Title: Post-Slay Report
Spoilers: none, really... set in the summer after graduation.
Feedback: *breathlessly and with a slight British lilt* Oh, yes, please!
Distribution: Ask first.
Summary: PWP numminess. :o)
The late-night knock on his door startled Giles, who had been dozing in his armchair while reading an old Watcher's Diary. He glanced at the clock and knew that only one person could possibly be at his door at two-fifteen in the morning. He stood and strode swiftly to the door to let his Slayer in.
She slid in past him with an inscrutable expression on her face, but something about her was... different. Something, and he couldn't tell if it was in her expression, or in the sudden grace of her movements, like a slinking jungle cat, or if it was in the impressive amount of body heat she'd given off as she passed him; but something about her was different and he found himself yearning towards it, his heart rate and respiration suddenly increasing as he closed the door and turned to face her. She was prowling the living room and he was struck again by her resemblance to one of the big cats. She exuded danger, power and sensuality and her movements had an unconscious fluidity to them. She seemed almost to flow from place to place.
"Buffy? Are you... all right?" It seemed, as the words left his mouth, quite possibly the most inane thing he could have said, but it was the only thing he could think of to say.
She paused in mid-motion, then turned slowly to face him. Her eyes were overbright and her face was flushed, but her voice was calm when she spoke. "I'm... fine," she said slowly. "Thought I'd make a post-slay report."
"Ah," he said, pleased to be able to hide his confusion behind his profession. He moved to the writing-desk and sat, opening his own Watcher's journal and taking up his pen. "Please, go on."
She resumed her slow prowl around the room. "One large green demon with horns all over his head. Dark splotches here and here," she indicated her shoulders and her lower abdomen. He dutifully began taking notes as she spoke. "It wasn't too hard to kill, since I had the sword and you know beheading handles just about anything." He nodded and indicated that she should continue. "Two Fyarl demons, hanging around Spike's crypt," she said. "I'm thinking I'll pay an early-morning visit tomorrow and hold his head in the sunlight until he tells me what he's up to."
She paused for a moment and suddenly stretched, her back arching sinuously and exposing to him in brilliant Technicolor profile the full extent of her womanly curves. His breath caught in his throat when she turned to face him and he read the expression on her face now with perfect clarity. "Eight vamps," she said then, her voice low and somehow silken, and he felt a shudder start at the base of his spine and work its way up his spine. "Two singles, a pair, and four in a group."
"A-and you s-slayed them all?" he stammered.
She slowly moved closer to him. "The last one got away," she informed him, her face moving into a sensuous pout. "I hate it when they get away."
"I s-see," he fumbled for words, trying very hard to ignore the sudden tightness of his briefs and the sudden warmth of the room. He made the proper notation in his book, and when he looked up again, she was half-leaning on the desk, directly in front of him, giving him a fantastic view of her cleavage. His eyes took on the wide, glassy stare of wildlife caught in the forward beams of an oncoming vehicle. She reached out slowly, with one finger, and traced the bridge of his nose.
"Do you know why I hate it, beloved Watcher-mine?"
He blinked, trying very hard to tear his eyes away from her ripe breasts. "N-no," he stammered, honestly not sure he had heard the question.
"Well," she drawled, "because slaying's hard on a girl... you know? Faith used to talk about it all the time. Hungry and... well, you know." Her cupids-bow mouth curled in a lazy half-smile as her finger moved to trace the contours of his lower lip.
"W-would you l-like s-something to eat?" he finally got out around a sudden tightness in his throat.
"I already ate, thanks," she whispered, lowering her head until she was whispering sensually in his ear, her warm breath tickling his skin and making his pulse race even faster. "Not hungry any more."
His adrenal glands were working overtime, his body screaming at him to take her in his arms and do every naughty thing to her that he could think of, his mind screaming at him that she was just barely eighteen and he needed to get her out of his home this instant before he did something incredibly stupid. He made a token attempt. "Th-then per...perhaps you should go home and get some rest?" he said weakly.
She smelled her victory and chuckled low in her throat. "I don't think so, Watcher-mine," she whispered into his ear. "I said I wasn't hungry any more. I'm still horny as hell. What are you gonna do about it?"
If his mind were General Custer, he could see the Indians in her eyes surrounding him. He made one last, desperate attempt. "We... we can't... you... the moment..."
Her throaty laugh met his words. "The moment, Giles? Two and a half years of foreplay, of loving you and lusting after you so bad I almost went crazy, and you want to talk to me about the moment?"
When her hot mouth closed on his earlobe and her tongue began doing obscene things to his skin, his body reached up and throttled his mind thoroughly. He tore his ear away from her with an animalistic growl and buried one hand in her hair, dragging her face up to meet his own. Their first kiss was sensual and erotic, and there was absolutely no gentleness in it whatsoever. Their tongues battled for dominance even as she climbed up to kneel on the desk in front of him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
When they finally broke the kiss, he buried his face in her neck and busied himself with giving her lovebites, careful not to break her skin. "Oh, yeah," she moaned. "That's what I'm talking about."
He ran his hands up her sides and grasped her breasts, tugging at her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. In response, she grabbed the hem of the shirt and tugged it up over her head. He reached behind her to unclasp her bra and latched onto her right nipple with his mouth, while his hand kneaded the other, twisting it and pinching it into almost painful hardness. She threw her head back and groaned. "Oh, yeah, Giles..."
His other hand moved southward and began to work at the fastenings of her pants. He paused in his oral ministrations for a moment to glare at her. "You had to wear button-fly jeans?"
She grinned, batted his hands away, and unbuttoned them herself. He grabbed her around the waist then and, heedless of the books and papers that fell into the floor, pulled her into a semi-reclining position before him, her thighs on either side of his hips. He grabbed two of the belt loops on her jeans and pulled them down, tugging them off and dropping them on the floor. He looked up at her and his breath caught for one brief moment. She hadn't worn any underwear. Suddenly his cock was even harder than it had been before, and he hadn't thought that was possible.
She lay there, naked, on his desk, leaning back on her elbows, one foot on each arm of his chair, and just looked at him even as he looked at her. Then suddenly she shifted, tossing her head back. Her hair fell down behind her in a shimmering golden fall and the arch of her neck seemed to call to him. He slid one arm under her back and pulled her up to him, latching onto that lovely throat at her pulse point, feeling her moan ripple through her throat under his mouth.
How she got his pants undone he didn't know, but suddenly her small hands were wrapped around his aching cock, pulling him out of his pants and stroking him gently. He groaned into her neck. "Oh, God, Buffy..."
She grinned and shifted her hips. "Now, Giles," she said breathlessly. "Now!"
He reached down between their bodies and touched her. She was hot and slick and ready for him. He used his hand to guide himself to her and then pushed into her hard.
Her back arched underneath him and she gave a small sound of distress. He mentally kicked himself for forgetting that, since her one encounter with Angel, she hadn't even dated anyone. He forced himself to freeze, holding stock-still to let her get used to having him inside her.
Her breaths were coming fast and shallow, and he leaned down to kiss her senseless again, taking her mind off the sudden pain of invasion that she'd felt. He was much bigger than Angel had been, and it had felt like losing her virginity again. It had hurt, but at the same time, it had been very, very good. She got her breath and equilibrium back, and moved her hips against his, questioningly. He responded with a withdrawal and another firm thrust, which she met this time with a moan of pleasure.
He laid her back on the desk and began to set a rhythm with his thrusting, which she met eagerly with her own hips. Her moans and gasps told him more than words could that it was good for her, and he smiled as he felt the first signals of her impending orgasm. She was moving a little faster, her hips encouraging his to increase the speed. Her face and body were flushing, her cries becoming a little louder, a little more desperate. She was speaking, begging him to help her finish. "Oh, God, Giles, please, unhhh, oh, please, so... uhh... close, I can...mmm... feel it... please, Giles, I need it, need you, unhhh, need you so bad, please..."
He reached between their bodies and rubbed at her clit, teasing the hard little bud with his finger, and it was enough - her back arched; her hips rising to meet his; her legs clenching around his waist; her voice, throbbing with pleasure, calling his name. Her pussy began to throb around him, hot and vibrant, clenching at his thick cock and squeezing it, begging him to fill her with his seed. And he did. With one last, pounding thrust, he called her name, and came with a roar, filling her insides with liquid warmth.
He collapsed on top of her and they lay there for a long time, his face nestled in the crook of her shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck. As he began to get a bit of strength back in his limbs, he hoisted himself up on his elbows and looked into her eyes. She smiled at him. "Love you, Watcher-mine."
"Do you?" he asked in a whisper. "Do you really?"
She nodded, reaching up to cup his cheek with her palm. "Really," she responded quietly. "I swear, Giles, this isn't just a summer thing or a convenience thing. I love you. I... I think I have since the day you saved me from Amy's mom."
He smiled and kissed her gently. "You had my heart about a week before that," he told her. "When you walked into the library, all fire and pluck, and told me just exactly what I could do with my books and my vampires. I knew you were unlike any other girl I'd ever met, and I was right. I love you, Buffy."
She leaned up to kiss him and his cock began to stir back to life. She felt it as he did and squirmed, grinding her hips against his own. "Oh, really?" she asked him archly, with a grin.
He grinned back, all Ripper suddenly. "Yes, really."
"Well, then," she whispered, pulling him down for a searing kiss and pulling his hips closer to hers by tightening her legs around them. "By all means."