Raining on Sunday
BtVS Future Fic
PWP
Buffy/Giles
NC-17



***

Buffy glared out the rain-silvered window and sighed heavily. When that got no response, she sighed again. Nothing. Typical, she thought. She’d tried any number of things to get his attention, not just this visit but visits prior, and hadn’t got anything except perfunctory hugs and pats on the head and the occasional drunken kiss on the forehead. There had been one time when he’d patted her ass, but she hadn’t been able to tell if that was a signal or just too much scotch.

Once more she sighed and turned her glare from the rain to Giles, who was clad in an old grey sweater and Levi’s so faded they were almost white and had holes in both knees. He was sitting at his desk, bare feet propped on the corner, engrossed in his newest find, an early edition of Biark’s Guide to Demons and Dragons.

She sighed again, pointedly and loudly.

“Buffy,” he said, not looking up as he turned a page. “It’s England. It has been known to rain in England on occasion. If you’re bored you can always book an early flight home.”

Now she sighed and pouted. “Come on, Giles. We haven’t seen each other in almost a year and you’re trying to get rid of me? Where’s the catching up? Where’s the fun? Where’s the cognac? Cognac and fun and catching up!”

“You’d best be careful of all that sighing, you’ll hyperventilate,” he said, and she sighed. “And of course I’m not trying to get rid of you, and it has not been a year since we’ve seen each other, I’ve seen you at least once a month, sometimes more.”

“But it’s never been just us! Giles. Fun, cognac, catching up. Now. Rub me in the cognac and the fun and catching up!” She glared, hands on hips.

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes still on the page. “Rub you in cognac?” he asked.

“Yes! Rub me . . .” she said, then stumbled. “Metaphorically speaking, I mean.”

He smirked, she thought. Or did he?

“If you want it, the cognac is where it always is,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the liquor cabinet. “And since when has it been me that you come to for fun? You could have gone with the girls into town, you know.” He carefully turned a page in the book.

“Ugh. In this weather? Not with these shoes, mister,” she said, sticking out one leg and eyeing her rather expensive strappy high heels, wondering if that actually was a sideways glance he cast at her bare leg. “Besides, the girls are way too . . . enthusiastic. I can handle the shrieking and giggling but only in very small doses. I prefer your rather boring company.” Might as well get her revenge in somewhere.

She ignored a derisive snort and sighed yet again and walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured herself too much cognac.

“One for me as well, please,” he asked absently. “And it wasn’t so long ago that you were acting that way. Just this morning, I believe.” This drew forth another pained sigh accompanied by an eye roll, but she poured him some cognac anyway and then carried it over to his desk and set the glass down rather forcefully. He still didn’t look at her.

“Careful,” he said. “Crystal, you know.”

“Why are you working on a rainy Sunday?” she demanded.

“Buffy, there are any number of things I enjoy doing when it’s raining on Sunday,” he murmured, turning another page.

“Like what?” she huffed.

“Several things come to mind,” he said softly, smiling.

“Quit with the demons already! Pay attention to me!” she whined and stamped her foot, only partially faking her tantrum.

He smiled slightly, his eyes still on the book. “Oh, I shall. Give me time. There’s no call for whining.”

She eyed him suspiciously. What was that? Was that a hint? Probably not. More eye rolling and sighing and she went back to the window for some more glaring and pouting and cognac gulping.

“Slow down, Buffy, that’s . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, fine cognac, must be savored, blah blah blah,” she said, eyes still rolling, and downed the rest in defiance of his continued insistence that it be savored, not shot, and then she went and poured some more.

“I’d like a bit more if you don’t mind,” he said.

“What happened to the savoring?” she asked, scowling, and brought the bottle over to his desk and poured him some more, leaving the bottle next to his glass.

“Oh, I savored it, I just did it rather quickly,” he said, studying a woodcut of a vicious-looking dragon.

“Savor schmavor,” she muttered, returning yet again to the window. Finally alone with him and nothin’ doin’, she thought. She’d only been flirting with him for a year now, signals all over the place. If he was going to do anything about it he would have already. Time to give it up, she supposed, frowning, not really wanting to give it up. However it had happened, she wanted him, and she wanted him to want her back.

She rested her forehead against the glass, again taking in the muted rain-greyed green of the landscape outside, and then closed her eyes as the cognac finally hit her, a shivery warmth starting low in her belly and spreading slowly through the rest of her body. She closed her eyes and stretched languorously, her irritation at Giles’ inattention fading as she started to relax.

Suddenly he was behind her, not touching her but almost, and he reached around with both hands to take the glass from her.

“Perhaps, after all this time, there are still some things you need to learn,” he murmured, voice low and just above her ear. She shivered, suddenly confused. What was this, a signal? Should she signal back?

Why the hell not, the cognac told her. “Like what?” she said, straightening so that her back was brushing against his chest.

“Patience. Taking your time,” he said, dipping one finger into the cognac. “Savoring.” He brought his finger to her lips and wet them with cognac. She gasped and stumbled back against him, and one arm snuck around her waist and held her there. Definitely had noticed the signals, she thought, trembling a little. He leaned over her shoulder. “Lick it off,” he ordered. “Slowly. Take your time, really taste it, Buffy.”

He leaned over her shoulder, watching intently as she did so, closing her eyes and licking her lips, tasting the sweetness of the liquor and feeling the heat of him behind her, and the warmth already suffusing her body intensified.

“Good, isn’t it?” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed, eyes still closed.

“Right. Now, keep your eyes closed and open your mouth,” he said, voice close to her ear. She frowned but did as he asked and was rewarded with a bit of expensive, bittersweet dark chocolate.

“Oh, my God, you’ve been holding out on me! Chocolate hoarder!” she mumbled, mouth full.

“Hush. Now just let it melt on your tongue,” he said, holding her chin gently, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “Focus on the taste, on how you feel,” he said and she tilted her head back, resting her head against his chest and sighed at the taste of the chocolate and the increasing warmth pounding through her veins. She moaned softly in delight and he shifted against her slightly and she felt his erection nudging against her and suddenly the heat slammed through her body and centered between her thighs. Big signal there, she thought dreamily. She’d always wondered . . .

“Keep your eyes closed and open your mouth again,” he ordered, his voice rough, and she opened her mouth slightly and waited until a cognac-coated finger slid between her lips. “Taste it,” he said, and she did, holding his hand still with her own and licking at his finger teasingly, short, gentle touches of her tongue. The arm around her waist tightened and she could feel his breathing quicken, and in response she sucked hard, swirling her tongue around his finger before letting him slide it slowly out of her mouth.

“Nicely done,” he whispered, voice hot in her ear. She shuddered. “The taste, Buffy, the cognac and chocolate combined?”

“Perfection,” she murmured and started to slide both arms up and around his neck but he stopped her.

“Take off your blouse and your skirt,” he said, stepping away from her a bit. She blinked in surprise, then frowned and started to turn and face him but again he stopped her.

“Giles . . .”

“You trust me. And you want this.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, but . . .”

“Do it,” he ordered. “But leave your shoes on.”

Her eyes widened at that, and she shrugged and took off her blouse and shimmied out of her skirt. Her hands went to the clasp of her bra but he grabbed them and bent her over and braced her hands against the window ledge and then moved away from her, leaving her chilled.

For what seemed like an eternity she waited, feeling vulnerable and exposed, but he didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything.

“Giles . . .”

“Be quiet,” he said softly. “I’m savoring.”

She sighed with longing and imagined now that she could feel his eyes running over her and she wondered what she must look like, matching dark blue bra and panties and high-heeled sandals, bent over across the window seat.

Suddenly his mouth was hot and wet against the back of her left knee, licking and sucking and nipping while one hand ran lightly over her ass and down her other leg. She gasped and trembled as his mouth moved up the back of her thigh with agonizing slowness, and the wet heat between her thighs took up a pounding rhythm in time with the beating of her heart.

“God, Giles,” she whispered as he nuzzled teasingly between her legs, thrusting back against him slightly and then he was gone again.

“Arch your back,” he said. “More deeply. Good.”

She waited and then jumped as something cold was poured onto the small of her back, forming a small pool, and then his mouth was on her again, drinking cognac off her body as his hands steadied her hips, thumbs kneading her flanks. She trembled at the cool of the liquor and the heat of his mouth as he licked away every drop, and then started licking his way slowly up her back. She shivered as he swept her hair aside and then he leaned over her, his hands near hers on the window ledge, hips pressed tight against her ass as he nuzzled at her neck.

“Giles, please,” she murmured and rocked back against him. His groan was muffled against her neck and then he was thrusting up against her.

“Jesus,” he hissed, and his hand snaked around her waist and inside her panties, touching her with light, teasing strokes.

“More, harder, please,” she begged, bucking back against him hard, but he was gone again. The pounding between her thighs became an ache, and she moved to stand but found herself flat on her back on the floor.

She looked up at him, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mirroring her own, and he smiled slightly. “You’re ridiculously beautiful,” he said, large hand splayed flat across her belly.

“Look who’s talking,” she said, breathless, and reached up to pull him down on top of her. He grinned and pushed her away. She scowled. “Giles, please,” she said, one of her hands sliding down into her panties.

She watched his face as he watched her touch herself, the grin vanishing to be replaced by a look of fierce hunger, a look that made her shudder and her hips rock hard against her fingers.

“Bloody marvelous,” he muttered before batting her hand away and moving to sit astride her. Again he grabbed the cognac, wetting his thumb and then wiping it across her mouth before leaning down and licking it away with a hot swipe of his tongue. She moved her head and tried to catch his mouth for a proper kiss but again he slipped away, spilling the cognac over her neck and chest and licking it away slowly, nuzzling at her neck and ears and then moving lower, the slow, delicious torture of his tongue making her very skin sing.

“Dammit, Giles,” she hissed in frustration and he laughed softly against her skin, and then he reached up and grabbed another piece of chocolate from the box on the desk and thrust it in her mouth.

She moaned in a combination of frustration and chocolate ecstasy and then moaned again as he ran his mouth across her chest, nipping at her lightly through her bra, tongue making hot, lazy trails across her belly before dipping teasingly beneath her panties, and her hips bucked up against him.

He slid lower down and spread her legs wide and she groaned in anticipation, and then jumped and gasped when he sucked hard at the sensitive spot where leg met hip, first one side and then the other, then he moved lower, stroking and kissing every inch of skin on her legs, and by the time he was done she was so sensitized she was about to scream.

“Giles!” she groaned.

“Patience,” he whispered against her skin as his mouth ghosted back up her body to meet hers. “That’s the lesson,” he murmured against her lips and then he kissed her finally, deep thrusts of his tongue and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back hungrily, sucking and nipping at his tongue. “Please,” she whispered and then kissed him again. “Please, please, please . . .”

He rolled off her to lie on his side, propping his head on his hand. She started to protest but he shushed her.

“I want to watch you,” he whispered, his hand sliding down her body. “I want to see your face, I want to hear you.”

Her eyes widened and then his fingers were between her thighs, sliding inside her and then out and up to stroke her expertly, gently at first, and she shuddered.

“God, Giles, harder,” she said breathlessly and he complied and she gasped and bucked against his fingers. He watched as her back arched and her eyes closed and her hips thrust up to meet his touch.

Her fingers clawed into the rug and suddenly all thought was gone, the entire universe centered now only on his touch, and she rocked against him frantically, the feeling rapidly building low, low in her belly and then the world exploded and she came with a white hot burst of sensation, arching high up off the floor with a loud cry, spasms slamming through her over and over again until they finally lessened and she collapsed to the floor with a sigh, her eyes closed.

“Signals received, I guess,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

“Pardon?”

“All the flirting. Thought you hadn’t noticed,” she mumbled.

He laughed. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I definitely noticed.”

She could hear the rustling of clothes as he started to strip. “So what in the hell took you so long?” she asked, sighing as he slid atop her and wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“I was savoring,” he whispered, smiling against her lips and she laughed, and then she groaned in delight as he thrust slowly inside her at last.

***

"Jesus Christ, Buffy,” he groaned. He lay there for a moment, face buried in her neck, catching his breath, and then rolled off her to lay flat on the floor, pulling her across his chest.

“You’ve got a thing for shoes?” she said.

“I’ve got a thing for your shoes. On your feet,” he said.

She smiled and sighed contentedly. “So this is what you do when it’s raining on Sunday?” she murmured, half asleep.

He laughed. “Only when I receive the signals,” he said.

“Consider them sent, again and again and not just when it’s raining on Sunday,” she said drowsily.

He was quiet for a moment. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Do I not feel like I’m sure?” she mumbled, sliding on top of him and wrapping herself around him tightly.

He smiled into her hair and ran his hands down her back. “Then consider them received,” he whispered.


***

End