__The Pleasure Of Your Company__
By Beadtific
“Oh!” Buffy squeaked in disappointment, breathless, wobbly and blinking from how
quickly Giles had turned the tables on her teasing kiss. A pleased chuckle came
from Giles’ retreating figure.
\\ Ooh, you are so gonna pay for that,//
she threatened silently as she stomped into his bedroom. He sounded entirely too
smug for her taste; you could practically hear him gloating.
The slayer stalked into her watcher’s walk-in closet and blinked in surprise. The man had
shopped, really shopped. She was flanked on two sides by his clothing; on the
right side, the new; on the left, the old. The new side was considerably more
populated. She ran her hand across the dress shirts – familiar wine, forest,
russet, and navy – shades she’d seen on him before. Also there were happier
colors that she thought must be reflecting his happier mood. The curious woman
drew out a chambray shirt and held it up. Maybe she could talk him into tucking
it in his jeans, instead of the way he usually wore casual shirts – baggy and
untucked. This one seemed more fitted than his usual shirt, though not so fitted
he couldn’t swing an axe without ripping seams. It was more like the shirt he
was wearing tonight.
\\I just knew there was a hottie under that Grim
Watcher bag-fest,// she congratulated herself. \\Congratulations all around –
the man was hot.// Putting the shirt back, Buffy’s fingers brushed against more
silk. Drawing it out, she found the dusty medium-blue cousin of the shirt he
wore tonight. It was thick and heavy, almost velvety in her hands. Her knees
wobbled a little as she thought of the silk-clad muscles she had run her hand
over moments ago. \\Great, googly moogly,// she thought, \\who knew it would be
like this?// She’d wigged, he’d listened, and looky what happened. And not a
scrap of doom gray in sight – no, there was some on the floor – the sweater that
started it all. Discarded very neatly she noted, and picked it up. Yep, she owed
this sweater a big thank you. Giving it a gracious nod of thanks, Buffy started
to re-fold it and caught a whisper of Giles’ scent. Burying her nose in it, she
luxuriated in the slightly spicy sent – like cloves, bitter orange and Earl Grey
tea – kind of a golden-y green sort of smell. There was a little something
underneath that was very male, very Giles-y – a good-man-is-hard-to-find smell -
that that made a girl want to moan a little.
“Shall I leave you two alone?” a dry voice asked from the doorway. Evidently, the little
moan had been out loud. She turned to find the sweater’s owner lounging in the doorway, giving
her an amused smile. She took a moment to admire the sight and she gave him an
embarrassed grin.
“I thought you hated that sweater,” he said, puzzled.
“Not anymore, I tell ya,” she replied, giving it a little hug. “When I
saw you in it, it was like you were wearing a piece of the badness that was last
year, and you were so ‘get away!’ on those days; yet oh-so-terribly-polite and
quiet. If you’d been grumpy, it would have been okay to get mad at you. And then
there was that whole aspect of doom you’d carry around with you, which I totally
get now that you explained it. I had my own load-o’-doom for a while, but since
I’m not the ‘only girl in all the world’ anymore, I think I was able to bounce
back better. You have people all around you, but you are still the only Head
Watcher in the world. I know what kind of lonely that ‘only’ can be; kind of
funny how things reversed like that.”
They shared sad smiles, and he squelched the thought of how much easier his year would have
been if he’d shared his worries with her sooner.
Buffy held up the sweater again. “Now?
Old-gray-and-baggy reminds me of today and how you can take what I say in one of
my babble-fests – and one that ranked pretty high on the Willowmeter – and
figure out what I meant. And it smells like you.”
Giles blushed and smiled a long, slow smile. “You may have it if you like,” he said in a low
voice. Buffy hugged the garment to her chest again, gave it a quick whiff and
made a happy little noise.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect this
whole thing was a ruse to part me from my favorite sweater so you could have
your way with it,” he said with mock hurt. “I am standing right here, you know.”
Buffy almost went to him, but then gave him a knowing grin and stayed
put. “What exactly are you doing here, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be Dessert Man?”
“I’ve been performing an experiment; my conclusion is that a
watched pot does not boil.”
“Oh, really?” Buffy drawled. She didn’t care
if he was standing right there, or how broad his shoulders were, or how nice his
arms looked folded ’cause it showed off his muscles or the light shining off the
fine hairs of his forearm since he’d rolled up his sleeves or how long and
strong his legs looked in those pants. She didn’t, no siree she didn’t. She was
going to make him stand there and wait.
“Actually, I found myself rather missing the pleasure of your company.”
“Really.” She was proud her voice
was pretty steady, but her wobbling legs gave her a little fight - probably
trying to make her walk forward. Nothing doing.
“Yes, really,” Giles said in the slightly deeper voice that made Buffy’s whole body shiver.
“And I thought to myself, there’s a beautiful woman standing in your closet. What on
earth are you doing in the kitchen? So here I am.”
“Hi,” was the best she could manage at that point.
To Giles, Buffy stood there like a small
animal about to bolt; rigid and trembling, but her eyes were sending an entirely
different set of signals and they drew him like lodestones. Her hands still
clutched the sweater to her chest and his fingers grazed hers. Permission was
asked and given silently. Her fingers loosened their hold, and the sweater fell
carelessly to the floor. Giles kissed the wrist and palm of his love’s right
hand and held it to his heart. Using his other hand, he trailed the back of his
fingers down her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. As she sighed into it,
the tension drained out of her, and her shivering breath entranced him.
They’d stood this close thousands of times before; working under cover
of night, sparring or researching in the day and tending each other’s wounds in
between. This was the first time he could look at her and touch her and have her
know it for what it was: love. No declarations had been made yet, but he knew
what was in his heart, and if she allowed it, he would use whatever time she
graced him with to make sure Buffy knew – to her bones – that she was loved.
Therefore, Giles took his time, swept a hand down her hair, and lightly
traced her brow and cheek with his fingertips. He traced a line from her neck
down to her shoulder, which he cupped it in his hand. He pressed the hand
holding his heart, stoked his thumb over her lip and asked another question with his eyes.
Nothing quite like this had ever happened to Buffy. She was
standing in a closet with this amazing man and they would probably kiss, which
was, wow and all, but she could stand here – just like this – and be perfectly
happy. The way Giles touched her and looked at her was like being fed when she
didn’t know she was starving. She could only stand there and drink him in. He
traced his thumb over her lower lip, pressed her hand and looked like he was
ready for a kiss. So was she.
Giles bent his head, brushed his nose and
lips over hers, and just as Buffy became accustomed to the rhythm of it, gently
seized her mouth with his. She made an appreciative noise and he redoubled his
efforts, nibbling her upper lip, then her lower over, and over until he felt her
melt against him and take his lower lip into her mouth. It was his turn to moan,
and as he did, he bent his legs, wrapped both arms around her and lifted her
straight off her feet.
Buffy only dimly noticed she’d left the ground,
because what she was really concentrating on was Giles’ gorgeous mouth; his
kisses were like living velvet, the most amazing texture she’d ever felt, and
had a kind of crazy, gentle wildness to them that sent a wave of heat flaring
from her breasts to her belly. She shivered, and moaned to feel her lover’s
response harden against her stomach.
She began to deepen the kiss
further, but Giles slowed the kiss, lightening it, and finally broke to gulp
some air. “Oh dear lord,” he said, awed, and Buffy giggled.
“I’m never going
to hear THAT phrase the same way again,” her breath caught as Giles set her down
by letting her slide the length of his body. “Oh dear lord,” she said shakily.
“I’d say,” he agreed and they hung on to one another dizzily.
Buffy shifted to stand on her own and speculated, “I think I need to lie down.”
“Buffy,” Giles began, misinterpreting her, “We certainly don’t have to rush,”
“No, no,” she gave him a smack, “No standing can I -” She
swayed and her knees buckled a bit. “Do.” Giles steadied her against his chest.
“That was some kiss.” She peered up at him, face bright, eyes glazed and
said dazedly, “Whoo.”
“Whoo, indeed,” he said, pleased, hands gently stroking her hair.
“I think this is the nicest time I’ve ever hand in a
closet. Beats building a fort or finding fresh-pressed clothes in there – any
day.” She could feel him smile against her temple.
“Do you think you can
stand on your own yet? Not that I mind,” Giles assured her, trailing a warm hand
down her back. “I left a pot to boil.”
“Okay,” she huffed in mock-aggravation.
“You could join me,” he pointed out.
“Okay,” she agreed, slightly more irritated.
“There is excellent chocolate in the
kitchen, and we could see if kissing is nicer in there.”
“Fine,” she said
sharply in the most falsely aggrieved tone of all, and pushed back to stand on
her own. “Ha! Knew I could do it.”
Giles steadying hand released her and
his fingers scratched lightly down her arm. Buffy’s shivered. “Cheating!” she
accused, pointing a finger at him. He smiled and raised his hands in a gesture
of fair play.
“After you, milady,” giving her a sweeping bow.
“Thank you, Jeeves,” came the haughty reply, though when he cleared
the door, she was standing there to take his hand with a smile. “Kitchen, ho!”
“Oh, brave new world,” Giles breathed happily.
“That has such people in it,” Buffy finished the quotation, bumping her head against his
shoulder to indicate he was one of the ‘such’ people. He stopped in his tracks
and looked at her with rounded eyes.
“What? There were books; there was
reading. And me!” the slayer said indignantly. “And lots of time on airplanes!”
Her watcher inclined his head in apology. “Huxley or The Tempest?” he inquired.
“Huxley, then the Shakespeare because of the Huxley. Was that
a wiggy play. I don’t think I got half of it. Is it me, or do you think Ariel
was a demon?”
“The text calls Ariel a sprite, so I’d say more of a
faerie. I can’t think of a harder play to begin with; I’m amazed you got through
it. If you like,” he said shyly, “we could read one together. I can think of a
few you’d enjoy.”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
“No! No, no, something considerably more - fun.” They strolled towards the kitchen
while Giles mulled it over. He thought she’d had quite enough tragic love in her life.
“You’d enjoy the verbal sparring in Much Ado About Nothing, though
parts of it will make you simply you furious, and Midsummer Night’s Dream has
many hilarious moments – someone literally turns into an ass, and there’s a
talking wall. There’s the added attraction that both have been made into quite
good films recently. Kenneth Branagh made Much Ado with Emma Thompson and Denzel
Washington. And some Keanu person.”
“Who doesn’t love Denzel?” Buffy
watched Giles go into Happy Teacher Geek Mode; he was so adorable. If he’d been
wearing his glasses, she was sure he’d snag a thought on something and get to
polishing those lenses. Sure enough, he stopped, frowned and stuck his hand in
his pocket before he realized his thinking tool was not on his face.
“Okay, something made you start to pull the old glasses polishing
routine,” she said, “Spill it.”
“I’m just irritated that the perfect play
for us to start with hasn’t had a movie made of it. At least not recently.”
“That doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, if we read it together.
What’s so special about this one?”
“As You Like It is about a strong
young woman with a loyal best friend and a secret identity.”
“William Shakespeare wrote about a slayer and I MISSED it?”
Giles rolled his eyes
and looked at his shoes. “No,” he said with suspicious shyness. “Just something
in it makes me think of you.”
Buffy poked her now reluctant professor in
the chest. After giving her a sharp look, he relented. “Orlando loves Rosalind,
and a man asks him “what stature is she of” – meaning, what kind of woman is
she? Orlando answers, “Just as high as my heart.” You make me think of it, he
said, demonstrating.
“Oh Mr. Giles!” she said girlishly, nestling against his heart.
“You think it’s silly,” he said with a thread of regret.
“Oh no! Just that you make me feel so girly. As in,” she said
throatily as she wiggled closer. “Oh. Mr. Giles.”
“Mm,” he replied in a tone of pure pleasure, and buried his face in her hair.
* * *