__Rude Awakening__
By Beadtific
Buffy awoke alone after a night of passion. The moment she realized it, she
clutched at the covers and took a steadying breath, stamping down what she knew
was irrational fear. Nothing bad was going to happen. This little piece of
baggage just got unpacked sometimes, that’s all. She was overreacting, it had
nothing to do with Giles. She closed her eyes in an attempt to calm her senses,
registering that one of them was being assaulted – by the tantalizing smells of
coffee and chocolate. Her Giles was making breakfast, an acceptable absence.
Crisis averted.
Fear effectively quenched, she stretched contentedly and
rolled to Giles’ side of the bed. Finding his pillow, she curled around it and
inhaling deeply, gave herself over to his intoxicating smell. A few moments
later, she surveyed the room: it looked like Giles hadn’t been up for too long.
Their discarded clothing still decorated the room, meaning his neat freakitude
had not taken over --probably because he was too hungry or too tired to take
care of it. She was betting it was both: they’d been up very late. \\And I mean
up in all kinds of ways,// she confided knowingly to the pillow.
Buffy caught a glimpse of her ripped underwear, let loose a growly sort of squeal, and
gave her pillow another full-face snuggle. Still yummy. She heard Giles enter
the room and turned a wary eye up at him, wondering if he’d caught her in mid
Giles-smell fetish. Again.
As he entered the bedroom, Giles cursed
himself for taking so long to prepare breakfast. He’d felt a bizarre clutch of
fear a moment ago, thought of Buffy’s experience with Angelus, and realized he
shouldn’t have let her wake alone. He chided himself for overreacting on her
behalf: it had nothing to do with him.
He’d calmed down shortly
thereafter, busying himself with his preparations. Yet, when he’d entered the
room, Giles heard a whimper, and his heart sank to find Buffy curled in the
fetal position around a pillow, one suspicious eye visible. Quickly, he set the
tray down safely on the end of the bed, and hurried to kneel on the floor by her
side. The eye tracked his progress, looking puzzled.
“I’m terribly sorry, Buffy, I should have been here when you awakened.”
A surge of affection washed over her, Giles knew her so well, yet missed the fact she was
feeling up his pillow.
The eye twinkled, and was followed by her lovely
face. “You don’t sound evil,” she said speculatively, peering over the edge of
the bed at his bare chest and silky navy pajama pants. “You don’t look evil,”
she added, a bit leeringly, scooting over to give him room next to her. Buffy
discarded his pillow for the real thing.
“You don’t feel evil,” she
purred as she hugged him, her hands wandering down his back. Giles jerked in her
arms and yelped; she had pinched him. He retaliated immediately by tickling her.
“Evil! Evil!” she giggled, trying to roll away. They laughingly wrestled across
the bed until they were brought short by Giles’ tray of goodies.
“Ooh, breakfast,” Buffy said happily, “what did you make me?”
Giles turned her in his arms for a kiss. “I must confess my intentions are entirely evil,” he
said with amused gravity, “I plan to ply you with chocolate in hopes of keeping
you here all day.” He emphasized the ‘here’ by pulling her even closer and
sliding a leg caressingly over hers. She made an appreciative sound.
“That’s not evil,” she said, snuggling back, “that’s just wicked.”
“Oh dear,” her lover said dejectedly, “I must be out of
practice.” Buffy stopped nuzzling his neck and looked up at him in shock.
“If last night was ‘out of practice’, I’m in soooo much trouble.”
“Indeed,” Giles agreed seductively, then began a second tickle assault.
Shrieking with laughter, Buffy took up the beloved Giles pillow,
and began hitting the beloved Giles over the head with it. Giles tried batting
it out of her grasp, still trying to tickle, and kicked a foot too close to the
breakfast tray. Clattering in warning, the carafe of coffee gave an angry wobble.
“I think it wants us to call a truce and have breakfast,” Buffy
said, sitting back on her heels. Her stomach growled. “Ooh, motion seconded,”
she noted, glancing down at her stomach. “Um, I’m naked,” she announced, pulling
up a sheet to cover herself.
“I chose not to mind,” Giles said loftily,
running a hand up her now cotton-covered thigh, and tugging inquiringly at the
cloth stretched over her breasts.
“Mmmph,” she mock-irritably swatted his
hand away. It came back. “Breakfast first,” she insisted, swatting him again,
and adding a few admonishing pokes in the chest.
As he winced away from
the Poking Finger of Pain, his own stomach growled. Giles covered it with his
hand, grimacing down at his belly, which was now competing with his resurgent
morning erection. Buffy followed his glance.
“Don’t you think we should
keep up our strength?” she teased with a slightly desperate waver. She kept the
Poking Finger ready. Giles’ smoldering look disputed her theory. The Finger
wavered a little. His stomach growled again. Buffy summoned her resolve face.
“Oh very well,” he sighed dramatically. “I suppose you’d like something to wear?”
“I’ll take the top to those jammies,” she said agreeably.
“Not your sweater?” he said, referring the old baggy gray one he’d
surrendered to her the day before.
“Not trusting Evil Giles. He might rip it off me.”
Evil Giles’ eyes glazed over a moment. “Very likely,” he
croaked, and shook his head to clear it. “You like it that much? May I still
wear it?” He sounded hopeful.
“My sweater,” she said firmly.
“Pajama top it is,” he replied, with affection. He leaned over to kiss
her, and wandered off to find his shirt.
Buffy happily flopped backwards
on the bed, causing the breakfast tray to rattle again. “Sorry,” she apologized
automatically to the wobbly coffee jug. She lay there a second, enjoying the
morning by goofily grinning at the ceiling and wiggling her toes. A breath of
chocolate wafted by. Her eyes slid over to the tray. It didn’t smell like hot
chocolate - it smelled like CHOCOLATE.
Intrigued, she wound the sheet
around her and scooted over to the tray. She nodded politely to the coffee jug,
and ogled the array of treats Giles had piled on a plate. Strawberries,
croissants, pitted cherries, strips of candied ginger and orange peel, little
squares of almond-scented pound cake, and the biggest wonder of them all – a pot
of chocolate fondue.
With a sneaky glance towards Giles’ closet, Buffy
pinched a strawberry off the plate and dipped it in the fondue. She cupped a
hand under her treat as she guided it to her mouth, so that it wouldn’t drip on
the sheets. It made keeping the sheet in place tricky, but she managed it. She
bit into the chocolate-covered berry and moaned at the taste -- silky,
extra-creamy chocolate with a hint of orange combined with a perfectly ripe
strawberry. It was just heaven. She took another bite and rolled it around in
her mouth, making happy food noises.
“I keep finding you moaning over
inanimate objects,” her lover said in an amused voice as he stood at the foot of
the bed, holding the pajama top.
Buffy blushed, arranged herself demurely
with her legs curled under her and readjusted the sheet. “How long have you been
standing there?”
“Long enough to worry about being supplanted by a
berry,” he said, eyebrows arched. “That good, is it? I just tasted it on the cake.”
“You have to try this,” she said, enthusiastically leaning over
the tray. She prepared a strawberry, and held it up for him, being careful not
to drip. Her sheet slipped a little and she wiggled around trying to keep it in
place while keeping the dribbly chocolate off the covers. Giles sat down on the
edge of the bed, facing her and amused by her struggle. In an ungentlemanly way,
he hoped she’d lose.
Correctly interpreting his innocent face, his
beloved glared at him and waggled the berry. “Chocolate-y berry goodness, right
here,” she said, offering it to him.
Looking deeply into her eyes, Giles
smiled, and took not the strawberry, but the protective hand under it. He
uncurled her fingers and bent his head to retrieve the drops of chocolate on her
hand. She inhaled sharply as his tongue lapped over her palm, stubble scratching
lightly over her skin.
Finished, he placed the hand in her lap, and
again looking into her eyes, grasped the hand holding the berry by the wrist.
She shivered in anticipation and the smile in his eyes deepened. Still avoiding
the strawberry, he kissed a spot of chocolate off her thumb joint. Turning her
hand slightly, he found a smear on the inside of her wrist. Gazing at her, he
licked slowly over the tender veins. She was a feast for the eyes as well --
hair wild, eyes bright and lovely body seductively swathed in a sheet, which was
slipping further the more distracted she became.
When he finally bit
into the strawberry, she sighed, and half the sheet slithered to her waist.
Buffy didn’t notice, so intent was she on Giles’ next move. “It is delicious,”
he said sincerely, “and you are beautiful.” He took the second bite just as
slowly as the first, savoring everything. Buffy, eyes still locked with his,
tossed the stem to the bed and pressed her chocolate-smeared fingers to his
lips. He sucked each one clean, kissed her palm, and released her hand. “Thank
you, dearest, it was lovely.”
Buffy looked at him dazedly, and heaved
another shivering sigh, losing the rest of her sheet. Finally noticing it, she
pouted pointedly at Giles, who gallantly offered his pajama top. She shrugged
into it, and whimpered, “It’s not fair.”
“What?”
“That I didn’t think of it first. Chocolate-y Giles”
“Pity,” he said wistfully.
She frowned at the top she’d just put on. “Could be kinda hard on our fancy jammies, though.”
“Mm,” he agreed sympathetically.
A long moment passed.
“But who cares about the sheets?”
“The hotel does change them daily.”
“Okay, then,” she said decisively, as she reached over and handed him the tippy coffee jug.
Pulling the tray with her, Buffy backed towards the head of the bed. Setting it next to her,
she threw back the covers and patted the mattress.
Giles looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“Naked Breakfast!” she explained, and pulling the pajama top off, threw it at his head.
* * *