She turned her cheek on the pillow, her sleepy gaze met by a head of short, wavy blonde hair. The weight on her chest resolved itself into a golden, well-muscled arm. A smile came unbidden to her lips. <Giles...>

As if in response, the recumbent form next to her began to stir and his hand brushed against her bare breast. She inhaled sharply, her eyes locked on his face as his eyelids fluttered open. Her heart pounding, she couldn't think of anything to say as the confusion that accompanies awakening flickered through his eyes. He cleared his throat. "Buffy..." he murmured as he began to draw his hand away.

"No!" she blurted involuntarily, bringing her hand up to capture his. "Don't...please."

He nodded and left his hand where it was, and she let out an involuntary sigh of relief. Her other hand rested on his chest.

Their legs had remained intertwined in sleep, and both suddenly became conscious of their bodies' proximity. Neither made a move to draw apart. Buffy smiled. "What?" Giles asked quietly.

"I was just remembering," she said softly. "Last night, when you came in the living room to give me that ridiculous Oxford shirt to sleep in, and I asked you if you slept in them in addition to wearing them every day at school. You actually blushed, Giles."

He did so again as he averted his gaze. "Yes, well..."

Her smile widened. "It took me a minute to figure out why you were embarrassed, though. And then I realized, 'Oh my God, Giles sleeps in the buff!'"

He winced, his lips quirking in a wry grin. "That's very perceptive of you, Buffy," he acknowledged. "But the reason behind that circumstance is a very long, embarrassing story that I *won't* be telling you right now."

Buffy rubbed her hand through the crisp hair on his chest. "That's okay," she replied, leering cheerfully. "I'll get it out of you someday, somehow. Anyway, when I remembered that a minute ago, something from English class popped into my head."

Giles raised an eyebrow as he struggled to brace himself on one elbow, his other hand tightening involuntarily on her breast. She bit back a moan of pleasure. "English class?" he inquired politely, pleased by the desire leaping to life in her eyes.

"Um-hmm," she murmured, pressing closer. "Something about prepositions. You know - 'on', 'in', 'with', 'upon', et cetera..." Her voice trailed off as she planted a soft kiss on his chest, her tongue flicking out to lick his nipple.

"You've lost me," he murmured into her ear, the soft feel of his breath on her cheek sending shivers up her spine.

She blinked. "Oh! Well, I was thinking, you see, that I had used the wrong preposition last night." Another soft kiss to his chest. "That you don't sleep *in* the buff, but *with* the 'Buff'."

The emphasis she placed on that last word made him groan feelingly. "And you say *I* make horrible puns," he replied, falling back against the pillows with a laugh.

She hooked a leg across his waist and shifted over to position herself half on top of him. "You've always said I should be more serious about my studies," she pointed out, her eyes twinkling. "Therefore, I think we should endeavor to pick the proper preposition, don't you?" She brushed her pelvis against the stirring evidence of his desire and smiled with satisfaction at the expression on his face.

Giles slid his hands around her waist and pulled her up on top of him. "You're right, we should." He inhaled sharply as she shifted her position. "Now *with* is a fine choice, I'll admit," he offered in a strangled tone, maintaining his train of thought with considerable effort. "But, then, I don't find *in* entirely inappropriate, either."

"You don't?" she gasped out as she held herself over his straining erection. "You like '*in* the Buff', do you?"

Giles ran his hands up her sides to cup her generous breasts. He gave them a gentle squeeze. "I very much like '*in* the Buff'," he murmured thickly, pulling her down for a hot, demanding kiss. "Very, very much..."

She braced her hands on either side of his shoulders and slowly, temptingly lowered herself onto him, her action accompanied by twin sighs of pure pleasure. She rubbed her breasts against his chest and put her lips to his ear, "Prove it, then," she murmured, licking him lightly.

"Gladly..." He crushed her to his chest, thrusting upward with all his strength. She let out a low moan of utter ecstasy, pushing back to impale him deeper with in her. The pounding rhythm of their movements ignited the raging inferno they'd believed completely and utterly exhausted the night before.

There was no more talking.

The second time Buffy awakened she was alone in the big bed. She sat up, hugging the sheet to her chest and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She hadn't gotten so much sleep in weeks - since the Master had died, actually - and she knew it was entirely due to Giles' presence. She bit her lip, wondering suddenly, <Where is he?>

As if in answer to her query, Giles appeared in the doorway. He was fully dressed in his usual tweed coat and bowtie, his spectacles gleaming in the soft morning light. He held a steaming mug in his hand.

"Hi," Buffy whispered softly, suddenly shy.

"Good morning," Giles replied formally, his eyes locked on her diminutive form. Abruptly he shook his head and held up the mug. "I, er, made you some coffee. I'm not offering any guarantees about how good it will taste, however. I'm much better at brewing tea."

Buffy made a face at the idea of drinking Giles' noxious Earl Grey tea for breakfast, then offered him a grateful smile. Giles moved to the foot of the bed and sat down, causing the mattress to sag in his direction. She reached for the steaming cup of coffee, her other hand modestly clutching the sheet over her breasts.

She held the mug to her lips and took a sip. "Mmmph...it's, uh...it's..." *gulp* "...really good. Thanks."

A ghost of a smile crossed Giles' lips. "You were never a very good liar, Buffy," he murmured, reaching out to take the mug from her. "All I could find in my cupboard was instant coffee crystals, and as I don't even recall ever purchasing such a thing, there's no telling how old it is." He shrugged apologetically. "I'm also running quite low on food for breakfast as well. I'm really not much of a chef, I'm afraid. I usually pick something up on the way to school."

Buffy winced and closed her eyes. "School..." she muttered resignedly.

"Yes." Giles couldn't stifle his own grimace. "I'm not any happier about going than you are, but we dare not take the risk of you missing another day. Apparently they didn't note your absence yesterday, but I don't believe we should press our luck."

Buffy opened her eyes and winked impishly at him. "You could always write me a note."

His cheeks reddened. "I, er, don't think that would be a very good idea."

She grinned. "Maybe you're right. I don't think Snyder would consider making love to the school librarian sufficient reason for missing class, do you?"

His blush deepened, but he offered her a charming smile. "Quite."

They stared at each other for a moment, before Giles finally looked away and cleared his throat. "I'll just, um, leave you to get dressed." He stood up from the bed.

"In what?" she asked ironically, waving a hand toward the floor. "I think we pretty much destroyed what was left of my clothes."

He leaned down and picked up her discarded miniskirt. "This seems reasonably intact. And I suppose I could lend you another shirt."

She stared at him incredulously. "I'm not wearing your shirt to school! That'd be as good as wearing a neon sign, Giles! Face it, no one has fashion sense like yours."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying something about my wardrobe? Never mind, don't answer that. I just meant you could wear my shirt over to your house to procure a change of clothing. What time will your mother be leaving for work, do you think?"

Buffy frowned. "Well, she usually stays to give me a ride when I'm home, but since she thinks I spent the night at Willow's, she probably went in to the Museum at the crack of dawn." She grimaced ruefully. "Dedicated, that's Mom."

"Hmmm. Well, then, I suggest that I drop you off at your house to get changed while I go purchase some breakfast for the two of us. We should have just enough time to get to school before class starts." He dropped the skirt on the bed. "I'll just, um, wait outside for you."

Buffy grinned teasingly at him, despite her own flushed cheeks. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? You know...horse...barn?"

His brows flew up. "What? Oh, yes, right." He grinned back at her. "I just meant that I had better wait outside, or there will be no conceivable way we could make it to class on time."

Buffy's face burned bright red. "Oh...um, yeah, okay, I see your point."

He turned to go through the doorway, but her quiet, abruptly serious voice stopped him in his tracks. "Giles?"

He turned back toward her. "What?"

She regarded him solemnly. "Don't you think...we need to talk?" Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed convulsively.

Giles gazed at her silently for a moment, his expression suddenly serious. "Yes," he replied finally. "And we will. But right now-"

"Right now we have to get going," she finished, nodding. "Okay. Scoot. I'll just be a minute."

He nodded and left the room. Buffy sighed and slipped out from under the covers, leaning down to pick up the discarded Oxford shirt cum makeshift pajamas from the floor. Smiling slightly, she pulled it around her shoulders and reached across the bed for her skirt. Her hand paused on the pillow as the magnitude of the turn her life had taken last night finally hit her.

<Nothing will ever be the same again,> she realized, unable to squelch a frisson of trepidation. She picked up the pillow and hugged it to her chest, her eyes squeezing shut. <But you don't want it to go back to the way it was, do you?> a little voice inside her head asked.

"No," she replied aloud, her smile returning. "I wouldn't trade last night for anything."

<But last night is over,> she mused as she slipped into her shoes. <I wonder what today will bring.>

The person in line behind Giles had to nudge his arm to get him to notice the slightly impatient server behind the counter at the coffeehouse. "May I help you?" the teenager asked again, clearly bored by the excitement of his job.

"Oh, yes," Giles stuttered, wrenching his mind off of Buffy and enticing memories of the previous evening, "Two coffees...er, number threes." He pointed to the lighted menu. "And two croissants. To go, please."

"Rough night?" a cheerful voice asked over his shoulder. He whirled around to find himself face-to-face with Jennie Calendar, holding a cup of cappucino in one hand and half a sticky bun in the other.

"Er, what?" he muttered, flustered by her question. <She *can't* know anything about last night,> the rational part of his brain reassured him as he turned to pick up his order from the counter.

"Two number threes," she explained. "Quite a load of caffeine. I guess the Watcher and the Slayer had a pretty big evening, huh?"

He choked on a sip of bitterly hot coffee. "Wha-...What makes you say that? Why would you mention Buffy?"

She shot him a strange look. "Willow called me looking for her last night. She said Buffy left school yesterday, and her entourage had no idea where she'd gone." She took a bite of her bun. "I guess you found her - otherwise you wouldn't be standing here calmly ordering breakfast."

<Calmly - yes, right,> he thought ruefully. "Actually, I did see Buffy last night, and she's perfectly fine. I'll be giving her the other coffee and croissant when I pick her up for school."

Jennie raised an eyebrow. "You're driving her to school? Do you think that's a good idea, Rupert? I mean, *we* all know why you and Buffy spend so much time together, but someone like Snyder might get the wrong idea."

His answering laugh was a tad distressed, but Jennie didn't seem to detect it. "Anyway," she continued, "I think I can help you out this morning. My car wouldn't start and I had to walk here, but I'll allow you to give me a ride the rest of the way." She eyed him curiously. "I tried to call you earlier, actually, but your phone was busy for an hour. Who were you talking to all morning?"

He averted his gaze. "I, um, must have knocked it off the hook last night."

He stiffened as she threaded her arm through his and pointed him toward the front door. "Oh. Well, we'd better get going or Buffy and I will be late for class. Don't worry," she added, flashing him a wicked grin, "this isn't date number five. After all, there's very little chance we'll encounter vampires or Frankenstein-building brothers on the way to school, and we have to give Murphy's Law a chance to function. So are we on for Friday night?" She gave his arm a playful slap when he gave her a look of complete noncomprehension. "The big game?"

"Oh," he replied, pushing the door open, "I, er...I think I'm busy. But I'll let you know," he added hurriedly as her expression darkened. He hadn't yet considered the impact the previous evening's activities would have on his odd on-again, off-again, so-far-entirely-platonic relationship with the computer teacher. But he could see the potential for disaster in her perplexed frown.

She nodded slowly and turned to scan the parking lot, smiling ruefully when she spotted what Buffy had sarcastically termed the "Gilesmobile". "Let's go."

Buffy ran her brush through her hair as she studied her features in the mirror above the dresser. She reached out and traced her face in the mirror, searching for some outward sign of the momentous change her life had undergone last night. Her eyes were clearer, devoid of the usual shadows underneath, and the small smile she hadn't yet managed to squelch turned the corners of her mouth up. But mostly she looked like the same old Buffy, and suddenly, that wasn't sufficient.

She nervously fingered the collar of her blouse. Now that she had been away from Giles' distracting presence for more than a few minutes, the doubts he had held at bay had begun to resurface. <What have we done? And what does it mean for the future?> The comfortable world that contained just the two of them evaporated by the light of day, leaving seventeen-year-old high school junior/Vampire Slayer Buffy Summers all alone, with all the same doubts, fears, and insecurities she'd had before. And a whole set of new ones to add to the list.

She turned toward the bed behind her, piled high with stuffed animals, and felt a sudden overwhelming wave of nostalgia overcome her. <I wish I could go back...back to when vampires were just unconvincing villains in bad horror movies, when my biggest concerns were a bad perm and a geometry quiz...when romantic worries meant that Andrew Banko chose to sit next to Missy Williams instead of me at lunch.> Her fingers brushed her throat as she remembered the feel of Giles' lips against her skin. She closed her eyes. <What does last night mean for us? Will I lose the only person I can trust with everything I am?>

The honk of a car horn interrupted her reverie. She shook her head and reached for her leather jacket, slinging it over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time. She came to a stop next to the front door, inhaled deeply, and wrenched it open.

Giles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead as he nervously pondered Buffy's possible reaction to finding Jennie Calendar in his car. They needed to talk before joining the rest of humanity at Sunnydale High School, but Jennie's presence and the late hour virtually guaranteed they wouldn't get the chance.

The staccato sound of footsteps on the driveway caught his attention, just in time for him to see Buffy's eyes go wide as she discerned the figure in the front seat. She lurched to a halt, frowning, before changing direction and reaching for the rear door. She slid smoothly into the back seat, a less-than-convincing smile on her face. "Giles...Ms. Calendar."

"Hi, Buffy," Jennie replied, oblivious to underlying tensions. "My car chose today to commit autocide, and Rupert offered me a ride. But the coffee and croissant are yours." She handed them back to Buffy with a bright smile.

Buffy managed a wan smile of thanks. "Goody. A healthy, nutritious breakfast. It's practically oatmeal." The edge in her voice passed over Jennie's head, but Giles heard it clearly. His gaze met Buffy's in the rearview mirror. <Later,> he urged silently, and, after a long moment, she blinked her acceptance of the delay. <Later...>

"It's the Gilesmobile, G-man at the wheel," Xander told Willow as he sat down on the bench next to her. They were waiting out in front of the school for Buffy to arrive. "I wonder if he'll finally tell us what was up with Buffy last night? She sure sounded weird on the phone."

Willow frowned down at her watch. "But where is she? It's almost time for class to start. If she's tardy or absent from first period one more time, Snyder's going to freak. She'll have a lot more to worry about than what punch to serve on Parent- Teacher night."

"It's the people who *drink* the punch that have to worry, Will. But don't have a panic attack- you're in luck, pal-o- mine. Buffy just exited the Gilesmobile. She must have really been desperate for a ride to be seen in that tribute to aluminum!"

"Yeah..." Willow said, frowning. "Is that Ms. Calendar with them?"

Xander whistled softly. "Yup. Hey, do you think that means our fearless librarian got lucky last night? Way to go, Giles!"

"Shhh," Willow admonished, elbowing him in the ribs as the trio approached. "Hey, Buffy, we were just about to go and call you. If you're late for first period again, I think Principal Snyder will give you detention until you're twenty-five."

"Lucky me," Buffy muttered, shooting Giles a strange look.

Ms. Calendar threaded her arm through his and smiled at them. "We'll see you later, okay? Come on, Rupert."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, right," he stuttered, wrenching his gaze from Buffy. They turned to walk toward the school building.

"Giles?" Buffy asked before she could stop herself. She winced, hearing the anxiety in her own voice.

He turned back to look at her, his expression unreadable. "I'll talk to you during your lunch period, all right? You'd best get to class now."

She studied his face for a moment. "All right," she replied softly. "I'll see you at lunch."

He nodded shortly, as Ms. Calendar tugged on his arm. They turned to go inside. Buffy's gaze followed them until they'd disappeared into building as an uncomfortable ball of foreboding uncurled in her stomach. She turned to find Willow and Xander watching her, confusion evident in their eyes.

"Buff?" Xander asked. "You okay? You look kinda whacked."

"Slayer stuff," she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Let's just go, all right?" She started for the door without waiting for them to agree.

Xander and Willow exchanged befuddled glances, shrugged, and followed her inside.

Buffy paused outside the door of the library, suddenly unsure whether or not she should enter, though her lunchtime meeting with Giles had been the only thing on her mind all day. But now that she was actually faced with the prospect of seeing him again, for the first time since the incredible night spent in each other's arms, she didn't know if she had the courage to face him.

<Come on, girl,> she chided herself. <You're the Slayer, not some wimpy fifties' girl who sits home and waits for the boy to call. Just march on in there and ask Giles what's going on in that oh-so-British brain of his...> She closed her eyes and braced her shoulders as she attempted to dismiss the doomsday scenarios her mind had spent the morning conjuring up. The ones where Giles laughed at her, and at the importance of what had happened between them last night - where he belittled their passion and her love, and relegated the most magical evening of her life to a one-night stand, before casually mentioning that he'd decided to move on with the more age-appropriate and presumably more experienced Ms. Calendar. <Stop it!> she scolded herself. <Giles would never say those things. He might regret what happened, but he would never treat you like yesterday's garbage. He's not like that!> She opened her eyes and glared determinedly at the door. "I can do this," she muttered, biting her lip as she pushed open the library door. "Giles?" she called out tentatively.

A pile of books clattered to the floor somewhere within the stacks. A few moments later, Giles appeared from between the rows on 'Blood Sacrifice' and 'Demonology'. <Figures,> Buffy thought, swallowing a slightly hysterical giggle.

"Buffy," Giles said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He sounded distinctly nervous, which made Buffy feel unaccountably better.

"You said lunch, didn't you?" she asked quietly as she laid her books down on the polished library table. "I told Xander and Willow it was a private Watcher/Slayer thing. They're braving Mexican Day in the cafeteria."

He descended the stairs and paused a few feet away from her. "Er, yes, lunch, I did say lunch." He glanced uneasily around the deserted room. "Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in my office."

She nodded silently, turning to follow him as he led the way back toward his door. When the door had clicked shut behind them, an uneasy silence fell.

"Are you okay, Giles?" Buffy asked after a moment, silently cursing her inability to wait him out. *The Babble Gene*, her mother called it, while swearing it must have been something she'd inherited from her father. <Have silence, will fill it,> she thought ruefully as she tossed her purse into a chair.

A wry smile quirked Giles' mouth. "I think that should be my question to you, don't you, Buffy? As your Watcher, and as the..."

"Guy?" she supplied brightly, feeling a flush of confidence as his smile became a full-fledged grin. "Sorry, Giles, I've never been too good at being the damsel-in-waiting. And I'm not much for deep meaningful silences, you might have noticed."

"You're nervous," he concluded correctly, long months of practice enabling him to diagnose her Babble for what it was. "You don't need to be, Buffy."

She shrugged and averted her gaze. "I don't know," she murmured uncomfortably. "Never done this morning-after routine before, remember?"

He lowered his eyes, removing his glasses as if to clean them. "I know," he sighed. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I didn't plan to run into Jennie this morning, nor did I plan on giving her a ride to school. I thought we would have a chance to speak of this privately in the car."

<Jennie,> Buffy thought, experiencing a mild pang of nostalgia for the geeky formality of <Ms. Calendar.> She'd never been quite sure of the extent of the relationship between the computer teacher and her Watcher, and hadn't pried into it further for reasons that really didn't bear close scrutiny. But she was suddenly conscious of her age and inexperience in a way that she never had been before, not even with Angel. She took a deep breath. "About Ms. Calendar, Giles..."

He looked up to regard her steadily. "Yes?"

She flushed but continued gamely onward. "What *about* Ms. Calendar, Giles?"

He compressed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes...I can see where this is heading. It's probably something we should have discussed before we...before." He swallowed. "My relationship with Ms. Calendar...and your relationship with Angel."

Buffy winced and bowed her head. <Guess I asked for that one.> She took another deep breath. "Well, Angel and I had a fight...No, actually, we had *the* fight. The one we always have. The one where *he's* a vampire and *I'm* the Slayer and never the...whatever shall meet." She looked up to meet Giles' eyes. "And I realized something, Giles. I realized that those two things are never gonna change, and that meant nothing could ever change for Angel and me."

His eyes gleamed in the shadowed room as he asked tentatively, "Do you...still love him?"

"Maybe," she replied after a moment, determined upon complete honesty, no matter how awkward it made things. They'd always been honest with one another - it was one of the things about their relationship that she cherished most. "I've never been absolutely sure about what I feel for him. I guess at first, I loved the *idea* of him, Giles. He was dangerous and sexy and forbidden...the ultimate *rebellion*, you know?" Her eyes took on a faraway glint. "But after what happened with the Master..." She shivered. "Well, let's just say, danger isn't looking all that tempting anymore."

"And I'm safe," Giles concluded, not sounding at all happy about it.

Her short burst of laughter dripped irony. "Safe? You're about as far from safe as it gets, Giles. Being with you could get me into *way* more trouble than being with Angel, and not just from my Mom. Just picture *Snyder's* reaction!"

Giles bit back a smile. "I see your point. Sorry."

She nodded her acceptance of his apology. "But you're a different kind of dangerous, Giles. You're not safe, but you're not...dark." She shrugged, helpless to convey her meaning more precisely, but Giles was nodding his comprehension. "So Angel and I are finished. For good." She looked back up at him expectantly. "Your turn."

He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "I can't tell you the state of my relationship with Ms. Calendar," he said after a moment. She stiffened, and he rushed to reassure her. "Simply because I've never *known* the state of our relationship. I really have no clear idea of how she feels about me."

"I don't care how *she* feels about *you*, Giles!" Buffy retorted, exasperated. "I want to know how you feel about her!"

Giles silently studied the pair of glasses in his hand. "I don't know," he said finally, raising his gaze to meet hers. "At first I didn't allow myself to think about it. My position as a Watcher necessitates a different set of priorities than most, and I never deemed it fair to ask her...or any other woman, for that matter...to accept what *must* be." He regarded her for a moment, then continued, "But I do know...that whatever was between us doesn't compare to what I feel for you, Buffy."

Buffy exhaled gustily, as though a great weight had been lifted from her chest. "Really?" she whispered softly.

He smiled. "Really."

Buffy was across the room in a flash, wrapping her arms around his neck, causing him to fall back against his desk with a muffled *thump*. "I'm so glad. I tried not to be worried, but-"

"I understand," he murmured, burying his face in her fragrant hair. "This is hideously complicated, Buffy, and, in all honesty, probably a very bad idea. It does us no good to pretend otherwise. But Ms. Calendar is not an obstacle to us, I promise."

Buffy hugged him more tightly. "Neither is Angel. So I guess we can start dealing with the other sixty-seven million problems now, huh?" She bit her lip, deciding that it would be easier to bring up the next uncomfortable subject while her cheek was nestled against his sweater vest and she didn't have to see his face. "I, uh, guess you should know that we, uh...don't have to worry about kids or anything." She felt his arms stiffen around her, but he didn't let go. She took a deep breath. "I'm, uh,...well, I've been on the Pill for a couple of years - not 'cause I've been having sex, which, of course, you know I haven't been, anyway, because you-...It's a female thing, which I don't want to talk about, because it's gross and *really* embarrassing, but-"

A gentle finger pressed against her lips, and she felt a chuckle rumble through Giles' chest. "I understand," he murmured, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

Suddenly she became aware that Giles was becoming aroused, their close proximity revealing to her the physical reaction to her presence that he had previously been at great pains to hide. "Guess you weren't kidding about *feeling* for me," she giggled, her face flushing with embarrassed pleasure.

Giles coughed, chagrined, as he released her. "Ah, well...this isn't exactly the place to discuss it, is it?"

Buffy rubbed up against him enticingly, reveling in the feeling of power over his body. Her relief at knowing Giles didn't regret what had happened between them left her feeling almost giddy...and more than a tiny bit reckless. "Oh, I don't know..." she purred. "The door's locked, isn't it?"

He tried to frown at her, clearing his throat in his usual *I'm The Watcher And Know What Is Best* manner. "Buffy, we can't-" He nearly swallowed his tongue as her nimble fingers slipped inside the waistband of his trousers. "*Buffy*!"

"Yes, Giles?" she whispered as her fingers found and encircled him. His answer was a low, heartfelt moan before he tilted his head down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She twined her free arm around his neck, returning the kiss passionately, as his own hand stole underneath her short skirt to the heat between her legs, rubbing expertly against her melting core through the fabric of her panties.

He finally broke off the kiss when the need for oxygen became acute. Buffy threw her head back, her breath coming in little pants as she rubbed her breasts against his chest, the barrier of intervening clothing an irritant in both pleasurable and unpleasurable ways. He trailed kisses down her neck as his fingers slid underneath the soaking material covering her crotch. She inhaled sharply as his finger probed inside her and starbursts of pleasure shot through her brain. "*Giles!*" she moaned, her own fingers tightening around his rock-hard shaft as her other hand snuck down to fumble with his zipper.

"Buffy," he breathed, overcome with the intoxicating scent and taste of her. Never had anyone been so responsive, nor brought him to such swift arousal. The rapidly dwindling rational part of his mind dimly registered the ringing of the class bell as Buffy's clever hands freed him from confinement and she pushed against his chest, sliding him back along the desk. It took considerable agility and flexibility to climb up on the desk without breaking contact with him, but Buffy was nothing if not in extremely good shape. <God Bless aerobics,> she thought irrelevantly as she straddled him, her knees balancing her on the desk. Her skirt was bunched around her hips now, and Giles' lips again found hers.

His talented fingers fell away as it became necessary for him to use one hand to brace himself upright on the desk. Feeling their loss, Buffy squirmed closer, twining her arms around his neck as their tongues dueled in a blatantly carnal kiss. She could feel his questing member against her leg, and shifted her pelvis to allow him access. His free hand cupped her buttocks as he carefully guided her down on top of him, and they both sighed with twin moans of sheer pleasure as he slid into her smoothly, their bodies fitting together as if they'd been made for one another. After a moment of utterly delicious completion, Buffy began to pump her hips, slowly at first, savoring each moment as he moved in and out of her, and then more quickly as the urgency in both their bodies built to a fever pitch.

Her cries of pleasure were muffled by his sweater as she buried her face in his shoulder, some remote part of her still conscious of the need for concealment even as her body hummed with singing pleasure. Giles clamped his teeth down on his lower lips as he brought his hand around to touch her where their bodies came together, his skilled fingers finding her clitoris and pressing against it, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her blood as she came to orgasm. With one final thrust he emptied himself into her, a soundless cry of rapture shooting from his lips.

He slumped back on the desk and she collapsed on top of him, both of them boneless and drained of energy. Buffy, with her Slayer-enhanced recuperative powers, was the first to stir. She propped herself up on her elbows, emitting a little moan of pleasure as her movements embedded him inside her a bit more deeply. "Wow," she muttered, licking her dry lips.

Below her, Giles' mouth quirked in a wry, sated grin. "As loathe as I am to diminish my vocabulary in that way, I'd have to agree that *Wow* just about covers it." He let out a sigh of regret as they slowly began to disentangle their limbs and Buffy reluctantly moved away from him. She stood back and straightened her clothing, shifting her panties and pulling the skirt back down. The dark, slick material shed wrinkles surprisingly well, and suddenly she again looked like an average high-school student, albeit one with a well-kissed mouth and hair in need of a comb.

Giles pushed himself up from the desk and rearranged his trousers into some semblance of order. Luckily, they'd both worn dark clothing that day, the better to hide any tell-tale evidence. The enormity of what they'd just done hit both of them at the same time, and Giles' cheeks flushed red as Buffy's eyes widened. "I can't believe we just did that in here," Buffy gasped through a sudden bout of the giggles. "Geez, Giles, what were we thinking?"

"I'm very much afraid we weren't thinking at all," Giles admitted ruefully, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "We can't afford to do this, Buffy. Anyone could have come in..." His voice trailed off as he regarded her seriously.

"I know," she sighed. "Guess we need to talk about ground rules, huh?" She pulled a brush out of her purse and attacked her tousled hair.

Giles put on his glasses. "We can do that tonight after your training." He glanced up at the clock on the wall and let out a muffled *damn*. "You're going to be late to class if you don't leave now. I'm sorry, Buffy, but it's gotten to the point where I probably shouldn't write excuse slips for you except in case of emergency. Principal Snyder has been especially obnoxious lately."

"No kidding," she muttered, tossing her brush back into her purse and glancing back up at him. "Do I look okay?" He nodded, smiling, and she darted forward to give him one last, swift kiss before turning to the door. "Training's at your house tonight, right? Is five o'clock okay? I have a couple of errands to run after school."

"Five o'clock," he agreed as she opened the door. They both jumped when Xander's smiling face appeared in the opening.

"Hey, Buff!" he greeted her cheerfully, oblivious to their startled discomfort. "I know that you two are busy saving the world and stuff, but if you're late for trig one more time, Snyder's going to have kittens. Ready to go?"

She nodded, shooting one last glance toward Giles. "See you later," she murmured, a pleased, secretive half-smile curving her mouth momentarily. And then she was gone.

Giles sat back down on the desk, his fingers stealing to his lips, which still burned from her kiss. <Later...>

Buffy blinked as she and her friends emerged into the sunlight from the shadowed depths of Sunnydale High. Behind her and a few steps to the left, Cordelia grumbled something about incipient skin cancer and snapped on a pair of sunglasses. "California," Buffy sighed languidly, the glow from the afternoon's earlier activities still enveloping her. "Land of no weather."

"I thought you liked sun, sun and more sun," Willow offered as she accepted a can of coke from Oz. She gave him a bright, shy smile, and he grinned at her.

"Oh, I do, I guess," Buffy murmured distractedly. "It might be nice to have a change of pace every once in a while, though." Idly, she wondered what the weather in England was like - very different than Sunnydale, she suspected, if Giles' occasional sentimental reveries were any indication.

Cordelia dismissed her entourage with a flick of her hair and approached their small group, her eyes warming slightly as she beheld Xander, though her acid tone gave no indication of it. "God, Buffy, have we given up brushing altogether now?"

Buffy flushed and raised her hand to her hair. Cordelia's eyebrows flew up in surprise - her jibes about Buffy's hairstyle didn't usually affect the impervious Slayer. <What's up with her?> she thought, before Xander's dark eyes distracted her. <What's up with *me*? I mean, this is *Xander* for God's sake!> But she couldn't contain her smile.

"So are we Bronzin' it tonight?" Xander wondered to the group at large, though his gaze flickered toward Cordelia.

"I can't," Buffy immediately replied, ducking her head to fiddle with her purse strap. "I have some errands to run and then Giles and I-" her gaze caught on Oz and she swallowed, "Uh, I have a project to work on with Mr. Giles in the library."

Willow caught the slip, though Oz didn't, occupied as he was with staring at Willow. "I think I forgot...uh, something I didn't remember in my locker," she muttered hurriedly. "Want to come, uh, help me get it, Oz?"

"Sure!" he replied eagerly.

The twosome set off back toward the school building, and Xander fixed Buffy with a concerned stare. "What's going on, Buff? Is something paranormal in the offing? Is a horde of the undead invading Sunnydale"

"It's nothing for you guys to worry about," she replied, unable to meet his eyes. She bit her lip. "Look, I'm going to be training with Giles tonight, that's all. You guys have fun at the Bronze." Xander frowned, puzzled - it wasn't often that Buffy didn't at least make a token protest in favor of having a social life.

"What if Angel shows up?" Cordelia asked slyly, enjoying the pique in Xander's expression, though she couldn't be sure if it existed because of her or Buffy. <He's so easy to bait.>

"He won't," Buffy replied flatly. The utter certainty in her voice earned startled blinks from Cordelia and Xander, but before they could question her further, she offered them a determinedly bright goodbye and set off down the street. They stared at her retreating figure, brows furrowed in identical expressions of confusion.

"What's up with *her*?" Cordelia wondered.

Buffy hefted the shopping bag in her hand against her leg and once again raised a hand to knock on the door in front of her. Again her fist paused in midair. <You have to do this, Buffy,> she told herself firmly. <It's only fair. You *owe* him this much.> She set her jaw determinedly and knocked on the door.

A rustling sound came from within, and the door opened a crack. Dark, gentle eyes peered out. "Buffy!" Angel murmured in surprised welcome. "I wasn't expecting you."

He pulled the door wide and gestured for her to enter the shadowed apartment. She nodded her thanks and walked past him, moving skittishly to the side as he brushed against her in passing. He stiffened. "Are we still fighting?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She bit her lip as she studied the interior of the darkened apartment, with its stark, modern decoration so at odds with the true age of the man who inhabited it. The first time she'd seen it she thought it was the most romantic place on Earth, and a perfect match for the compelling, tragic man that meant so much to her. The day Spike had ordered the demon attack, it had even been a refuge, a place of safety and serenity - at least until Kendra had arrived. It had been a haven for her, much as the library was, but now it felt like a trap, or a prison.

Because she was going to hurt the man who had given her that haven, and she dreaded the coming minutes more than anything.

Buffy squared her shoulders, inhaled deeply, and turned to face him. "No," she replied emphatically. "We aren't fighting."

He studied her silently for a moment. "But we're not making up, either, are we?" he concluded in an even tone. "Why are you here, Buffy?"

She gazed up at him, taking in the smooth planes of his handsome countenance, and she again felt the winsome tug of attraction that had drawn her to him from the very first. He looked so lost and vulnerable, and yet so strong. She cleared her throat. "I came to say goodbye," she whispered.

He blinked once and turned away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I see," he murmured, his expression bleak.

"You were always the one who said this couldn't work out, Angel," she reminded him a bit desperately. "That it's too hard, and we're too different. I'm just finally agreeing with you."

His lip quirked in a wry, pained half-smile though his eyes were dark with misery. "I was sort of hoping that *I* would be the one who was wrong."

She blinked back unshed tears. "I'm sorry."

He regarded her silently for a long moment. "Is there someone else?" he asked finally.

Caught offguard by the unexpected question, she flinched and ducked her head. "That's not what this is about," she mumbled finally, her throat tight with emotion. "I can't *do* this anymore, Angel. It hurts too much."

The moments ticked by, and the only sound in the room was the harsh reverberation of Buffy's breathing. If she had closed her eyes, she could have almost pretended he wasn't there - because *he* wasn't breathing.

Because he was dead already.

<Like I was,> she thought automatically, her mind flashing back to the Master's face, and suddenly she wanted to be away from this place more than anything in the world. She wanted sunlight, and color, and laughter. <Giles,> she thought longingly...but she owed Angel more than that. Slowly she raised her head and met his gaze. The expression on his face nearly broke her heart.

He regarded her silently, his face a mask of misery, loneliness...and understanding. He nodded slightly and turned away, his shoulders slumping.

Choking back a sob, Buffy bolted toward the door, her hair flying out behind her. The bag in her hand banged against her leg with every step. She didn't stop running until she burst from the dark alcove into the sunlight, and then she crumpled to the ground next to an old oak tree, crying bitter, angry tears...for the man she'd left behind...and for herself.

"Hey, England!" Jennie Calendar greeted Giles in a cheerful voice as she pushed open the double doors that led into the library.

Giles dropped a stack of books onto the tabletop with suddenly nerveless fingers. "Jennie," he murmured, turning to favor her with a somewhat sickly smile. "Thank you for coming."

"You called, I came," she agreed equably, plopping into a chair in a passable imitation of a teenager. "What's up? The world isn't ending tonight, is it? Because I have an appointment to get my hair cut later."

"Um, no," he stuttered as he gathered up his volumes. "I, er, it's nothing to do with prophecies or vampires. It's, well, um...it's personal."

"Ooh," she purred, rising from the chair with feline grace and reaching for his tie. She pulled him toward her, a seductive smile on her lips. "That sounds intriguing."

Gently he extricated the tie from her hand and retreated behind the relative safety of the book checkout counter. "It's not," he replied, flushing as he realized how nonsensical he sounded. "I, er-" He closed his eyes and shook his head.

The smile fell from Calendar's face as she studied his grim expression. "What's wrong, Rupert?" Her eyes narrowed with concern. "Is this about us? Is this about Friday?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He took a deep breath and raised his gaze to meet hers. "There isn't going to be any Friday," he said finally. "Not for us, I mean."

She blinked, confused. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Jennie," he murmured softly. "I don't know how to say this. I'm not very good at it - I never have been."

She compressed her lips. "The ol' brush-off, you mean?" she asked, her voice ironic. "Is that what's going on here, Rupert?"

He looked pained. "I wouldn't put it that way, no."

All traces of humor disappeared from her face. "But you are ending our...*relationship*, aren't you?" Audible hurt laced her tone.

He closed his eyes. "I realize that I have been incredibly unfair to you, Jennie. I dragged you into something you had no way of anticipating, I've put your life in danger innumerable times-"

"I don't care about that," she snapped, cutting him off. "I haven't done anything I didn't want to do, and this isn't about slaying or demon-fighting or students who build girlfriends out of spare parts. This is about *us*, Rupert! What are you trying to say here?"

His fingers gripped a stray pencil tightly as he stared blindly down at the desktop. "I'm saying there can't *be* an us, Jennie," he said finally. "It's just...not a good idea. Not possible."

"Why not?" she demanded. "This is completely out of the blue, Rupert. What's changed since *last* Friday?"

<More than you'll ever know,> Giles' mind supplied silently, though he knew he could never reveal to her what had happened between he and Buffy. "I came to Sunnydale for a *reason*, Jennie," he offered a bit desperately after a moment. "I can't allow *anything* to get in the way of that.

"I'm not trying to come between you and your Slayer," she pointed out with some asperity. "But, God, Rupert, there has to be a part of you that isn't the Watcher twenty-four hours a day. You can't let it take over your entire *life*!"

"Buffy *is* my life!" he retorted with a lot more passion than he'd intended to reveal. Calendar took an involuntary step backward, stunned by the intensity in his voice, but then she stepped forward again to lay a hand on his arm.

Her voice echoed compassionate sincerity. "That's not true, Giles. And if you believe it, then this situation is a lot more unhealthy than I thought. She's a *child*, Giles. You can't put that kind of responsibility on her shoulders."

"You don't understand," Giles said, pulling his arm away. "You can't possibly. And I don't want to discuss Buffy with you anymore."

Her lips thinned angrily as she studied his mutinous expression. "Fine," she snapped, snatching up her purse. "I just hope that in your quest to become the most dedicated Watcher in history, you don't ruin your Slayer's life in the process." He flinched, almost imperceptibly, but she caught it, and a flash of satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. "See you around the faculty lounge, Snobby," she offered as a parting shot, before sailing out the door.

Giles exhaled gustily and slumped back against the wall. Her final words had stung him more than he wanted to admit. "I won't," he muttered fiercely under his breath. "I won't hurt Buffy! I swear it on my life!" But her words remained, burned into his brain. The pencil in his fingers strained, then snapped in two.

The doors of the library eased open, and Willow's puzzled, guileless face peeked inside. "Giles? Was that Ms. Calendar? She looked upset."

He nodded and reached for his leather briefcase. "That was her," he affirmed shortly as he swept the mangled pencil into a wastebasket. "Is there something you needed, Willow? I was just leaving."

She studied him silently for a moment, then shook her head uncertainly. "No...I just..." She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Is everything okay, Giles? Buffy's acting kind of weird. And, if you don't mind my saying so - so are you."

"I'm fine," he replied, softening his curt tone just a little. Willow always impressed him with the way she overcame her native timidity in situations she deemed of importance. "And so is Buffy. You needn't concern yourself with us, Willow. If you're leaving the library right now as well, then I'll walk you out."

Willow nodded slowly, and together, they left.

"Bye, Mom," Buffy yelled up the stairs as she was leaving the house. She slammed the front door behind her before her mother could reply, or - worse - come down the stairs to bid her daughter goodbye in person. As behind the times in fashion as her mother was, Buffy didn't think she'd believe that a spandex tank top and a pair of sweats constituted stylish attire for the Bronze, which was where she believed Buffy was going that evening, with a possible overnight stay at Willow's afterward.

A Cheshire grin lit Buffy's face as she pondered the actual sleeping arrangements she was hoping for in the coming evening - or *non*-sleeping arrangements, as the case may be. Still smiling, she hefted her dufflebag over her shoulder and turned to skip down the front porch steps. The sight of Xander and Cordelia brought her up short, and the look of anticipation fled her face, to be replaced by an expression of cool, blank inquiry. "What are you two doing here?" she asked, then frowned at Cordelia, suddenly realizing how odd the other girl's presence truly was.

Cordelia grimaced, chagrined. <Gotta be more careful about this,> she mentally noted, wondering why she hadn't hesitated when Xander had asked her for a ride. "Well, it looks like I'm now the official taxi surface for the fighters of the undead," she cracked, trying for a combination of annoyed and extremely put out. "Xander needed to see you," she added, rolling her eyes.

Xander shot a glare toward Cordelia, then turned back to Buffy, deep concern evident in his furrowed brow. "Yeah, well, I, uh, wanted to ask if you changed your mind about going to the Bronze tonight. Don'tcha think you could use a break? I mean, you trained with Giles *last* night, right? I'm surprised he doesn't need time to heal."

Color suffused Buffy's cheeks, despite her best efforts. She knew Xander had no idea what had *really* happened the previous evening, but the situation was too new for her to deal with it with any sort of equanimity. Xander seemed oblivious to her reactions, but Cordelia was regarding her strangely. "Well, you know how it is," Buffy muttered uncomfortably under her breath, "A Slayer's work is never done and all that stuff. Giles just wants to make sure I'm prepared for anything. It's no big deal."

Xander didn't look as though he were buying it. "Are you sure?"

Cordelia huffed a martyred sigh, irritated that he seemed determined to beat this to death. "She said don't worry about it, Xander. I think she and Giles can handle whatever's going on without *your* help, don't you?"

His jaw clenched, and Cordelia felt a momentary pang of guilt for her harsh tone. <But, *really*, it's not like *Buffy* needs him to take care of her, for God's sake!> she told herself. <And I am *not* jealous!> Still, it wouldn't hurt to be a little bit nicer. "Can we drop you off at the library, Buffy?"

Buffy shook her head. "No, thanks. I need to run to warm up. You guys have a good time at the Bronze, though. Tell Willow and Oz 'Hi'." With that, she hefted the dufflebag over her shoulder and set off down the sidewalk at an easy jog.

Cordelia watched her go, a bit envious of Buffy's obvious physical fitness, and a bit miffed that Xander's own eyes were glued to Buffy's retreating form as well. "Xander!" she snapped, elbowing him in the stomach.

He turned to regard her blankly, and she realized that whatever he'd been thinking, it had little to do with teenaged hormones. "What?" she asked, more softly.

Xander bit his lip, his eyes dark with concern. "Something's wrong, Cordelia," he said finally, his tone serious, and just a little bit scary. "I know it. Something's really, really wrong."

* Giles opened the door promptly at her knock, and Buffy spent a brief second pondering the difference in her feelings at this moment as opposed to her dread at Angel's that afternoon. She grinned up at her Watcher as her eyes roamed over his chest. His Oxford shirt was partially unbuttoned, the sweater and tweed jacket long discarded. He was wearing his glasses and looked as though she'd interrupted him mid-chapter in some musty tome. "Hi," she greeted him softly, just a tiny bit shy.

He smiled down at her, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Hello. Come in."

Buffy stepped inside, struck by the odd sense of familiarity the room held for her, in spite of the fact that she could have counted her visits on one hand before the previous evening. The decor - such as it was - was nothing like her mother's house, or Angel's apartment. <The Library motif,> she chuckled silently to herself. <I'm surprised his couch isn't tweed.>

She walked into the attached kitchen and paused next to the dining table. "I brought you something," she told him, reaching inside her dufflebag for another sack.

His eyebrows flew up. "You did?"

She grinned at him and held the bag out. "Yup. Something you really *really* need. Trust me."

"Always," he replied teasingly, though she could hear the commitment behind his words. He held the bag awkwardly, and suddenly Buffy wondered if it were because he was not accustomed to receiving gifts. That thought saddened her. She looked down at the bracelet he'd given her for her birthday and vowed to herself that this present would be only the first of many.

"Buffy?" Giles murmured, puzzled, as he withdrew the contents of her package.

She smiled over the expression on his face. "It's a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, Giles. You're the only guy I know who works out in Oxfords and dress pants."

He pondered her offering, amused and touched by her thoughtfulness. "Yes, well, I must admit, the condition of my clothing does sometimes surprise the dry cleaner."

Buffy laughed. "I'll bet." The grinned companionably at each other for a moment, before Buffy's eyes took on a dangerous gleam. She reached for the top fastened button on his shirt and undid it slowly. "Do you need my help getting dressed?"

He groaned and stepped back, holding up a hand to forestall her following him. "I don't think so. We really *must* work out, Buffy."

Buffy's lip quirked and she widened her eyes in sham innocence. "That's what I was suggesting. A workout."

He chuckled. "Very funny. I'll be right back." He turned down the hallway that led to the bedroom. "Oh, and Buffy," he added, leaning back out the door and waving a hand toward a small box in the center of the dining table. "I got you something, too. Go ahead and open it."

Buffy slowly reached for the small box. It wasn't wrapped. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, as she pried the lid away. Inside lay a keyring with a single gleaming silver key. She swallowed. "Giles? Is this what I think it is?"

His voice was muffled. "If you think it's a key to my house, then it's what you think it is." He appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, clad in the t-shirt and sweatpants, barefoot and hair-mussed. He regarded her with no little trepidation. "Unless you don't want it."

She swallowed again, trying to get past the sudden lump in her throat. "I want it," she whispered, looking up at him with shining eyes. "I want it. Thank you so much, Giles."

His smile was relieved as he reached out to gently caress her cheek. "You're welcome. Thank you for my new attire. What do you think?"

She grinned at him and glanced pointedly at his feet. "I guess I forgot about shoes. What kind of person doesn't own any sneakers?"

"Abject apologies," he murmured. "The equipment's in the backyard. Shall we begin?"

Xander turned the corner and started down the sidewalk that led down Giles' street, which was lined with widely-spaced small frame houses. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, silently fuming that Cordelia had refused to accompany him to confront Buffy and Giles, after they'd discovered that neither of them were in the library. "She *lied* to us," he'd said.

"Well, we lie to her," Cordelia pointed out with some asperity. "She never took an oath to tell you every single detail about her life, Xander. Why are you so obsessed with her?" His anger had prevented him from hearing the slight tinge of jealousy in her voice. And the resulting argument had consigned him to more pedestrian modes of transportation.

"I don't care what Cordelia says," he muttered darkly to himself as he approached the facade of Giles' brown siding and brick house. It wasn't a palace by any means, but as he'd observed before, Sunnydale's reputation meant that a librarian could afford a much nicer home here than in other parts of the world, which had fewer vampires, demons, and other noxious beings per capita. The front yard was small and sparsely grassed - clearly landscaping wasn't one of Giles' talents. Xander knew from his sole previous visit that the backyard was also small, surrounded by a high wooden fence attached to a tumbledown tool shed. Not exactly a dream house, but functional enough, given that the library was Giles' real home, anyway.

"If she's not here, then maybe Giles can tell me what's going on with her." Xander knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. He stood on the front porch for a moment, pondering what he should do. The sun was beginning to set, and he had about half an hour before roaming the streets would become *really* unsafe. As he considered his options, a muffled curse caught his attention. <Maybe they're out back,> he thought, turning toward the side of the house.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked worriedly, reaching forward to help Giles up from the ground. Usually she savored her moments of triumph over the Watcher as small instances of personal control in a life lived under too many of his rules. But things were different now.

"I'm fine," Giles murmured ruefully, rubbing his bruised backside. "You've gotten much better with the quarterstaff. How about we work on your kicks now, and then call it an evening."

"Sure," she agreed, eyes gleaming devilishly. "I've been practicing my spin-kicks. I can do ten in a row without stopping or losing my balance now."

Giles raised a skeptical brow as he attached his protective gear, and Buffy grinned cheerfully at him. "You wanna bet on it?"

Xander peered through a knothole in the dilapidated wooden fence, letting out a relieved sigh as he beheld Buffy and Giles in the midst of their workout. <She really *is* training,> he concluded, before frowning at Giles. <Something's different about him...> It took a moment for the new clothing to register.

Meanwhile, Buffy had begun a frenzied welter of spin-kicks, her body rotating so quickly that it was almost a blur. Her foot connected with the leather padding on Giles' upheld arms with repeated muffled *thwaks*. Xander's eyes widened appreciatively and he swallowed the greeting on the tip of his tongue, unwilling to interrupt. It was always a privilege to see the Slayer like this. She was really something else.

Two more kicks and she was done. She fell back into a defensive crouch, her breath coming in small pants. "Well?" she challenged Giles.

He smiled fondly down at her. "You were right. I'm *very* impressed." The Watcher's voice held a note Xander had never heard before, and he felt a sudden flutter of nervousness in his stomach, which became a full-blown tornado when Buffy replied in kind.

"I win," she said in a tone of complete and utter satisfaction. "And now I get to claim my prize."

Xander watched as Buffy and Giles stared at one other, breathing hard, the tension between them stretching out into taut bonds of electricity, crackling and dangerous. "Name your forfeit, then," Giles managed to say between rapid breaths. "What is it you want?"

A small, Mona Lisa grin appeared on Buffy's lips. "You *know* what I want Giles," she purred in a seductive voice - a voice Xander had never heard her use before, except in his dreams. <And she was *certainly* never using it to speak to *Giles* in my dreams!> he thought indignantly.

Buffy swayed toward Giles, her hair fanning out behind her in the breeze. She reached out to pluck the workout pads from his hands and tossed them aside. He rubbed his arms where the straps had abraded, his gaze never leaving her upturned face.

She put her hands on her hips in a passable imitation of Mrs. Fareezie, Xander's geometry teacher in the eighth grade. Somehow, he thought, the effect wasn't quite the same. But then, Mrs. Fareezie had never worn spandex.

"You have to stand still, hands behind your back, for five minutes. No moving," she ordered.

Giles swallowed. "Why does that request make me distinctly nervous?" he asked as he complied, clasping his hands loosely behind him.

"I don't know," she replied, licking her lips. "Why do you think?"

A wry smile twitched his lips. "Because you have the most damnably inventive imagination of anyone I've ever met, perhaps?"

She moved closer to him, until their bodies were only inches apart. Moisture gleamed on her fair skin, running in rivulets down the front of her black spandex workout top to pool between her breasts. A comfortable heat was burning between her legs. The answering spark in Giles' eyes was very... stimulating.

"Is it a deal?" she whispered. "Or are you a welsher?"

He tilted his head down until his mouth was inches from her forehead. "Never," he whispered back. The hot feel of his breath against her skin made her heart hammer.

The muscles in Xander's legs were screaming protests at him for remaining in the same position for so long, but he couldn't make himself move...couldn't tear himself away from the hole in the fence and the amazing, improbable, inexplicable sight he beheld through it. He watched, dry-mouthed, as Buffy reached out to run her palms across Giles' chest. Giles' response was a low, inarticulate moan, but he remained obediently immobile.

"Very good," Buffy complimented him, moving her hands lower. She worked the bottom of the shirt out from under the waistband of the sweatpants and pulled it upward over Giles' head and down behind his shoulders, leaving his hardened chest exposed, while trapping his arms behind his back. "No," she admonished, when he moved to divest himself of it entirely by pulling his arms out of the sleeves. "Leave it there. You won't be needing your arms...not right now, anyway."

"Really." The dry, exquisitely British irony of the reply was spoiled by the his obviously labored breathing.

Buffy leaned forward and licked his chest, savoring the salty male taste of him, as she ran her hands up and down his sweatpant-clad thighs. Xander's eyes nearly popped out of his head. <What is she *doing*?> he asked himself, though the answer was perfectly clear. He felt as though he'd stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone, where everyone had been taken over by the Pod People. Buffy Summers seducing the School Librarian? The Slayer ravishing the Watcher? Impossible... Inconceivable... *Utterly* inconceivable... He was suddenly reminded of a line from one of Willow's favorite movies, <The Princess Bride> - *I do not think that word means what you think it means*. Because he was now actually *watching* the inconceivable happen...and he could not bring himself to look away.

Buffy hooked her thumbs underneath the waistband of Giles' sweatpants and stood on tiptoe to give him a long, thorough, spine-tingling kiss. He leaned into her, twining her tongue with his in a blatantly carnal way, frustrated by his inability to bring her closer. When they finally paused for breath, his scattered thoughts coalesced into a protest of her restrictions. "Buffy-"

"Shhh..." she said, bringing one hand up to place an admonishing finger to his lips. Her other hand dipped inside the waistband of the pants and his blue silk boxers - a fascinating garment with which she hoped to further her acquaintance. Her nimble fingers found and encircled him, occasioning another low moan of obvious pleasure. Unconsciously, he thrust toward her, and she rubbed her body against his obligingly as she captured his lips in another kiss, her other hand curving behind his neck to press him to her.

Xander's vision began to swim, and, abruptly, he realized he'd stopped breathing. He inhaled deeply, his mind racing frantically. <Stop this! I have to stop this!> What he was watching was wrong - completely, utterly, totally wrong! Buffy could not want Giles! Giles could not want Buffy!

But they quite obviously did want each other, and the sheer novelty of that discovery prevented him from calling out to them. He watched as Buffy's hand moved from the prominent evidence of Giles' desire around his hip to his backside, underneath the cloth of his sweatpants. She ground her pelvis into him, her hand pressing against his buttocks to increase the pressure. The muscles in Giles' neck revealed the strain he was under as only sheer willpower stayed his hands behind his back.

Suddenly Buffy released her hold on his neck and withdrew her hand, stepping away from him. Xander let out a sigh of relief. <Maybe she changed her mind - maybe whatever demon has possessed her body has let her go...> He could no longer see her face, just the rippling muscles of her back hidden underneath a curtain of blonde hair and the black material of her stretch top. He could just make out Giles' flushed face over her shoulder; the man in no way resembled the mild-mannered, slightly nerdy librarian to whom he'd become accustomed.

Buffy and Giles regarded each other with blazing eyes, panting softly. Slowly Buffy crossed her arms in front of her chest and gripped the edge of her top, drawing it up over her head and flinging it to the side. Giles' breath stopped as he beheld her, standing tall and straight and proud. Her high, full breasts puckered invitingly in the gentle breeze, and his throat went dry at the thought of touching her. He needed so *much* to touch her.

Xander wrenched his gaze away from the knothole in the fence, unable to watch any more, incapable of accepting what he knew was coming. He rolled to the side and rose up on his knees, gasping as if he'd just run a marathon. He crawled across the grass and leaves, unmindful of any noise he made, and when he reached the corner of the house he leapt to his feet and took off at a dead run, as if by using all the speed he could muster he'd somehow manage to outdistance the images burned in his mind.

Buffy and Giles didn't hear his departure. Giles' hungry gaze roamed her beloved figure, and when he finally raised his eyes to meet hers, he swallowed with difficulty and posed one, pained, heartfelt question. "Has it been five minutes yet?" he asked achingly, his voice roughened by passion.

"Almost," Buffy whispered, stepping toward him again. She rubbed her palms down her sweat-slick torso to the waistband of her sweatpants, the muscles of her abdomen rippling. Slowly, enticingly, she inched them down her legs, taking the practical pair of cotton panties with them. The cool breeze against her moist, throbbing center aroused her further, and she looked up to see Giles' gaze devouring her greedily, his eyes dark inky pools of desire.

She kicked the pants away and stood before him for a moment, allowing him to drink his fill, enjoying the feeling of utter abandon that came from being outdoors, unclothed, and in the presence of the man she loved. She stepped forward and placed her hands on his waist, inching his own pants down over his hips, then kneeling to tug them still further. She looked up to find herself face to face with his straining manhood, and her breath caught at his proximity.

She rocked back on her heels and looked up at him, gesturing wordlessly at his feet. Obligingly he kicked the pants away, and then he stood nude before her, except for the black t-shirt that still entrapped his arms. He waited, his body tensing, to see what she would do next.

Buffy's gaze inched down his frame until she was again studying the jutting member before her. Fragments from books her mother had forbidden her to read raced through her mind, and the thought of leaning forward and taking him into her mouth tantalized her. But as bold and uninhibited as she was feeling, she hadn't quite reached that point yet. <Maybe next time,> she thought ruefully as she rose to her feet. She could see the mild disappointment in Giles' eyes, mixed with the glitter of future anticipation, an exact mirror of her own feelings. They smiled at the same moment, and she reached her arms up to encircle his chest and grab the t-shirt. Pulling it down off of his arms, she flung it away, where it floated to a rest next to her discarded sweatpants. Giles studied her intently, as if attempting to memorize every feature, his hands still clasped behind his back, white-knuckled with the strain.

She reached up and locked her fingers behind his neck. "Brace yourself, Giles," she murmured, before jumping up and wrapping her powerful legs around his waist. He moaned low in his throat and buried his head in the curve of her neck, raining kisses down her shoulder. She could feel him harden beneath her. <So close...>

"Giles," she muttered thickly as she threw her head back to allow him greater access.

His lips traveled down her collarbone to her chest, licking and sucking greedily. "Hmmm?"

Her voice was almost a whisper. "It's been five minutes."

His reaction was immediate and explosive, his arms coming around to crush her to his chest. The power of that fusion staggered him backwards until his back hit the siding of the house. The friction of the rough wood on one side and Buffy's silken softness on the other drove him wild.

She strained against his chest, rubbing her breasts back and forth against the crisp hairs as her lips devoured every inch of his face. His hands roamed down to cup her bare buttocks, pressing them inward against his heated core. Slowly he slid into her as she squeezed the muscles of her inner thighs, sending fireworks of pleasure exploding through his body. Tentatively she began to ride him, her ankles locked behind him, braced against the wood. The pace grew more frenzied as the tension built, the air growing heavy with the soft slap of skin against skin and the music of their low moans.

"Oh, *Giles*," Buffy groaned, her fingers roaming up and down his back. One of his hands supported her backside, rubbing and squeezing the soft cheeks, while the other interposed itself between them, moving downward to seek her molten core, and finding the center of her pleasure.

She bucked and heaved against him. "*Giles*!" she screamed, the crescendo in her ears building to a fever pitch as she teetered on the edge.

The last thing she heard before descending into sweet, utter oblivion was his low cry. "I love you, Buffy!" And then the volcano of desire between them erupted, and all thought ceased, leaving only exquisite, pounding feeling

The End

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