To Read...
By Gabriele Schulz

TITLE: To read...
AUTHOR: Gabriele Schulz
DISTRIBUTION: Everyone who has my general permission. Others please ask first.
SPOILERS: Nothing. Well, Riley is Buffy's boyfriend (until she sees the light that is ;-)
FEEDBACK: Love it. Especially if you like the story ;-)
SUMMARY: When Giles began writing down his fantasies, he never intended for anyone to read them. But then Buffy finds his stories - and she likes them! B/G
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television, the WB Television Network, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I do not mean to infringe upon any copyrights.
NOTES: <<<< Giles' stories are in these >>>> Thanks to Lily for the quick beta and to Donna for help with the summary ;-)
DEDICATION: For Tev Ye. Happy birthday!
DATE: 4/15,16/2000

"Aha. Here you are."

Buffy reached inside the drawer and got out a pair of Giles' boxer shorts. Then she got out another pair and another one. And then she saw silk ones at the bottom of the pile. She got them out and tried to picture Giles in them.


She said to herself, but smiled and suddenly noticed that she had begun running her fingers over the material. She quickly threw them into the bag with the other stuff she had packed for him.

"Okay, what else would I need if I were to stay in hospital for a few days?"

Giles probably didn't have any stuffed animals. She looked around the room then saw the book on his nightstand. A bookmark was inserted somewhere close to the end, so she took the book and packed that too.

"His diary!"

Of course he would need his diary. She knew that he had one. And after a few seconds she remembered where she had seen it.

She opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand and took it out. She had earlier opened it to look for his underwear. (Okay, so that had been a really lame excuse, but she couldn't help her curiosity. She knew so little about her Watcher.) As she sat on the bed with the diary in her lap, she was tempted to open it.

"Just to make sure it is his diary." She mumbled to herself.

She opened the book. In the first line he had written the date and day of week and then the entry itself. She used to start hers with 'Dear diary' but Giles just began with describing how their search for Adam went on. After reading one paragraph she closed the book. She wouldn't want anyone to read *her* diary. Not without her consent, so she couldn't do this to Giles although she was dying to know what he wrote about her.

She put the diary in the bag and wanted to close the drawer, when she saw another book lying there. It looked like a diary, too, so she took it out and opened it.

This time, however, the date was only a little notice at the border.

<<<< I feel different today. As if I should change something. Perhaps paint the living room or go through all my cupboards and throw out all the small things I couldn't bring myself to give away. But of course I won't do that. I look out of the window to the water running slowly but steadily. Perhaps if she would help me. A smile crosses my face. I can imagine her face if I ask her. Without a doubt she has better things in mind. My smile widens and I walk downstairs to prepare breakfast. >>>>

Hhm. It wasn't a diary. This had been written only a few weeks ago, when he was in Sunnydale and there was no river anywhere near his apartment. But it was certainly Giles unmistakable scrawl, so what was it? She debated with herself for a moment, eventually deciding that since it wasn't a diary she could read it. She wanted to know more about this person and the woman he was thinking about. She could always stop reading...


"Hey Giles, I'm sorry I'm so late. I totally forgot the time."

"It's no problem at all."

He smiled at her obviously very glad to see her.

She couldn't help a blush. She started fiddling with the bag.

"Here. I got your clothes, you know, shirts and socks and your silk boxers and I mean... ehm not only the silk boxers also... I think I'll just put that down here so that you can take a look at it yourself."

They were both blushing as Buffy set down the bag next to his bed.

Then she sat down on it.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine. I really am. I don't think it's necessary that I st-"


She gently but firmly pushed him back onto the bed, which he had wanted to leave ever since they had brought him here.

"You will stay here until the doctor says you can leave. Are we clear?"

He didn't say anything.

"Giles. Or do I need to tie you to the bed."

He looked at her with wide eyes and then they both said in unison "Bondage fun," and started laughing.

"You won't forget that anytime soon, will you?"

"It is an image that's rather unforgettable."

"You imagined it?"

"Well... let's say it brought a frame or two to mind. Did you bring anything other than clothes?"

He obviously wanted to change the subject.

"Yes. I brought this."

She took the diary out of the bag.

When she saw his shocked look, she hastily added "I didn't read it.", but looked down as she said it.

"Buffy," he said sternly.

"I really didn't. Not that."

He looked at her and she quietly got the other book out of the bag.

He stared at her.

"I couldn't help it. It was so sweet. What is it?"

He was still gaping at her, then composed himself.

"It's... ehm... I'm not sure how to explain."

"A novel? Or more like short stories about a couple?"

"Uh... I believe you could say that, yes. How much did you read?"

"Not much. Only the first thirty pages or so. That's why I'm so late." She blushed a little.

"Y-you read..."

"I loved it! It's very... romantic."

Giles' cheeks turned red.

"Do you have more?"


"More stories about them. You started this book about three weeks ago. Was this the first or do you have more?"

"Eh... I... I have more, but..."

"You do? Great! Where are they?"

"Eh, Buffy, I'm not sure if you... eh..."

"What Giles?"

"They are not..."

"Good? They are wonderful! Have you thought about getting them published?"

"I meant they weren't supposed to be read by others. I just... it is a hobby. I write only for my own pleasure."

He turned red again.

"I mean not that kind of pleasure. I mean, I write because I enjoy it."

"But you write *that* kind of pleasure very well."

He stared at her again.

"Please Giles, let me read more. I won't tell anyone. And we don't need to talk about it. Unless you want to. Although you probably don't. At least not... *that* kind of pleasure. Did you write that from experience? Forget that I asked!"


She looked at him, glad that he had interrupted her embarrassing rambling.

"If you open the middle drawer of my nightstand, you'll find a key attached in the middle on the top. There's a little trunk in the back of the big cupboard in my bedroom. The key will open it. There's some personal stuff in there as well as my diaries. Don't read them."

"Of course not!"

"Buffy look at me."

She did.


"I swear I won't read your diaries."

He nodded.

She was glad that he would let her read more of his stories, but felt also slightly hurt, that he didn't trust her. What must he have written about her, that he had to make sure she didn't read it? She thought about her own diaries and though she would feel embarrassed about many things she thought she could live with him reading them. But obviously he didn't feel the same.


The next couple of weeks Buffy spent most of her free time reading up on Giles' stories. She mostly did so in Giles' apartment, because there the chance to be caught by Willow or someone else was at minimum. She only read when Giles was not at home though. First of all he still blushed every time they talked about his stories because many of them took a turn into the more physical part of a romantic relationship and the second by far more important reason was that she had begun to enjoy those parts of his stories in a way that would be highly embarrassing if he caught her. The first time had happened two days after she had started reading the stories. She had lain on his bed when the two protagonists had gotten 'friendly' in an especially passionate way.

Buffy had identified with the nameless heroine of Giles' stories from the first chapter. She seemed like her in a lot of ways, only smarter and more beautiful. And funnier and more experienced and caring. She was all the things she wanted to be, although she was not perfect. More than once the protagonist had described her as stubborn, but even so it was quite evident that he loved her very much.

Buffy began to wonder if this was just the woman of Giles' dreams or someone he had known back in England. She didn't like the thought, because it showed again how little she knew about his life and frankly because she was jealous. That he could love someone so much...

She had no doubt that Giles pictured himself in the protagonist. She herself had an image of a thirty-something British man. Handsome, with a good sense of humor and a love for his lady that shone through every page. And he was very experienced in the art of making love.

And that was how Buffy had found herself writhing on Giles' bed, with one hand holding the book and the other rubbing frantically between her legs. The first time had been quite a shock to her. That she would masturbate in Giles' bed, reading one of his stories about two strangers was somewhat disturbing, but in the end her desire had weighed out any other thought and she had deliberately begun to pleasure herself when reading the more erotic encounters of Giles' heroes.


They didn't talk about the stories very often, but Buffy felt the need to ask more about them.

"Why are they sometimes not together? I'm always a little 'Huh?' when I read about him loving her from afar and wondering if she feels the same."

"I write what I feel, and sometimes I like to see them take their relationship to another level. And in order to do that I have to get them to the previous one. Pretend that it's a glimpse into their past."

"But they can only have one past."

"Then pretend that it was what they dreamed would happen, when they weren't together yet."

Giles was getting a little exasperated.

"It's okay. I just find it a little weird. But I like those stories too. They are so sweet. Like the one where they take a walk and it starts raining and they find nowhere to stand so they just run into the next phone booth and you know... That was so beautiful."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. Not *that* kind of pleasure."

She was kidding, but still couldn't help the streak of red that crept into her cheeks. She would die of embarrassment if Giles ever found out what she did when she read some of his stories.

"Why don't you give them names?"

"I... I don't know."

She wondered whether she should just let it go or keep asking. She knew that he was lying. There had been a few occasions when he had written down a name, but then written over it again and again until it was impossible to see what it had been. Maybe this really was more than a dream woman. Maybe he did know her and didn't want to share it. Even if he had never intended for anyone else to read it.

"Well, the way it is you can make up a name yourself," she said neutrally.

"Yes, I suppose you can."

"Do you picture a certain name when you write it?"

"Buffy, I don't think this is... The way it is we can both imagine a name of our choice. Let's just leave it at that."

She looked at him. For a split second she had thought that 'Buffy' was the name he pictured. A shiver ran down her spine. The stories were already very erotic in some parts, but if she could see her own name on those pages in his handwriting...

She felt the need to go upstairs and reread the chapter where they had spent the evening in front of the fireplace.


It took a moment before she got out of her reverie.


"How was your patrol yesterday?"

"Patrol. Yes."

She proceeded to tell him about patrol and that was how most talks about his stories went. She sometimes asked about specific stories and if he knew this or that from experience (nothing sexual of course) and she found out quite a few things about her watcher that she didn't know. And the fact that he seemed to have done all the things he wrote about hinted quite a few things about his sexual experience.

The man in Buffy's imagination began to become a little older and his voice took on Giles' beautiful tone. Not that she would ever admit it to herself, but she began to see Giles in the protagonist and that included those parts, that easily brought her to climax with a little help of her nimble fingers. This went on for a couple of weeks during which Buffy read one book after another.

Then when she was at the second to last book something happened that shocked her even more than the first time she had masturbated to Giles' stories: She called out his name as she climaxed.

She dropped the book and came down panting. Why had she done that? She had never seen *him* as Giles. It wasn't Giles' kiss that made her imagination run wild, it wasn't Giles' touch that brought shivers down her spine, even if only in her fantasy. It wasn't Giles' hands, nor his lips, nor his tongue nor his...

Her breathing sped up by the mere thought of Giles doing all those things to her. But that couldn't be. That would be 'Ewww', wouldn't it? She closed her eyes and replayed some of the scenes of Giles' stories, this time picturing herself not with a nameless stranger, but with Giles.

Without wanting to, she reached down and began rubbing herself to climax again.

"Oh my God."

She rolled over lying on her side and tried to make sense out of this. She had just masturbated thinking about Giles. Twice. And perhaps even more often without being aware of it. When had this happened? She remembered how she had at first pictured someone who was more in the lines of Wesley. Only without all the things that made Wesley Wesley, instead more relaxed and brave and funny and... All the things Giles was.


What a mess! Maybe this wouldn't be quite as bad if she didn't have the feeling that she had fallen in love with the person who wrote about himself and the woman he loved. She was still seeing Riley. She was even sleeping with him and while it wasn't bad, she had to admit that it was nothing like the scenes Giles described in his stories.

She had thought she had developed a crush on a fictional character, and suddenly it seemed that she had fallen in love with her Watcher. The problem was, she didn't know what would be better.

The next week, Buffy read the rest of his stories and reread some of the old ones. She didn't try to picture someone other than Giles and she realized that it had to have been Giles all along. The gestures, the way he looked at her. Well at the woman he loved.

And that was the other thing. She desperately tried to figure out if the woman he described could perhaps be her. Sometimes she thought she said things she herself could have said and the name that he had overwritten had the length that could fit her name. Then again, it also fit the length of a thousand other names. There were also scenes that she clearly recognized as something that had happened to them, but that could have just been inspiration and not re-enactment.

When she was with Giles, she sometimes leaned closer to him to see how he would react, but he usually just began to stutter slightly and move further away from her. And her confused mind told her that it meant he had to love her or he had no idea how to gently refuse her. Unfortunately, it couldn't decide on one and when Buffy was finished with reading the stories and rereading most of the old ones she knew only two things for sure: She was undeniably and overwhelmingly in love with her Watcher and she had absolutely no idea how he felt for her.


"Okay, I'm done."

"Done with what?"

Giles looked up at her from his desk.

"With the stories. I've read all of them. Some several times. I want more."

"The current book is in the bottom drawer of my nightstand."

"I already read that. Three times."

He looked at her.

"Giles, I want more. Now."

"I'll see what I can do tonight."

She stepped closer to his desk.


"Wh... I'm reading..."

"About a demon that we killed yesterday. This can wait. I can't."

"You want me to start writing here and now?"


"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I don't have the book here."

She glared at him. Then she ran up the stairs to his bedroom only to come back down after a few seconds the book in her hand.

"Here it is."

"I can't write when you're watching."

"Then I'll wait on the couch. And I won't watch. Just check once in a while if you're still writing."

"Why would I do this just because you tell me to?"

"Because you can't resist my pout?"

She bent down and looked him deep in the eyes.


Giles just nodded.

She smiled and turned, walking to the couch.

He released the breath he had been holding. What was he supposed to do now? This whole situation had tangled his
emotions from the beginning.

When she had first told him she had read his 'stories' he had expected her to accuse him or to make fun of him or to be disgusted or all of the above, but then he had realized that she really had no idea that he was writing about her.

Although he didn't understand how anyone could not see that the woman he described with so much love was Buffy. Her strength, her beauty, her wit, her charm, her vivaciousness. For him it was more than obvious. Nothing in her was not Buffy except the long dark hair. And he had only chosen that (in part) because, just like the name, he wanted this to be a secret fantasy. Even though he had never intended it for anyone but himself to read he wanted this last bit to remain *his* only. As if he had known that she would find it.

He wondered whether it was just the dark hair of his heroine that covered the obvious. He had started writing when Buffy had run away. Joyce had shown him some pictures of her before she had become the Slayer and in one he particularly liked she had had long dark hair. And that had been the other reason to describe her as an astonishing brunette.

But other than the hair and a few things about her surroundings (like where she lived and her job) he had written about Buffy exactly as he saw her. It wasn't quite the same with the man he wrote this stories about. It was himself of course, his fantasies, but he liked to make him a little younger, better looking, less what he imagined Buffy saw in him and more what he imagined she looked for in a man. And apparently that had worked out well. She had mentioned more than once that 'this guy' was almost too perfect. And lately she had looked at him while she said it in a way that had always made him drop his gaze. It was these moments that he thought that she might know the truth after all and the fact that she so adored the man would mean... But then she would add something like 'I wish guys like that existed in reality.' and he knew that for *her* it was a faceless fantasy.

But when she had bent down towards him a few moments ago he had thought he had seen something in her eyes. As if she were asking for more than just a story. As if she wanted him to answer all the questions she had dared to ask him, and even more, the ones she didn't.

She had asked more than once if he was writing about someone in particular. Not downright, but her questions about the heroine of his stories had hinted in that direction. But he had never answered if it was a real person, let alone told Buffy that it was her.

The first time he had written after she had found out about it he had been torn between making the couple less like himself and Buffy to cover up the truth and making them even more like them to declare his love in a way that he could always easily deny. In the end he had just kept on writing as he always had. It was easiest and perhaps the only thing possible, because he sometimes felt that his two 'characters' had developed a life of their own. Now he sat at his desk and Buffy was sitting only a few feet away, waiting for him to pour his love into these pages, because this was essentially what he did when writing.

He wrote down the date and began to write not thinking about anything, just letting the words form. Thinking would be useless. He had spent hour after hour thinking about why she loved these stories so much, stories that dealt with his love for her and if she knew and if so if she returned his feelings. He had always come to the same conclusion: that he just didn't know.

So now he just wrote what came up in his mind, not trying to block things out or to bring them in...

Buffy lay on the couch waiting and once in a while looking at him. She hoped that she would find a sign that would tell her that he was writing about her. That maybe he'd look at her and blush, but he didn't once look up. But maybe the story would give him away. She was sitting here in the same room with him and maybe that would cause him to give away his feelings, *if* he had them - for her.

When she saw that he was about to begin a new page she called his name. He looked up from the book.

"Can I... can I read what you've done?"

"And how am I supposed to finish, when you're reading it?"

"Write on a piece of paper. You can stick it in the book later."


"Please Giles."

She was about to get up from the couch, when he hurried to stand up and handed her the book.

Their gaze met and he flushed, before going back to his desk. Buffy smiled. Flushing probably meant that this was one of his more 'romantic' (not to say steamy, sexy) stories. And the fact that he would write one of them while she was present was good. Probably.

She lay down on the couch and took a deep breath. Before she began to read she reminded herself that Giles was in the same room, which meant that her hand had better not find a way below her stomach. Then she started reading.

<<<< Death and taxes. I am glad that I'm alive, but when I'm doing my tax return, death can seem almost inviting. And that she's sitting on the sofa waiting for me is not helping. Although waiting isn't entirely appropriate a word considering that she has tried to get my attention for one hour. And she is very good at getting my attention. I hardly dare to look at the sofa. I do so now and can only see her hand hanging over the arm of the couch. She's probably just relaxing for a second but then I see her curling her hand shooting her index finger out and drawing it back, calling me, inviting me, demanding my presence on top of her or beneath, but most certainly inside her. I sigh. >>>>

Giles couldn't concentrate enough to go on writing. So he just watched Buffy, although he couldn't see her right now. Then suddenly her hand appeared over the arm of the couch. His heart started beating faster instantly. Maybe she was just playing along the scene. Maybe she wasn't even aware that she was doing it.

Then he saw her that her finger was 'calling' him or not him, but only the faceless stranger she imagined when reading his stories.

He turned his gaze away and tried to concentrate on the last sentence he had written.

Buffy couldn't see Giles, but she thought she had heard an intake of breath when she had 'invited' him. She hoped that she was doing the right thing, but the way he described the scene... *he* having to write something, *she* waiting on the couch. That couldn't be coincidence. This had to be more than just inspiration.

<<<< I look back at the load of paper on my desk and try to ignore her. She calls out my name drawing it out. But I force myself to concentrate on the work at hand. I'm beginning the think that she shows some mercy. I haven't heard or seen her for 10 minutes. Maybe she has given up. I look at the sofa again and see her head peeking over the back of the sofa. She's looking at me. She's not grinning or even smiling, but there is a glint in her eyes and I know I am in trouble. >>>>

Giles had begun to write again. He took quite long for each sentence, but it became easier. He was aware that she hadn't called out his name, so maybe her earlier action had really been some unconscious playing along on her part. He didn't know whether he was disappointed or relieved. Not for the first time he wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into...

Buffy debated with herself whether to call out his name. In the end she couldn't bring herself to do it. Waves of self-confidence and uncertainty washed over her in turns and she couldn't decide which way she wanted to go. The safe way of waiting until he gave away his feelings or just coming out with her own feelings. The truth was that both options didn't seem acceptable. She needed to find something in between.

She lifted her head above the back of the couch, holding the book in front of her and waiting for him to look at her.

When he finally did, he took a quick breath of surprise. Then he smiled uncertainly.

"Enjoying it so far?"

"We'll see what she is doing next."

<<<< Then she gets up onto her knees and my mouth falls open as I see that she isn't wearing anything as far as I can see. >>>>

Buffy's eyes widened as she sat up. She met Giles' gaze, who looked at her not giving away any kind of emotion.

<<<< In confirmation of my fears, she gets up from the couch and comes towards me. Wearing nothing but her smile.

"She is naughty." Buffy commented, before standing up and to Giles' surprise walking up to him.


<<<< I call out her name wanting to say something, but as always her uncovered presence makes any thought difficult. She sits down on the desk, not caring about the papers lying there. Then she looks at me waiting for me to return her gaze. >>>>

Buffy sat down on the desk, holding the book in her hands and looking at Giles. He couldn't see the latter but could feel it and it caused his heart to beat even more rapidly. He couldn't think straight now, but stared at the sheet of paper in front of him. There were only few sentences on it and he was too excited to read them or at least to read and make sense of them. So he just sat there holding his pen and waiting for Buffy to read on.

<<<< I resist her and start going through a pile of bills, when I suddenly feel her foot between my knees. She moves forward pushing my legs apart, stopping when it is at mid-thigh. I don't look up at her. Then I hear her speaking my name softly. >>>>

Giles had noticed that she had read on and was so tense now that he thought he would break the pen in his hand any second. Then Buffy lowered the book and stopped reading. He gulped and held his breath waiting.

The seconds ticked by and he thought he would go crazy. Neither of them moved and then he parted his legs slightly. He didn't know why he did it, whether to encourage her or because his trousers were beginning to get a little tight. Maybe he was just fidgeting.

In the end it didn't matter why, the effect was what was important. Buffy hesitantly moved her foot between his legs and pushed it foward between his thighs.


It was only a shaky whisper, but in this second he was sure that she wasn't acting. He wanted to throw the book away and ravish her whole body, but instead he just put his hand on her thigh.

<<<< I don't look at her just put my hand on the warm soft skin of her thigh. I really should be working on my tax return. But then she moves right in front of me pushing everything that just lay there aside, sending some of my neatly ordered documents flying to the floor. >>>>

Buffy moved to sit right in front of him, pushing the sheet of paper aside. Then she took his pen and put it behind her on the desk.

<<<< Since I still don't look up, my eyes are directed at the dark curls covering her wet sex. She puts her hand on mine and moves my hand to those curls. >>>>

Buffy put her hand on Giles' and moved it forward to her crotch. She was still wearing all of her clothes, but even so he could feel her warm wetness.


She dropped the book and slid down from the desk, while he at the same time got out of his chair.

Their lips finally found each other and the kiss they shared was only a mirror of their feelings.

They had waited so long for this. Their hands where roaming each others body. They were moving constantly, trying to get as close to the other as possible. Passionate from the beginning, the kiss deepened and they slipped their tongues in the other's mouth, eager to learn the little they didn't know about each other: their bodies.

They staggered towards the couch, their hands never stopping to search and feel.

Clothes were pushed up and aside to expose some skin that was hastily kissed and licked when they weren't plundering each other's mouth. After 10 minutes of passionate frenzy Giles was lying on top of Buffy the tip of his rock-hard shaft ready to enter her. They looked at each other and Buffy spoke for the first time since they had kissed.

"Giles, I... I love you. I love you so much, I..."

"Later Buffy. You can tell me later."

He pushed slightly forward pushing the head of his penis inside her tight channel.


He stopped and looked at her. She returned his gaze, and there was a longing there that drove him crazy. Her face was flushed, her lips swoolen from his kisses and her whole body was covered with sweat and his saliva where he had licked her.

"I love you Buffy."

Then he pushed himself fully inside her and they both moaned loudly. He knew that he wouldn't last long. He was always astonished by how fast he could still come by just imagining being with her. And now that he could actually see her, touch her, feel her hot, wet tightness around him...

He carefully started to thrust inside her, but soon she wrapped her legs around him moving her thighs up so far that they were hugging his sides and her ankles crossing behind his head. This position allowed him to penetrate her even deeper and her low moans urged him on and he began to thrust harder and deeper.

"Yes, oh God, yessss."

He picked up a frantic pace and then he felt her convulse around him.


He pulled out of her and with one hard stroke pushed as deep as he could shooting load after load of hot seed inside her.


The feeling of him sent her straight to a second orgasm and she quivered around his pulsing organ, milking him.

She dropped her legs to her sides and he lay heavily on top of her, not able to move. When he regained some sort of control he wanted to move off of her, but she held him tightly.

"No, Giles, stay."

They were both still panting and he looked at her.

"Am I not too heavy?"

"I'm the Slayer, remember? And it feels wonderful to have you there." He kissed her, then licked away the beads of sweat on her face. She smiled at him.

"Would you have ever told me?"

"I... I honestly don't know. But probably not."

"Then I'm glad that you wrote what you wrote and that I did what I did."

"I don't think I could ever express how glad I am about it."

"You could try."

She grinned up at him and he felt himself harden inside her.

"That I could, love. That I could."

And he did...