Chapter Text
Things had started so innocently - but of course, even Rupert Giles’s innocent intentions had been twinged with his own desires. Going for coffee with Buffy had warmed Giles’s heart far more than it should have, and simply getting the opportunity to spend time with her alone was something he loved above all else. They’d talked and laughed like they’d known each other for decades, and Giles knew above all else that this was right. Having Buffy in his life was right, and nothing, not demons or anything else, could change that.
It was coffee. Nothing more.
“You know,” Buffy says, “the coffee here isn’t even that good. I don’t know why I keep coming back here…and you don’t even like coffee.”
“I like coffee!” he protests. “It’s simply not my drink of choice…and it’s not so bad, anyway. I rather like it.”
Buffy rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I’ll take quality Watcher-Slayer time any day, even if it means crappy coffee. I had fun just…talking, for once.”
Giles smiles, his heart swelling in his chest as he looks down at her with a bright smile. “I enjoyed it as well,” he says softly, and it takes all his self-control not to giggle like a schoolboy.
His mood is quickly dampened by the growing ache in his crotch. It’s a familiar feeling, one he grew far too accustomed to in his youth in the presence of a pretty girl – or, admittedly, in the presence of a very stoned, very drunk Ethan Rayne. But he’s far too old for random stiffness in his groin, and while Buffy is nothing short of attractive in a black long-sleeved shirt and low-rise jeans, it’s entirely inappropriate and…very persistent. Far more persistent than anything he’s felt in a long time. He can only assume it’s because he hasn’t been physical with anybody in quite some time, and now that he and Buffy are finally alone…
But even that doesn’t seem right. As they walk back to his car, the ache in his crotch quickly becomes painfully difficult to ignore. Hot, filthy fantasies blossom before his eyes; things he’d never dreamed of doing with anybody, much less to Buffy. The urge to pin her down and ravish her on the hood of his car in broad daylight is so strong, he has to step away from her less he gives in to temptation.
She doesn’t see him that way. He knows that. He accepted that long ago, but the animalistic urge in his groin doesn’t seem to care.
The hell is wrong with him?
Driving is a new form of torture, and he swears Buffy seems equally as uncomfortable as he is. What was easy, flowing conversation at the Espresso Pump is now steely silence in the car as Giles tries and tries to shove down the white-hot urge to shag her brains out in his gut. He tries to think of disgusting things, of rancid demon blood and moldy books, of Buffy’s friends walking in on them – none of it seems to quell the urge to ravish her. If anything, it only makes it worse.
Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong.
“Giles –” Buffy starts, a noticeable tremble in her voice. Was she experiencing this, too? “Are you – do you feel…?”
“Feverish,” he chokes out. It’s the best he can do. It’s not a total lie – his temperature does feel elevated and, as he drives, he’s beginning to feel chilled. Buffy, her face flushed with sweat gathering at her hairline, must obviously feel the same.
Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. He doesn’t know what it is, but all he knows is that he has to stay as far away from her as possible.
“Buffy –” he starts.
“Your place,” she chokes out. “Now.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care.”
He doesn’t dare say what he’s feeling out loud. Doesn’t dare say how badly he wants her, how badly he’s always wanted her. He doesn’t trust himself around her, and while his strength is no match for hers, he could easily take advantage of her compromised state this way. She would never see him this way while not under the influence of whatever has taken hold of them both.
“Buffy, I can’t –” he starts, but he can’t finish what he was about to say.
“Giles, I feel…” Her voice trails off. She doesn’t dare say it, either, but she doesn’t have to. He swallows the lump in his throat. She wants you, a hideous voice whispers in his ear. She wants you, she’s just not saying it. Park the bloody car and shag her bloody brains out.
Giles shoves the ugly voice down. He couldn’t. He won’t. He’d truly rather die than take advantage of Buffy that way, and at the rate things are going, he may as well do just that.
But he doesn’t have the strength to argue with her, nor does he have the willpower to drop her off at her house when he fears she’s just as dangerously warm as he is. Trembling with need, he manages to park the car and stagger into his flat with Buffy close behind him. He slams the door behind him, and for a long moment, they look at one another. Buffy’s tongue peeks out between her lips as she gazes at his mouth, her head upturned ever so slightly like she wants to kiss him. He reaches out a hand to pull her close, to feel the heat of her body against his, and quickly yanks it away before he loses control.
“Giles,” she whispers. “What’s happening to us?”
He shakes his head. “I-I don’t know. S-some kind of m-magically induced…heightened state. I-I can consult my books, but I-I daresay it’s hard to focus. B-buffy, you need to leave. Bringing you here was a mistake.”
He wrenches himself away from her and grabs the first book he can find off his shelf; Magical Anomalies of the Human Body. He sits down on the couch, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants, and opens the book to the index, hoping to make quick work of this while he can still think through his animalistic lust. Much to his horror, Buffy sits next to him, her eyes wide as she reaches out to him and places a hand on his shoulder.
“Whatever this is, I can’t fight it. I can’t…I can’t think, Giles.”
He doesn’t look at her. “What you’re feeling isn’t real,” he says quietly.
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t want me –”
“I don’t care.”
She steps into his space and kisses him, making him moan immediately. The kiss is messy, white-hot, and leaves him grinding against her thigh as she backs him against the nearest wall. Her hand finds his cock, rubbing it through his clothes without mercy, and before he can find the words to tell her they should stop, his hips stutter against her palm and he comes in his pants.
Buffy yanks herself away from him, blinking hard. “Did you just –?”
“I-I’m so sorry, I –”
“Don’t be. Just touch me.”
"Buffy --" he begins, and just like that, she's on him like a dog. She grabs the front of his shirt and drags him onto the couch, leaping into his lap and forcing their mouths together in a harsh collision of lips and teeth. Her tongue finds its way into his mouth, and Giles can't think of anything else but the way her thighs feel around his hips. He can hear her whimpering with need, her long hair casting a golden curtain in front of their spit-slick faces, and it’s enough that Giles almost forgets why this is such a bad idea.
“Dammit,” she hisses, “touch me. Please, touch me.” Wrapped around his lap, it’s hard to force his hand down where she needs it most. He has to unbutton her jeans, shove his hand down into her damp underwear, and twist his fingers around until he’s pressing up against that small bundle of nerves he knows will bring her pleasure quickly. As he ruts against her, Buffy moans and shudders, her thighs clenching around his hand until she finally goes lax.
Stunned, she blinks at him, her wide eyes searching his face for answers he can’t give.
“I-I think –” she sputters, “I really think something’s wrong.”
Baffled, Giles nods. “I’m not sure – this doesn’t make any sense. Buffy, you need to leave now –”
She shakes her head. “It hurts. Whatever’s happening to us, it’s not natural.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathes. “I wouldn’t live with myself.”
“ You? Giles, I could crush you. ”
“All the more reason we must –”
Giles is cut off by Buffy kissing him again. She wraps her fingers through his hair, anchoring him in place as he moans into her open mouth. She cups his cock through his jeans and he’s horrified to find he’s rock-hard already, as if the first orgasm did nothing at all. The touch makes him shudder and buck into her open palm. Even with lust muddling his higher thinking, the touch is enough to make him feel guilty. He’s wanted this. He’s always wanted this. What they’re experiencing now isn’t natural, it can’t be, but even before…it was always her hands he wanted on his body, her mouth on his skin. It was always horribly inappropriate, and now, against their will, he’s getting exactly what he wants.
He’s ready to turn her around and rub off against her arse (better than shagging her, right? Anything is better than actually violating her that way –) that he doesn’t hear the front door flying open. It's agonizing the way they have to stop kissing to see who's stepping inside, they can't just devour one another with an audience, but --
Stepping through the door, as if he owns this place, is Ethan Rayne. Of course, it's Ethan. Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Giles trembles with rage, but his seething anger isn’t enough to make his cock stop twitching in his pants. Buffy gasps as she pulls away, her kiss-swollen lips parting in surprise. Ethan grins at the two of them, the cocky look in his eye making Giles want to punch his lights out – right after he pounds into Buffy hard enough to break the couch. She can take it, of course she can –
“Well, well,” Ethan tuts, looking the two of them up and down. “I see you got started without me. Rude, actually. I was hoping I wouldn’t miss the show.”
“Ethan,” Buffy groans. “I should’ve known. You’re supposed to be in prison. ”
Giles’s hips twitch, pushing his clothed cock up against Buffy’s core.
“I got bored,” Ethan says with a shrug. Eyeing them, he strides across the living room and over to the kitchen, helping himself to a glass from Giles’s cabinet. He takes the bottle of whiskey off the counter and pours himself a glass, idly making his way back to the living room where Buffy still remains straddling Giles’s lap.
“Prison and me don’t exactly mix well, love. And anyway, I wanted to give good old Sunnydale a visit while I was passing through California.”
“Ethan,” Giles grits out, “what did you do to us?”
“Oh, nothing too serious. I spotted you both at that cafe last night and slipped a little… suggestion into your drinks. You know how exhausting it was to watch you two croon over each other? I’m not saying we English are touchy-feely, but my God, Rupert, you are one repressed twat. I’ve never seen two people who needed a good shagging more than you two do.”
Buffy and Giles look at one another. Giles’s face is flushed, his cock painfully hard in his trousers, and all he wants to do is devour her. It’s getting more and more difficult to resist her now that whatever Ethan slipped them is taking its hold. Her body melting in his lap, Buffy’s chest is heaving, her hot breath brushing against the skin of his throat. It’s impossible to hide it now. Buffy, by all means, should be going after Ethan who is now making himself comfortable on the opposite chair. But, instead, she’s bowing her head against the crook of Giles’s neck, whimpering with need as she squeezes her thighs around his waist. Her unbuttoned jeans, the smell of her on his fingers – it’s clouding his head like a drug-induced fog.
“I’m going to knock your lights out for this,” she hisses weakly, turning her head painfully towards Ethan with a piercing glare.
“Aw, by all means, love,” Ethan chuckles. “Why don’t you show your Watcher a good time, first?”
He’s so hard, it’s painful. Especially the way he’s rubbing against her core through his jeans. Buffy whines again, the sound weak and pitiful and entirely unlike her. He’s never seen her so unraveled before – so desperate. It turns him on horribly, and the lines where his own desires and wants meet the aphrodisiac’s are beginning to blur.
“And what if I don’t?” she demands, her voice hoarse. “What if we don’t play into your stupid game and lock ourselves in separate rooms?”
Ethan quirks an eyebrow. “That might not be wise, love. The drug I slipped you is magically enhanced. It can work up a body until your internal temperature is enough to cook an English chicken. I wouldn’t imagine it’ll be pretty when your organs start to shut down.”
He’s never hated Ethan more than he has at this moment. It’s clear Buffy wants nothing to do with him this way, his own desires be damned. Forcing him to take advantage of her in such a way – it’s beyond despicable. But, something like this is exactly what Ethan would do – and he isn’t wrong. Giles has desired Buffy for far too long, far beyond what would ever be appropriate for a Watcher to feel for his Slayer.
“Buffy –” he begins. “We-we can find another way –”
“I don’t care, Giles,” she groans. “I can’t think. I-I can’t – I need you.”
She lifts her head and they meet eyes. Shame and guilt well up in his stomach. He’s wanted this. He’s always wanted this, and now he gets to have it in the most perverse way imaginable. From across the room, Ethan’s chuckle is nothing but a distant echo. Enraged as he is, he can’t bring himself to stop touching Buffy even for a moment. He grabs hold of her waist, groaning unexpectedly when her jeans drag against his clothed cock. Before he can beg her to undress him, she’s all but ripping his sweater off his body and raking her nails down his chest, hissing out an intelligible curse as she slams their mouths together. He doesn’t know if he could bear the shame of coming in his trousers in front of Ethan. But the way Buffy is grinding down against his crotch is very nearly unbearable, the friction making him tighter and tighter in his trousers.
“Don’t break a hip now, Rupert,” Ethan chuckles. “Your young Slayer might not be able to handle you as gently when she’s this pent-up.”
With one hand, Buffy flicks open the front of his trousers, lifting herself up off his lap long enough to jerk them past his hips. It’s uncoordinated and messy; there’s nothing graceful about the way she’s undressing him. But they manage to get him down to his boxers and nothing else. He watches her pull off her tank-top, licking his lips as she reveals her pink bra holding her pretty breasts. Before she can unhook it, he leans forward and does it for her, tossing it aside and immediately latching his mouth to one of her pink nipples. The sound she makes is almost enough to make him come right then and there, and as he suckles at the bud, she jerks her hips over his crotch.
“Giles, please,” she moans. “I can’t take it.”
“Lay back,” he pleads with her. “Let me help you.”
Their eyes meet again, and a sudden understanding washes over Giles; this is nothing. This had to be nothing. Whatever they experience together now can’t be any more than saving their own lives. He knows that, but the sheer misery in Buffy’s eyes is enough to make him feel filthy. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. He should be wringing Ethan’s neck, ignoring the painfully hard throb in his crotch and forcing him to provide a counter-spell. He shouldn’t be licking his lips at the thought of tasting Buffy and bringing her to orgasm.
Buffy lays back, forcing her jeans off her legs and dropping them onto the floor with a trembling hand. Her panties come next, and Giles almost moans at the sight of her so spread out and glistening with her own wetness.
“Wait,” she rasps. “I-I want –” She doesn’t finish her sentence, rather, pushes herself up right and straddles Giles’s lap again. With his back against the couch, she kneels on his thighs, raising herself up so that her arms are braced against the top of the couch and her pussy is directly in line with his mouth. It’s the most erotic thing someone has ever done to him, and he’s silently grateful her body is blocking his view of Ethan. He grabs her ass, pushing her into his mouth, and immediately begins to lick her clit, focusing all his attention right at that particular spot. She moans, her slick wetness melding with his saliva as her thighs grow damp. His own, painful cock aches for release, but he’s able to ignore it in favor of bringing Buffy pleasure.
“Giles,” she babbles helplessly. “Oh, God, Giles…”
What a pathetic sight he must be. He can’t stop himself from palming his own cock as he buries his face between her thighs. He tries to make this quick, wishing he could draw this out for an hour at least and hear all the beautiful sounds he knows she can make. But with Ethan watching, and the two of them too desperate to do anything else but shag like animals, Giles can only think about when he’s going to get inside her. He furiously palms at himself, moaning loudly; the sound is buried against her core, muffled and no less desperate. She begins to thrust her hips, chasing the feeling of his tongue sliding effortlessly between her folds.
“Giles,” she whimpers. “Giles, please!”
Hearing her plead with him makes him wild with lust. He comes again with a sharp gasp, spilling for a second time inside his boxers as he furiously sucks at her clit. She bucks her hips wildly, crying out in pleasure as she gushes across his face. It’s only when her legs go weak that he realizes that gushing had been her orgasm.
And when he realizes his second orgasm wasn’t enough – his cock is still hard as if he hadn’t come at all.
When Buffy finally lowers herself back into Giles’s lap, he sees Ethan sipping at his drink, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Ah, I didn’t mention – there’s some technicalities to the drug. You have to come inside her or else it won’t go away.”
Buffy looks at him again, her face pink-tinted. Strands of her hair stick to her sweaty face as she looks down at them both, then up at him again. Ethan would have every reason to lie. But a sinister part of him feels like he can use that as an excuse to get inside of her, to feel her tight, wet heat clench around his aching cock.
He cradles her face, brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. They look at one another, Buffy’s kiss-swollen lips parted and inviting as she quickly looks away from him.
“Inside me,” she pleads with him softly. “Please, inside me. I need it.”
Feeling boneless, Giles can only nod quietly. He surges forward and kisses her without thinking, gripping the back of her neck like a madman in heat. She scrambles to straddle his lap, grabbing hold of his cock and positioning it so that she can sink down over top of him. The noise she makes is obscene, animalistic, and desperate, and he’s not so sure he sounds any more dignified.
Imagining what it would be like to be inside her is nothing like reality. She’s warm and tight around him, her beautiful body on display in his lap like a portrait. But nothing he could paint, nothing anyone could create could ever be as beautiful as what he’s seeing now. Having her like this feels as perverse as it does perfect, her body writhing as she scrambles to gain traction. He grabs hold of her hips, letting her ride him as their eyes meet.
Her eyes are hooded with desire, but pain etches across her features. Nothing about this is supposed to happen, he knows, and there’s no way she could have ever wanted this. An ache forms in his chest as he prays they’ll both finish quickly, before he can cause Buffy anymore pain. Each time he thrusts up to meet her rhythm, he wants to babble out a desperate apology. But all he can do is grunt like an animal as his cock painfully twitches inside of her.
“B-Buffy,” he stammers under his breath, “y-you know this-this isn’t – I never –”
“Shut up,” she hisses weakly under her breath. “Don’t - make this - any harder –”
Giles’s head falls back against the couch. He doesn’t have the means to try and speak coherently any more. He doesn’t know what he would say anyway - an apology means nothing right now. Guilt is useless when this could kill them both. Wanting her as badly as he does doesn’t mean he’s using her to his advantage.
That’s what he keeps telling himself as she works herself over his cock, her strong muscles pumping away as she rides him without mercy. He’s dimly aware of an ache in his back - he must have strained himself somehow when they were shifting positions. Still, it does little to distract him from his white-hot desperation. He pants and gasps and even finds he takes a dark, perverse pleasure in being watched , even if it’s by somebody he despises. He’d wring Ethan’s neck for this. He swears he will. If not today, then someday. Giles has never been more embarrassed – or turned on – in his life.
With a gasp of her name, Giles comes for a third time, flooding her insides. Buffy shudders and groans, her head thrown back as Giles quickly rubs her clit, urging her through her third – and hopefully final – orgasm.
When he’s able to mentally process the relief he feels – and that what he’s feeling truly is relief – does he finally let himself go lax on the couch. His legs feel like rubber, his cock sore and red-hot. Buffy, limp in his arms, buries her face in his neck.
The fact that she isn’t trying to snap Ethan’s neck right now tells him she’s equally as worn out as he is, despite her enhanced strength.
“Well...aren’t you two cute?”
Ethan’s voice feels distant and muffled, like Giles is hearing it underwater. Whatever anger he felt towards Ethan only moments ago has melted away into exhaustion and a terrible sense of shame that he lost control of himself in such a way. He gently lifts Buffy from his lap and lays her out on the couch, baffled to find that she had fallen asleep.
“I don’t have the strength to fight you, Ethan,” he says quietly. “You’ll be gone before I can manage to get off this couch. But know that what you did – to her, to me – will not go unpunished. What you assumed is wrong. She doesn’t want me that way, and you forced her to-to…”
Giles is too disgusted to finish his sentence.
“Oh, Rupert, enough with the self-flagellation. I didn’t force her to do anything she didn’t already want to do. I did you two a favor. You’ll be thanking me before you know it.” He grins slyly.
“Get out of my house, Ethan.”
“Gladly. The drug’s exit from your system will feel a bit like a light hangover. But if you have any actual side effects –”
“ Get. Out.”
He raises his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. If you need me…I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding me.”
Just as Giles thinks he has the strength to get off the couch, Ethan turns and exits the way he came. Still working to catch his breath, Giles gingerly pulls up his boxers and his trousers, wincing as the cloth brushes over his sensitive cock, now blissfully soft and not looking to get up again any time soon. He doesn’t try to dress Buffy - instead, he gently places a blanket over her and folds her clothes neatly beside her.
They’d have to talk about this eventually, and he’s dreading the moment that they do. He hurt her - there’s nothing more to it. He could have counteracted the drug, could have shut himself away from her until he found a solution, and didn’t do any of that at all.
He had been a fool. An out-of-control, lovesick fool. And now he has to pay the price.
Feeling dejected, Giles trudges up the steps and to his bedroom, knowing that the drug’s hangover will be the only reason he’ll be able to sleep at all.