__Odd Visits__
By Beadtific



It had taken a lot of effort to get to sleep, with both of them as stressed as they were, it was leaking heavily into the Bond. Buffy finally managed it after a hot bath, lots of meditation, and finally, by lighting a lavender-scented candle that Angela had said would promote restful slumber. Giles had not come to visit.

But something from his dreams did, and the acid wash of emotions from his Bond tore her, shaking, from her sleep.

Hands tangled in her hair, Buffy stood in the middle of her room trying to get past her panic and find Giles. The amount of rage and pain that was flooding into her from his Bond was enormous and she couldn’t concentrate. She bent over and took a few deep breaths trying to calm her self. A telltale queasiness washed through her,) and she raced for the bathroom, gagging; she just made it to the to the toilet in time.

Afterwards, she felt a little better, and the Bond had calmed down somewhat. It was less confusing and more just – well it felt again like a cold lead ball, like it did when she and Giles were talking about Eyghon and Willow. She rinsed her mouth out quickly, and scrambled through her things, looking for her jacket; it would do in a pinch as a bathrobe.

Maybe she could find Giles through the Bond somehow. They hadn’t tried that yet, but what was a wacked-out warning system for, if not to locate a Bondmate in trouble? She stopped and took a few breaths, fighting to calm down. She tried to focus on not on her emotions or the emotions that were roiling through the Bond, but any sense of Giles’ physical location. A few more breaths and she had it, maybe. He felt near; very near. She found some shoes and made it to the door. She forced herself not to fling it open and tear into the hall; no sense waking up the whole house, especially since Veronica had made a point of separate rooms and the whole no-touchie thing. So she quietly turned the handle and stepped out into the dimly hall.

A lesser wave of dizziness and nausea hit her, and she breathed through it. Suddenly, the sense of his Bond flattened out, like it was flash-frozen. Buffy fought a surge of panic, and focused again on the location, rather than the sensation. The eerie now-calm of his Bond actually helped her locate him at the far end of her hall. She stood outside the door, one hand flat against the wood, took a big breath and turned the knob; the door was unlocked. \\No locked doors. Gotta be my honey, then,// she smiled to herself.

She found him on the floor in a sliver of moonlight, crumpled just outside the bathroom in an unconscious heap, his robe tangled around him. He groaned, stirred, and Buffy was at his side in an instant. He rolled awkwardly into her arms and smiled weakly. “Alright then, are you?” he rasped, and clutched what he could reach of his robe around him for warmth. His teeth chattered.

“Oh my god, Rupert. Let me get you on to the bed and see if you’re okay.”

A trembling hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “No,” he choked, anticipating her next move. “No lights.” Turning in her arms, he curled his entire body around her and buried his face into her stomach. She could feel him shaking with the effort of holding himself together, and holding himself away from the Bond.

“Sweetie,” Buffy whispered, terrified. “It’s okay. I’m here; I’ve got you.”

His arms tightened around her as a few sobs clawed themselves free. Buffy, fighting her own rising tears and confusion, curled protectively over him, and laying her cheek on his hair, hummed a little song -- just a few notes really -- from a memory of Dawn, who used it to comfort herself to sleep when she was little. She rocked him slowly in her arms. Her efforts to breathe calm into him seemed to work; after a few long minutes, his shivering ceased, and he turned his head to look up at her. He blinked a few times and smiled.

“That’s Dawn’s song.”

“What?” Buffy said in a grousing tease, “the monks plant a memory in the wrong place?” Giles gave the faintest of chuckles – a tiny snort, really.

“No, just one from the first nights after Sunnydale fell, in that dreadful motel. The two of you fell asleep on my spare bed, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” The act of storytelling seemed to be helping him to gather his last few shreds of composure. “I woke up in the night, and she was lying on the side closest to me, rocking and humming much as you just did. I must have made a noise, for her eyes opened and she gave me one of those death glares for discovering her.”

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.” She kissed his forehead. “What did you do?”

“Redeemed myself.” He looked faintly shy, and Buffy raised her eyebrows. “I pretended to go to the bathroom, and when I returned, she was sniffling a bit. So, I sat on the floor, supplied the song and stroked her hair until she fell asleep.” He shot her a warning look, “We never speak of it.”

Her surge of affection warmed them both. “I’m so gonna have to marry you.”

As she planted a few more kisses across his face, he reached up, and tangling his fingers in her hair, drew her mouth towards his. He tugged gently on the silky strands as he released from his kiss.

“I’m sure for my Dawn-taming abilities alone.”

“Oh, I’m totally using you as a shield. But, you do have a few more handy abilities,” his lover drawled, leaning down and rubbing her mouth lightly over his. She leaned back and smiled into his eyes. He looked and felt as contented and calm as could be expected. “You ready to tell me yet?” she asked softly.

The gentle smile on his face froze, and cracking around the edges, fell off by degrees. His eyes were bleak. “Nightmare. Eyghon. Randall’s death.”

“Wow, and they came to visit why?”

“After you left our delightful little meeting, Veronica had a few more words about our situation.” Giles untangled himself from her arms and stalked across to his bedside table, where he poured himself a drink of water. He glared at it, clearly wishing the liquid were something stronger, sat on the edge of the bed and drank it off. Buffy rose and stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.

“A ‘few words’ gave you the teeth-chattering, pass-out-ing nightmare.”

The Englishman ran a frustrated hand through his hair and set his glass down. “She is quite right, and I had very ‘few words’ to say in my own defense. I should have seen something. She accused me of being,” he fought to get the words out, still angry with himself, “careless with your life, as well as my own. Not that she was too particularly worried about verbally thrashing me within an inch of mine.” He sighed and looked anywhere but at her. “I think the row with Veronica and the stress of the Bond set me off.” He examined his feet. “One of those nightmares that swings by for the odd visit, when I’m feeling particularly guilty,” he finished softly.

Buffy, no stranger to nightmares, sat down next to him and leaned into his shoulder in commiseration. “One of the reasons we came here was for moral support. I’m guessing you were hoping for a little more of the support-side.”

“I did expect Veronica to be more sympathetic.”

Buffy took a great interest in her fingernails. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“Nonsense.” Giles turned his head to look into her face with a rueful smile. “Oh bloody hell, how can I even attempt to say that?”

“Yeah, but you gave it a good shot. She looks at me like I’m a bad smell or something. I’m too ignorant, I’m too young and I’m so not good enough for you. She sent me to bed like I was six. I only went, you know, so I wouldn’t slay her skinny fanny.”

Giles put his arm around Buffy’s shoulders and kissed her temple. “We will stay only as long as necessary. I don’t want to endanger us any further, so we do need what help they can provide. But I must say I’ve never seen her treat anyone this rudely.”

“We must have really done something stupid.”

“No, dearest, he said, moving to sit against his headboard, and drawing her to nestle against his chest, “I think it’s fear. She’s afraid of what we did. Her own ancestor died having made a blunder through the Bond, and that’s a very understandable worry.”

“She doesn’t have to be so snotty about it.”

“No,” Giles agreed, smiling, running a soothing hand her back, “she doesn’t. I shall see to that tomorrow morning. I think that once she’s cooled down a bit, Veronica will be more reasonable.”

Giving a cynical snort, Buffy snuck her hand under the lapel of his robe and traced lazy circles on his chest. His arm tightened around her for a moment, and then he captured her hand and held it still. She tilted her head up to look into his face. “We shouldn’t, even if she cautioned just against full intercourse.” he said huskily, the longing in his voice making her shiver.

“No, I guess not,” she agreed, eyes wide, but she couldn’t move. They’d turned slightly toward each other, and she could feel him hardening against her hip. She wasn’t sure how to move without making things worse, and she actually did want to make things worse. She gently untangled herself, and before completely leaving the bed, leaned forward for an apologetic peck goodnight.

The kiss unleashed a surge of desire racing back and forth across the Bond, and seconds later they were rolling in one another’s arms, kissing desperately. When Giles reached down to rip Buffy’s underwear off yet again, the sound of the shredding fabric acted as a warning bell. They sprung apart, nearly naked and trembling on either side of the bed. “Cold shower,” Giles prescribed for himself, and fled to his bathroom, leaving an almost dangerously aroused woman behind.

The shower didn’t seem to help a bit, in fact, Giles realized as he shivered under the spray, he was getting even more aroused,) and the arousal was coming though the Bond. Trouble was, he was having a difficult time wanting it to stop, which greatly hampered his ability to cease broadcasting his feelings to his lover. \\I’m losing all bloody control of this thing, and I can’t seem to care,// he thought.

Growling under his breath at her, he stood shivering in the tub and tried to think himself into a state of non-arousal, anti-arousal, loathing, ennui, anything, hoping that it would dim their mingled desire. No success.

Giles tried translating the most gruesome demon anatomy texts he could think of into Etruscan. As he struggled to concentrate, his mind kept stuttering into images of his lover’s body, offering alternate suggestions for thought. A wave of pleasure washed through him, signaling Buffy’s first tremors along the road to her first orgasm.

He closed his eyes and tried not to imagine being in there with her. The warmth of her mouth, her vanilla scent surrounding him, the delectable tang of her taste, or the sweetness of being inside her, and hearing her. How he loved to hear her cry out in pleasure.

Before he knew it, he was giving himself over to his own release, and felt Buffy’s answering rush. He stood, forehead pressed against the tiles, exhausted. At least they didn’t black out this time. He had no idea of what implications this had for the Bond.

Satisfied that the immediate crisis was past, Giles re-started the shower – warm this time - and found himself quite unaccountably hard again mere moments later. \\Oh dear lord,// he cringed, noting the rising hysteria of his thoughts, \\we’ve discovered mystical Viagra.//

He stepped out of the shower, switched it back to cold and stalked, dripping wet, into his bedroom, fully expecting to gather up his wayward beloved and pop her under the spay, or perhaps lug them both down the coven house steps for a quick dip in the chill waters of the Celtic Sea. That should do it. But when he saw her, washed in moonlight, breasts tipped in silvery light, hair spread across his pillow and body arched in desire, he was lost.

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark. “I-I thought it would stop,” she panted in apology. And it wasn’t *going* to stop as long as just the sight of Giles caused a thrill to run through her veins. Water dripping over muscles tight with frustration and lust, his breath rasping through his chest and danger in his eyes, he looked like a magnificent, erotic sea god, and she was lost.

In a conscious imitation of their first night together, he prowled up the bed and over her on all fours until they were nose to nose. Drops of water slid from Giles’ skin and should have cooled hers, but only served to make her need more contact. “Show me,” he commanded in a rumbling purr, and rolled to lay beside her.

Buffy reached a shaking hand to his cheek, and he took her fingers into his mouth, savoring the juices of her earlier pleasure. She gave a shivering whimper. “Show me, dearest,” his whisper holding a plea this time.

The love and overwhelming desire shining in his eyes and through the Bond helped her overcome her shyness for this display. Keeping her eyes on his, she placed her doubly moistened fingers on her breast, circling slowly towards her nipple. She cupped the other pebbled peak in her hand, and shook with her need for him. When she reached her nipple and pinched it, eyes fluttering shut, her gasp was answered by a deep moan of approval from her lover. The sound alone added a second shudder to the first.

Her eyes flew open to seek his, so that he could see how much his voice moved her, and found him smiling a deceptively lazy smile, his fingers lightly stroking up his shaft. He leaned forward, his warm breath tickling her cheek, “Show me,” he coaxed.

Buffy let her hand drift down her belly, seeking the slick warmth of her sex. Watching her lover carefully, she slipped a finger inside herself, imagining him there and whimpered with only partially assuaged relief. She smiled as his breath caught in his throat. She tucked her thumb into the cleft of her mons, giving her clitoris firm but indirect stimulus. She froze there, trembling a moment for a different reason, almost fearful of the intimacy of what she was about to show him. This was an act of declarative lust, and there was no hiding from it.

Giles sensed her sudden tension and reaching between her legs, slid his hand over hers. “Let me love you from afar tonight, dearest,” he whispered, lips hovering over hers. “Show me what this feels like to you.” Buffy kept her eyes locked trustingly on his as she slowly rocked against their hands.

A few preliminary shudders washed through her. “This is what you do to me,” she whispered in reply, keeping her rhythm steady. Giles pressed her hand lightly, asking for more speed, and when she complied, he slipped away to match her touch on himself.

She lay before him, every inch of her focused on her pleasure in this moment. It quite took Giles breath away, and his longing to physically take what she was offering caused him to bite the inside of his lip hard in an effort to hold himself back. He moaned, low in his chest, and Buffy cried out softly in answer. The realization that his own sounds of pleasure aroused her was as stimulating as a touch, and it drew out yet another rumbling sigh. She shuddered again, her movements becoming frantic, rushing toward her release and she bit her lip to stifle her cries. Giles, needing to hear her at the moment of his own orgasm, bent over to brush her lips open with his.

When the sharp tang of her blood hit his mouth, he realized his mistake. In the brief second before his own orgasm doubled with Buffy’s, Giles was granted a moment to fear adding the bond of blood to the mix. Then his world imploded into light, and darkness took him.

* * *