Blackmail: Liegeman
Warnings: Kink, BDSM, bondage, pain, consensual sexual activity between adults.Continued from Polestar
Liegeman
Giles rocked back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. He yawned. It was late, pushing midnight, and he ought to put away his books and get some sleep. He'd arranged to meet Buffy in the morning for a run, before her first class, and he would need to be awake. He'd lost himself in his reading, though, as preparation for the weekend's training with Buffy turned into pleasure: he'd been reviewing his great-grandfather's hand-written notes on The art of war. Giles had a more modern translation in his collection as well, but he preferred the elegance of that first translation. Not to mention the advantage his reading received from the nuances discussed in the translator's own commentary, written in unfaded india ink and a clear hand on the pages in front of him.
The front door opened. Giles's head snapped around: Buffy came through the doorway, fast. He stood, half in respect, half in anxiety, but she appeared well. She turned her back to him and turned the key in the bolt.
"You really should lock this thing."
"It's always unlocked if you're not here. Buffy. Do you need anything? Are you hurt?"
She came close to him but seemed distracted. "No. Just... kind of a hard patrol tonight."
She said no more. He deduced that she meant it was one of those nights when she saw the consequences of vampire predation. Why one slays vampires: because they kill humans for food and for sport. Buffy had come to him before in this mood. He'd usually made tea for her and sat with her quietly. It hadn't happened recently, not since that cursed birthday torment he'd visited upon her. Giles repeated his familiar mental oath, then allowed himself a moment of thrill. Whatever it was that had driven her away, they'd moved past. They were a team again.
"Tea?" he said.
"Yeah, please."
When he returned from the kitchen, he found her seated at his desk, bent over his grandfather's manuscript.
"This guy says all war is based on deception. Is he right?"
"Yes," he said, mildly. He set her mug down on the desk at her elbow, safely away from the papers. She picked it up and sipped absently, continuing to read the translation.
"When capable, seem incapable. When active, seem inactive. When near, appear far away."
"The feint," Giles said. "When your opponent's information is bad, he makes bad decisions. This leads to opportunity for you."
Buffy nodded. Giles cast about for larger examples. Her knowledge of the history of warfare was spotty, but she'd studied the second world war, at least. He explained Operation Fortitude, and the importance of the Allied deceit. The Germans believed the main invasion would be at the Pas de Calais, so they were slow to move their troops to the real site of invasion.
"Giles, I'm not going to be commanding troops."
"No. The Slayer's battles are most often one on one. But the principle is important, whether you're leading a thousand men or just one."
Buffy tapped the manuscript page, laid flat on the desk. She frowned, and seemed not to see the page. Giles was gratified to have her close attention. Perhaps college had taught her the importance of abstract knowledge. Even a year ago, he'd had difficulty maintaining her interest through a discussion like this..
She straightened on the stool. "I get it. So. If I'm deceiving them, they're going to be deceiving me. Or trying to."
"Yes."
Her forefinger tapped the page again, over his great-grandfather's orderly writing. "Angel did it once. The night he captured you. I fell for it like a big moron."
Giles did not offer her comfort or denial. She had to learn from her mistakes, because when the Slayer made mistakes, humans died. Sometimes the Slayer herself died-- a thought Giles had to force himself to form. But he formed it, to keep himself alert. "Yes. How did he succeed?"
"Emotion," Buffy said, with a harsh note in her voice that was unfamiliar to him. "He fooled me because he had me upset. But I'm not in the mood for this now."
"It can wait until our next session. Sunday morning, yes? You caught me in the middle of my preparation."
Giles took the tea things away and washed up in the kitchen. They brushed their teeth in the bathroom together, closed up the flat together, went up to his bed together, like a normal couple. That was where the resemblance ended, for when he pulled his pajamas from under his pillow, she stopped him.
"No pjs. You sleep nude from now on."
He inclined his head to her. "Of course," he murmured. She'd shifted her mood, and now the Slayer was in charge. He felt himself twitch and awaken in his loose trousers. He rose further when he'd bared himself and was moving around the room nude, folding his clothing for the hamper. The stripes on his backside were still visible, and his mistress was pleased to see them. She didn't undress fully, but left on her tank top and knickers. Satin. They were slick under his fingers when she joined him under the covers and suffered him to hold her close, suffered him to kiss her. Long, slow, and deep, kisses with more tenderness than passion. The kisses were enough for him. His body was sated and weary from the effort of satisfying her over the weekend.
She pulled back from him and laid her fingers across his lips. "What are you doing tomorrow night? Had an idea."
"Tomorrow's my weekly dinner with Xander. I'll cancel with him if you'd like."
"No, no, do your thing with Xander. I just remembered I have a thing with Riley tomorrow, and some Initiative thing on Wednesday." She made a little sound of frustration. "Busy week. Can't get away until Saturday."
Giles kissed her again. "Saturday's fine."
"Do you mind that I'm going out with Riley tomorrow tonight?"
He shook his head. "Better to ask if he'd mind what's happening now."
Buffy sighed, but did not move away from him. "I know he would. I know. If I'm not careful it's going to end messy. He'll get hurt. He's gonna get hurt any way it works out." He could hear her regret, but also resignation. It puzzled him.
"Why not end it now, if I may ask?"
Though as Giles said the words, he worried that she might take it as instruction from him. Here he did not wish to interfere; there was a corner of him that found pleasure in the knowledge that his mistress was free to be with other men while he was constrained. But Buffy shook her head against him.
"Can't. Have to stay on good terms with him. Only way to get in good with the Initiative. The guys can only relate to me as his girlfriend." Buffy's voice was dry, and Giles could imagine her exasperation.
"Why do you-- Ah. You distrust the Initiative."
"There's something up. I don't know what yet. "
"Their goals would seem to be aligned with ours."
"I repeat tonight's homily to you."
"Ah." Giles pondered that. He wasn't sure she was right, but then he didn't have all the information she did. He'd need to quiz her further. Perhaps in the morning. There seemed to be no rush. But: "Buffy? Be sure you're at war."
"Good point. I need to think more."
He felt that thrill again, the excitement and almost trembling awe that she was accepting his tutelage again. The Slayer wanted him, wanted his advice, wanted his skills. He flashed again on that moment of surprising fantasy from their last session: her as warrior, he on his knees at her side, stamped as her man publicly and privately. He set it aside with an effort; it was not the time for fantasy, given the hour.
"Let's get some sleep," he said. "We have an early start."
She reached down and took his half-awake sex in her hand. He tried not to moan, but failed. He wakened fully in the space of three breaths. She stroked a light finger over the tip and he moaned again. "Something doesn't want to go to sleep yet," she said.
"It wants more than is good for it," he said, unsteadily.
"Sure you don't want to play?"
"Buffy, I can't-- my body isn't up to it every night. It wasn't even when I was twenty. Not the sort of things I crave, at least. I- I- I prefer to, er, play, ah, less often, and more intensely."
She released her grasp on him and rested her hands on his chest. He took them in his and laced his fingers through hers.
"You crave intensity, huh? You mean being whipped?"
"Being, ah, being whipped, yes." His voice was far too husky for his own comfort. Every word out of his mouth betrayed how much the idea moved him. Dangerous.
She tugged him close. "What else?"
He swallowed. It was easier to talk in the dark, with his face nuzzled into her shoulder, her hands tight in his, her lips on his forehead. She made him feel safe, made him feel he could say these things, confess these desires. They'd never brought him anything but misery and shame before, but now Giles thought it was safe. With her it would be. But when he answered, it was with a voice even rougher with emotion.
"Pain, pleasure, whatever you want. Submitting. Being yours. Anything that proves it to you. Being at your mercy. Handing myself over. Waiting on my knees, oh God, yes, that. Aroused and waiting on your whims. Being brought to the edge and held there. "
"Those things are good. I like those things too."
Her approval made him bold. "What else do you like, my Slayer?"
Buffy sighed, and didn't answer him right away. "The way you touch me. The way your face looks when I hurt you, or when I make you feel good. Making you feel things-- it's amazing. What I feel inside when I realize you trust me so completely. What I feel when I think that you're mine. Watching you wait on your knees for me. The way you swear under your breath when I use my strength on you."
If he hadn't had his eyes open, if he hadn't been watching her intently, half in fear, half in desire, he might have missed it. A flicker across her face, of worry and uncertainty. She wanted to please him. She was afraid she didn't.
"Buffy. My Slayer. Please hear me. Anything you choose to do to me pleases me. I'm your man. Do you understand what that means?"
Buffy nodded, but then said, "No. Sort of. I'm starting to figure out it's complicated."
"In this it's simple. Do what you wish with me. Take what you want from me. I will enjoy it, because it's proof I'm yours. So long as you're here with me. So long as you show up on Sunday to train with me. Do you understand?"
"Yeah. Think so."
"So tell me what you demand of me, my Slayer. Shall I fetch a flogger for you to use on me?" He didn't know which emotion was strongest in him: fear that she'd take up his challenge, or longing for it.
She took a deep breath, another. Then she unlaced her fingers from his and gripped his wrists. "No, you were right before. You need your space. You have your breaking point too."
"Yes, I do." He kept his gaze upon her steady, but she didn't flinch away. Instead she grasped him hard enough to hurt, and he was the one who flinched.
"Stupid to injure you or push you too far. Also, wrong to give you exactly what you want. You're not going to sleep yet, Watcher."
Giles saw Buffy smiling in the dark. That intent smile, again, focused inwardly and not so much on him: she was anticipating something. He shivered against her and his treacherous cock hardened and betrayed him further.
"Yeah, that's it," she said. "Mind games work, don't they. And I know what else does."
She moved, Slayer-fast, and had him on his back, wrists pinned together over his head. She held him down while he gasped. He could fight her, if he wanted. She was stronger but he had four stone on her, at least, and more experience. But he didn't want to. He lay under her and panted.
"Like that, Watcher?"
"Yes, yes, you know it, I do."
"I like it too." Then her teeth were in his neck, where she'd bitten him before. Giles froze, then arched up into her but she'd pulled back again already. His neck burned. Once again he wondered if she'd drawn blood. Slayers and vampires, teeth in his neck, God, what was he that he craved this?
"I tell you what else. I like sex."
He breathed out an unsteady laugh. "Who doesn't?"
Buffy smiled at him again, and brushed a kiss over his lips. So strange, such a gentle caress after the ferocity. He had no idea what she would do next.
"How much do you like it? Do you masturbate?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
Giles blinked, but could not answer for a moment. She tightened her grasp on his wrists, where they were crossed over his head, until he gasped out his answer. "Yes."
"Not any more you don't. Not without permission. Yeah. Swearing under your breath-- you like that."
"Yes, I do." Taking command of him, making his submission just a little deeper. Giles was unsure whether it would be difficult or not. If she used him as frequently as she had so far, he'd be more than sated enough to comply. If she made him wait for it, however, he'd be in trouble.
"I might want to watch you do it, or I might want you to go for a while without coming at all. Either way, you don't come without my express permission." She grinned. "Maybe I'll ride you and leave you tied up all night wanting it."
Giles groaned. She knew. She'd make it hard on him.
"In fact... Yeah. This is what I want. You're going to play with yourself every night until Saturday, but you're not going to let yourself come. You're going to work yourself up into a lather and then stop. If you don't, I'll know."
She would, too. He'd be unable to keep it a secret from her. He'd confess it the moment she fixed her gaze upon him.
"Yes, my Slayer." His voice-- he could barely speak.
"Don't get any cute ideas about thinking I want you to disobey so I can get harsh with you. I want you to be in a frenzy."
"I will be anyway," he whispered.
"Obey and we'll act out a fantasy for you. You pick."
"Yes, my Slayer."
"Good. Now you get to go to sleep, all hard and hot and bothered."
She released him and shifted herself away from him. Giles turned to face her. He rubbed his wrists where her fingers had dug into them. He might have bruises. What was he, that the thought of those bruises excited him further? What would he ask her to do? Renew them? He looked into her eyes and saw that she was just as aroused as he was, her breath coming just as short as his. He wondered what she would do if he simply took her now, pushed her back and covered her and satisfied them both. His erection rested against her thigh. He shifted himself and rubbed against her, just for a moment. Her skin was hot. The craving was strong in him, even more because she'd forbidden it. Touch himself, stroke and squeeze, come on her, mark her as his own.
Giles closed his eyes and leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Buffy turned away from him and nestled back against his chest. What was he? He was hers. He'd hunger until Saturday night and enjoy every moment of it.
Bruises
Sunnydale had exactly one "authentic" English pub. It was notable for an inauthentic but eatable fish and chips; dart boards with good darts for hire at the bar; a couple of tables unfortunately built for pool instead of snooker; Bass, Harp, and Newcastle in bottles; and the ubiquitous Guinness on tap. It also had a projection television that ran football broadcasts from satellite and consequently it was crowded at odd hours of the day. During the World Cup it was intolerable. Giles had attended one such broadcast during his early homesickness period, but none since. He preferred a quieter dinner and pint followed by a solitary bit of practice with darts or a pool cue. Rarely, when his life was at its most stressful, he'd take his glass out to the back garden, sit at the sun-bleached picnic tables, and have a quiet smoke.
When he'd first taken Xander to the pub, his most shameful secret had been discovered: he'd taken to drinking a local microbrewery's ale instead of anything imported. Xander had ribbed him mercilessly. Giles had revolted and threatened Xander with going macrobiotic for their next weekly night out. Giles was entirely happy to eat brown rice and tofu, especially if Xander would suffer. He'd yielded in the face of miso and sprouts, and agreed never to mention Giles's penchant for colonial beer again.
Tonight, Xander drank Coca Cola and Giles his usual Razorback Brown Ale, and they both crunched into fried cod slathered in tartar sauce. Giles found his appetite was patchy; his mind was more on how his evening would end than on the food or his companion. He shook himself out of it and let himself enjoy his meal. Each pleasure had its time.
Xander dunked a chip into the mess of ketchup and black pepper he'd made in a corner of his plate, held it up, and contemplated it for a moment before biting off the ketchup-coated end.
"So! Giles. Can't help but notice you're dating again."
"Oh. I mean, er, I am?"
Xander ate the second half of his chip then pointed at his neck. "The hickey suggests neck biting. The lack of puncture marks suggests human not vamp. And finally, the rosy glow of happiness and the utterly goofy grin you'd had on your face all night clinches it. It's a case of the smoochies."
Giles smiled into his pint glass. "Compelling evidence indeed, Holmes."
"You know my methods. Though I also had the evidence of my own ears when we stopped by your place Sunday morning. There was some definite Giles-happies being given."
Giles flushed. Well, he'd asked for that, and it was justice that Xander was teasing him now for that stunt. "Your reasoning is sound. I'm, er, seeing someone new."
"So, who is she? When do I get to meet her?"
"Not just yet."
"Is this a big secret then or what's the deal? 'Cause it's not like I don't know."
Giles arrested his glass on the way back down to the table. Xander's voice had been unusually intent on those last words, almost angry. Not quite. Tense, perhaps. Giles collected himself, but didn't lift his gaze to meet Xander's. He shrugged, very carefully.
"Xan, if it were, were up to me, I'd tell you. But I have been asked, by my, my new partner, to be, ah, discreet. She has, ah, some unfinished business."
Xander shook his head, and Giles was reminded that Xander's relationship with Buffy had been uneasy at times. The tension was there because Xander was feeling protective. Giles was almost touched, but hid it by rummaging for the vinegar.
Xander ate the last of his chips before he answered.
"She should finish up that business. Anya hasn't figured it out yet, and neither has Willow, I'm pretty sure. But they will. And so will other people. Uniformed people, if you catch me. I am not one to throw stones here, because of past history that I'm pretty sure you know all about. This stuff gets out."
"I know. And it's painful when it does. I admit it. But can't be helped at the moment."
Xander cocked his head, then seemed to accept that. He lounged back against the back of the booth, his own glass in hand. "On a completely unrelated topic, where's our friend the Buffster tonight?"
Giles blinked. "I believe she's on a date with Riley."
Xander's face cleared. "Oh. So she'll do it tonight. Okay."
"Do what?"
"Break up."
"I doubt it."
"Aren't you-- I mean, what?"
Giles sighed. It would be impossible to explain the dynamics to Xander without explaining the exact nature of his relationship with Buffy, and he had no intention of doing that. He looked at Xander, and shrugged, hoping it would get across what he needed. "She has her reasons. To do with the Slaying."
Giles looked up to see Xander gazing at him. The expression on his face was solemn. It was an odd thing to see on Xander, as foreign to him as anger was. And then it vanished, fleeting as all intense emotion was on that sunny man Xander, and he was snatching a chip from Giles's plate.
"Gonna eat those? Hurry up. I wanna get my ass handed to me on the pool table again."
Giles stabbed at Xander's hand with a fork and glared, because it was expected. Then he handed over the plate and let Xander consume the lot. Time to give his diet an overhaul, now that he was in training again. The jog with Buffy in the morning had been a rude awakening. He'd be on salads for some time, salads and lean meats and water instead of single malt. Perhaps that macrobiotic restaurant would be no idle threat.
Giles split the bill with Xander, then paid for a couple of hours with a set of pool balls. Giles was only middling among his peers at snooker, but found himself a dab hand at the easier game of pool. He enjoyed complaining about the wrong-sized balls, and mocking the Americans who needed to make snooker easier the same way they made rugger easier on themselves. Xander took it all in good part, and cheerfully exploited Giles's skills to improve his own game. He was a menace with darts, though, and Giles had refused to let him touch them after one go.
Xander broke and failed to sink anything. Giles surveyed the table.
"Solids. Three in the side pocket."
He leaned a hand on the side of the table and craned down to take a second look at his rather cocky called shot. Xander's hand grasped his arm, and Giles froze. Xander pushed his sleeve further up. Clearly visible on Giles's wrist were bruises from where Buffy had grasped him so hard last night. Her fingerprints, purple and blue on his arm. Giles flushed, and felt a wave of that familiar shame wash over him. The thought of those bruises had been so arousing to him at the time, but now-- Now they were still exciting. He was surprised to learn it. Proofs of her dominance over him, visible proofs. She'd gripped him and told him he couldn't come, and anyone who looked at him could see it.
Nonetheless he was afraid of what he'd see in Xander's face. He made himself look anyway. Sympathy. Guileless sympathy. It was almost more painful than revulsion would have been.
"Anything you need to tell me?" Xander's voice was careful.
"I'm fine, thanks."
Xander stood steady however, eyebrows still raised. "I've had bruises like that, and I wasn't fine, no matter what I said. You told me so yourself when you gave me the keys to the library."
Giles flushed deeply red, right out to the tips of his ears. "Xander. It's, ah, consensual."
Now it was Xander's turn to flush. "Oh. That kind of bruise. Right."
Xander made a big production with the chalk on the end of his cue. He put too much on then rubbed it off on his sleeve.
"Have done that sorta thing with Anya. And let me tell ya, she likes wearing the handcuffs a lot. So do I. I mean, like it when she wears them. Hated it when I wore 'em. And I totally am not talking about bondage with you."
Giles breathed out a silent laugh. "I'm content to drop the subject if you are."
"Dropping it now. So long as you're okay."
"Yes, yes, thanks. Am I now allowed to get on with it?" Giles gestured to the table.
"Be my guest. Five in the corner?"
"Three in the side." Giles shook out his shoulders to relax himself and shot. He gloomily watched the ball carom off the corner of the pocket.
"Ought to have gone for the five," Xander said, cheerfully. Giles glowered at him. Xander made the shot himself, then muffed his next through sheer over-ambition and over-confidence. Giles settled in and set himself to the task of clearing the table.
"Giles."
"What?"
"Can't keep my mouth shut."
"And here I was wondering if the sun had risen in the east this morning."
"Snarkmonger. You need to know that if things go smasharooni I'm still your bud. No matter what Buffy does."
"Xander, she's not going to--"
"She might. She's flakey about guys. Don't look at me like that! I am not the Slayer of you, and you can't glare me into shutting up. Okay, you can. Just not about this. You're my friend, Giles. I get to worry about you. This could end in a world of hurt."
Giles sighed and turned back to the table. "Nine in the corner. Bearing in mind that officially I have no idea what you're talking about-- I... yes. But the alternative was... worse."
"Alternative?"
"Her going on without a Watcher, without training, without help. She's been training with those ruddy soldiers. Watchers have been working with Slayers for millennia, literally millennia, Xander. Building a training program that works with who they truly are. I've spent my entire life learning how to keep a Slayer alive and effective. Without me, she--"
"You can be her Watcher without going to bed with her."
Giles shook his head. She'd awakened in time. Sexual jealousy, he suspected, the same emotion that had sent her spinning away from him when she'd walked in on his morning with Olivia. This time it had moved her, finally, to lay claim to him. He stretched out over the table and made a bank shot. The cue was in good shape for his next shot. This was the aspect of the game that gave Xander the most fits: the planning. Not that snooker was chess. Giles could play it with only half his mind on it. He moved around to line up the next shot.
He said, "Fourteen. It was her requirement. An exchange. She wanted this in exchange for my service as her Watcher. We both wanted it, truthfully."
Xander made a thoughtful noise. "Does this happen a lot? I mean, Watchers and Slayers getting their nookie on."
"Better to ask how many have not. It's discouraged nowadays, but in earlier times it was, ah. Simply expected. The inevitable result of the pair being so isolated from everyone else, from ordinary lives. Hunting demons until their deaths. Twelve."
"Deaths? Plural?"
Giles muffed a perfectly easy straight shot. "It's an intense partnership. Or it was."
"And you're old-fashioned." Xander was silent. "Well. That's why we like you. Hey, look! You didn't beat me without me getting a shot this time."
Xander went to work on the table and demonstrated how far he'd come since their first evening playing together. But that was Xander: a workman's competence. He'd never be flash, never strut, but Giles trusted him. He rested his cue on his foot and watched. Buffy had chosen her friends well.
Xander revisited the topic one last time, as Giles pulled the car up to the curb in front of his parents' house.
"I think once I would have hated you. You know. For having what I couldn't."
"Now?"
Xander grinned. "I've got Anya. We make each other happy, and she wears the handcuffs. See ya next week, if not before."
He slammed the passenger door and rapped a goodbye on the window. Giles watched him disappear around the back of his house, then drove himself home. Home where, he would enact in the dark proof of his devotion to his Slayer. Xander wouldn't have wanted what Buffy wanted: Buffy wanted her men in the handcuffs, to be the ones with the bruises.
And yes, the thought was unbearably exciting. Marks. Secrets under his clothing.
His excitement heightened further when his front door clicked shut behind him. Home, alone, with Buffy's instructions in his mind. He left the door unlocked, as always, in fear and hope, and got himself ready for bed, but not for rest.
No pajamas. He'd laundered them and put them away in the bottom drawer. He only ever slept nude when he had company in his bed, a warm body next to him. California nights were surprisingly chilly, even in summer, here on the Pacific. But she required him to sleep nude, and obeying her in this was easy. It was strangely erotic to be in his bedroom alone and nude, thinking about what he would be doing in the next minutes. He leaned his bare chest against a post at the foot of the bed and stroked his hands over it. He reached up and touched on of the rings embedded high up, imagined himself bound to it, stretched on his toes, waiting. He could ask for that this weekend if he wanted, if he did as she required now.
Self-indulgence, then self-denial.
He loved to be told when he could come and when he could not. This was no secret. Every one of his lovers had discovered this about him, even the more conventional ones. Jenny had been the most implacable about it, had gone so far as to train him to improve his control, but even she had never told him he couldn't masturbate. He'd rarely wanted to with her, though. She'd kept him busy just as Buffy did, worn out. He wouldn't even consider touching himself tonight without Buffy's instructions to do so.
How would he approach this? He could use a cock ring. It would slow him down, give him better control. But he thought she might not approve of artificial aids. This was a test of his self-control and his obedience. So Giles knelt on his bed, facing the headboard, and spread his thighs wide. He sometimes masturbated this way, fantasizing that he was on his knees to someone, sometimes women he'd known, sometimes Ethan, more rarely one of his other male lovers. Even more rarely, he would imagine himself dominating one of those lovers, imagine himself wielding the whip instead of writhing under it, though he'd never done so outside of fantasy.
Tonight there was only one lover in his mind: Buffy. Buffy in boots and jeans and that red tank top, nipples erect beneath it, and a riding crop in her hand. She'd begin by striping his backside. Bent over his desk, yes, cheek pressed flat against a book he'd left there, trousers down around his ankles. She'd bring him to tears then kiss him, ask him if he needed more, and he'd beg for more, more, please and she wouldn't spare him, she'd give him what he needed. His bold Slayer.
Where was she tonight? Was she with her soldier boy now? Was he making her come? Something in Giles snarled at the thought. If she was to take pleasure from someone else, he wanted it to be someone he could respect, someone worthy of her. But who was worthy of his Buffy? Who would he want to watch her with?
For a wild moment he imagined himself caught between Ethan and Buffy, suffering for both as they struggled with each other for the right to his attention, to out-do each other. Ethan behind him, Buffy before him, his whole body on fire-- He hadn't known this fantasy had been lurking inside him. It alarmed him, and he turned his mind away from it to memory instead. To Buffy seated on his bed, thighs spread for him, the scent of her arousal and how it had tasted, the burn across his thighs, how hard he'd been. Her moans as he teased her, breaking into cries as he built her up and up toward climax. Her body shuddering around his fingers, shuddering around his cock when she rode him the first time, when she fucked him. Would he ask her to do that again on Saturday? Yes: bind him and straddle him and make him come when he was bound tight, come when he had something to fight against. At her command.
Giles was seeing himself spend now, on her belly, in her mouth, against the headboard. His body shifted and his breathing changed. His hand wanted to move hard and sure on himself, and his hips thrust forward.
He flung himself onto his side, hands curled up against his chest. He gripped one with the other to help himself resist the temptation to touch himself again, to finish it. So close. Too close. He rolled onto his back and breathed, told himself to think about anything else. Sharpening stakes in the library, Xander asleep on the study table. Shelving books. Weeding the card catalog. He'd done as she asked, and God, how he wanted her. He imagined her somewhere across the town, in bed with solid Riley, groaning in pleasure even as he did without.
Giles fell asleep sprawled on his back across the blankets, his right hand wrapped around his left wrist.
July 09 2008
More by pairing: Giles/Buffy, Buffy/Riley, Xander/Anya, Willow/TaraMore by tag: buffy, giles, xander, season 4, erotica, kink, bdsm, bondage, sex, knifeplay, orgasm control, riley