covered his well-formed chest. She swallowed, and tried to shake off the less than pure thoughts that she was having as she moved into fighting position.
It was debatable whether she landed him within the allotted time frame, or not. He lay on the floor, breathing heavy. He looked up at her, smirking down at him.
"I win." She said, perkily.
His eyes narrowed. He reached out a long leg, and swept her feet out from under her. She landed hard, with an, "oommph." She sat up and looked at him. "You’re a sore loser."
"Sore, yes. Loser…." He trailed off, a sad expression on his face.
"No." She finished for him. "Not a loser. I was only kidding. I like you, Giles, and I could never, ever like a loser."
"Y-you like me?" He knew that she cared about him, and that they shared a bond deeper than friendship. But "like", that was friendlier somehow. Less Watcher/Slayer.
"Well, d’uh, Giles. Of course. What did you think this was about?" She made a gesture that encompassed his sitting form, the pile of his clothes and herself.
"Torturing the Watcher." He replied, head bowed.
She felt a pain in her chest. She crawled towards him. "No, Giles." She said sincerely, resting a hand on his damp shoulder. "I was worried about you. You personally as my friend, wearing all those clothes. And while we’re on the subject," she continued with an impish grin. "It’s a waste for you to cover up so much."
He looked at her, suspecting that she was teasing him. Her hand on his shoulder tightened, and she stared intently into his green eyes, trying to force him to see her sincerity through the bit of teasing. He smiled at her. "Buffy." He raised his hand to cup her cheek. "I-I like you, too. I count you as a dear friend."
Her face lit with a 1000-watt smile. She threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. He knew he shouldn’t allow her so close. Soon it would be more than obvious that "like" was only a portion of what he felt for her. But he just couldn’t resist.
Then he noticed that her hands weren’t just holding him. They were moving slowly up and down the slick skin of his back. He pulled a bit away from her, needing to see her expression.
Her eyes were shut, her lips parted. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. He groaned as he felt his body react. He needed to get her away from him. "Buffy." He said, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. Her eyes flew open.
"Yes, Giles?" She responded her voice husky as she stared into his green eyes. She licked her lips, again. His eyes dropped from hers to her lips.
"Hmmm?" He replied, having totally lost his train of thought. He watched, as her lips again parted a bit, then seemed to move closer. Her hands on him stilled, and drew him towards her. She closed her eyes. Without thought, he moved and brushed her lips with his.
Her lips parted more, in clear invitation. He let his tongue roam the warmth of her mouth. Her own tongue met his, twining causing him to moan. His arms around her tightened, drawing her closer, until she finally moved to straddle his lap.
She pulled back, and looked down. "I think your lap likes me." She said with a happy smile. She felt him shift. "I think your lap likes me a lot." She moved to kiss him again, before he could regain his thought processes.
She needn’t have worried. After denying his feelings for so long, he was operating on pure instinct. They belonged together, and now it was time.
His hands moved to cup her breasts through her tank top. She arched into his hands. He kneaded her breasts, then gently pinched the nipples through the fabric of her top. He felt them harden into tight little buds. She squirmed on his lap, causing them both to moan. He moved his hands to the hem of her top, and pulled it up and off of her.
He reached behind her with one hand and unfastened her bra. It dropped down to her elbows. She pulled it the rest of the way off. When his warm hands found her bare flesh, she couldn’t help but groan at the sensation. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, lightly scraping her nails over his nipples. He growled, low deep in his throat. He clasped her back, and brought her bosom up to his face. He licked and kissed and nibbled, until she was writhing in his arms. All she could do was hold onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh.
He held her to him, as he slowly and very carefully eased her onto her back. She lay beneath him, still, watching him as he removed her shorts. His hand moved to cover her, fingers gently caressing, teasing her clitoris through her panties. She arched off of the mat. He slid his fingers under the material and continued his ministrations.
One finger entered her, soon to be joined by a second. His thumb stroked her clitoris. She couldn’t hold still, and when she finally came against his hand, he growled in satisfaction. He raised up onto his knees and pushed his boxer’s down.
She heard a rip, then felt him at her entrance. She spread her legs wider, welcoming him. He slowly pushed his way in. She gasped as he filled her, stretching her. He was still for a few seconds, letting her become accustomed to him. She wrapped her legs around his hips. Then he cupped her butt, pushing himself even deeper into her tight warmth, and he began thrusting. Slowly at first then with increasing speed.
Every thrust pushed her clitoris against him, bringing her that much closer to the edge. Finally, she gasped his name as she went tumbling over the edge. He felt her tighten around his shaft, and his thrusts became frenzied, his hips moving almost too fast to follow. When she tightened around him again, he grew impossibly hard and she felt the warmth as he filled her with his seed.
He collapsed on top of her, his breathing ragged. Then he rolled, still inside of her, until she was on top of him. She looked down at him, then leaned down to kiss him.
Her breasts brushed against his chest, and she felt him grow hard within her. She raised herself up, practically pulling him out of her, then slamming back down his shaft. He grunted in pleasure as she repeated the move. She repeated it over and over, until finally, she pushed all the way down, threw her head back, and tightened around his pulsing penis. He cried out her name as he came. When they calmed down, Buffy was laying on his chest, tracing patterns in his chest hair with her fingertip.
"Buffy?"
"Mmmm?"
"I more than like you."
"D’uh."
"I-I love you."
"I know, Giles," she said tenderly, meeting his eyes. "I love you, too." She kissed him, putting everything she couldn’t say into her kiss. As she pulled her lips from his, she felt his penis once again stirring to life. She looked into his eyes, then looked down at his groin, then back to his eyes.
"You must have been right." At her questioning look, he continued. "I feel much better without the tweed." Her joyful laughter filled the room.
"Who gets to be on top this time?" She asked, mostly kidding.
"Do you feel like trying something different?"
"Will it hurt?"
"No, of course not."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
"Get up on all fours."
"Oh. Um… Doggy style?"
"Y-you’ve…."
"No," she hastened to say. "I’ve heard about it." She shifted around. "Is this right?"
He looked at the view of her backside presented to him. "Bloody perfect, Luv." She peeked over her shoulder at him, as he grasped her hips, and thrust his way home. She gasped. She felt so filled that it was almost painful. As he began thrusting, one of his hands moved to fondle her breast as the other hand held her hip. The hand on her breast moved to her clitoris, stroking and manipulating it. Buffy pushed back against him, harder and harder as she grew near her release. Finally they climaxed together, crying out each other’s name in release.
They lay side by side on the mat, for a few minutes, catching their breath. Then they began pulling their clothes back on. They had gotten as far as their underthings, when they heard the door open. They looked and the entire Scooby Gang stood gawking at them from near the door.
Giles hastened into speech. "The heat, you know. Had to remove… um… all extra clothing. Danger of heatstroke."
The gang looked at them again then turned to each other, then back to Buffy and Giles. As one, the Scooby Gang turned and filed out of the apartment.
"Well," said Giles. "I think they believed that."
Buffy looked at him, incredulous. "Wanna’ bet?"
The End