"Futures: A New Year"

Author: Blair Provence
Email: aggiemo@sbcglobal.net

Buffy sighed tiredly and smoothed the front of her red crushed velvet dress, wondering for the thousandth time why she had insisted upon accompanying Giles that evening.  It wasn't as if she had nothing else to do - Oz and Willow had practically begged her to come to Devon's party, and she knew it would have been a fun evening, if a little awkward.  And Giles had offered to make her excuses, had seemed almost eager to do so, in fact...

<Is that why I insisted on coming?> Buffy thought, her fingers tightening on the plush arms of her high-backed chair. <Because I thought he wanted me to stay away?>  Biting her lower lip, she turned her head to gaze out of the window into the crisp January night.  California having the climate it did, her eyes did not behold gleaming fields of white snow, but college officials had put up a valiant - if ultimately hopeless - fight to make the campus seem more holiday-ish, stringing lights around the buildings and tying ribbons to the light poles.  As a native Californian, Buffy had never really become accustomed to snow, but she was assailed by a sudden longing for it nevertheless.  <A field of snow, a roaring fire...>  She turned back toward the room and closed her eyes at the vision before her.  <And absolutely no sniveling, sneering roomfuls of academics.>

She caught a glimpse of Giles through the doorway.  He was standing in the corner of the dining room next to the drinks table, a slight frown on his face as he listened to the college president expound on some point or another.  Only someone who knew him as well as she did could discern the bored impatience behind his calm expression.  He stood ramrod straight in his dark charcoal suit, his knuckles white around the glass in his hand. He looked handsome and intelligent, but at the same time very different from the tweed-clad man she'd first come to know during her sophomore year.  Upon her graduation, he'd discarded the effective armor of his high school wardrobe, and she appreciated the result, even as she experienced a pang of nostalgia for the tweed. 

Perhaps because the other women at the party so clearly appreciated this deliciously stylish Giles as well.

Not that he showed the slightest bit of interest in them beyond the requirements of his job.  She knew that academic socializing was an anathema to her Watcher, but certain dues had to be paid to ensure employment security.  As a junior member of the faculty, in years of continuous service if not in knowledge, it was imperative that he keep on the good side of those in power, and that meant attending their parties, no matter how boring they were.

<And I'm making it harder for him,> Buffy realized suddenly, feeling even more regretful.  It was bad enough he'd been forced to become a high school librarian, a job for which he'd been vastly overqualified, but it was almost worse seeing him teach college classes that would normally be handled by marginally qualified graduate students...while being forced to make nice to more senior members of the faculty who had less knowledge in their entire brains than he did in his pinky finger.  But he'd been doing it for a semester now, with a cheerful smile and no complaints, and she had still somehow managed to make it even more difficult for him.

<I'm sorry, Giles,> she thought, mentally vowing to tell him so at the earliest opportunity.  Which didn't look to be soon, as another university official had joined the conversation in the corner.  Sighing again, Buffy turned back toward the window, picking up her plate from the table next to the chair and studying its contents.  Giles had filled it for her, admonishing her to save her strength and rest quietly in the chair.  He fussed inordinately these days, not that she could blame him, but she wasn't likely to come to harm in the middle of a holiday party.

<Not from vampires, anyway,> she thought, stifling a groan as she spotted Professor Neufield heading her way.  The professor was a colleague of Giles' in the history department, a tall, thin barracuda of a woman who walked about in a cloud of Chanel and expensive jewelry, her hair always exquisitely coiffed.  Buffy had hated her since the moment of their first meeting, resenting mightily the way the other woman looked Giles up and down like a side of beef she was contemplating purchasing...and devouring - while at the same time treating Buffy like she was something stuck to the bottom of her spike-heeled shoe.

And Buffy knew she wasn't just flattering herself with the thought that her hatred was wholeheartedly reciprocated.  She was not imagining the icy disdain in the other woman's eyes every time they chanced to meet.  And Professor Neufield's negative attitude was hardly uncommon, though she was by far the most insultingly vocal critic of Buffy's relationship with her Watcher.

"Buffy, you darling child," the woman trilled, smiling a smile of perfect white teeth and absolutely no warmth.  "I thought I would come make sure that you were well taken care of, as dear Rupert seems to be occupied with more important matters."

"He filled a plate for me," Buffy told her, smiling back with a shark's smile of her own.  "He's *so* thoughtful."

"*Isn't* he though," Neufield agreed, evincing no outward chagrin at the failure of her opening gambit.  She drew up a chair and perched on its edge, holding a champagne glass in one hand and a tiny crudite in the other.  She glanced pointedly at Buffy's overflowing plate, and then her rounded stomach.  "I suppose you *must* eat a great deal in your condition, mustn't you?  It must be difficult for you to lose your girlish figure at such a tender age."

<Bitch,> Buffy thought, bringing a hand up to curve protectively against her belly.  "Well, I'm young, I'm sure I'll bounce right back.  We *younger* women have so much *energy* to burn, you know."

Neufield's eyelids flickered, and Buffy felt a stab of triumph at the sight.  "Besides," she added, her voice syrupy sweet, "this will bring *Rupert* and I so much closer together, don't you think?"

Neufield lost the smile, and the blooming anger on her face robbed it of its brittle beauty.  "Was that your plan, then?  To trap him before he realized how incompatible you were, how little you two have in common, and how laughingly *inappropriate* you are?"  Her tone was vicious, but she kept her voice low so as not be overheard.  Even so, Buffy could see they were drawing no little attention.

<Stay calm, Buffy,> she told herself, determined to do no more harm to her Watcher's reputation.  "Is that what you think?" she replied coolly.  "In fact, he knows me very well, Professor Neufield - for over three years now."

Neufield blinked, clearly surprised, and Buffy mentally cursed herself for providing the woman with previously unknown information, which would only add further fuel to the fire of gossip that already surrounded her relationship with Giles.

"My, my, you started young, didn't you?"  The unmistakable insinuation in the professor's voice caused color to bloom on Buffy's cheeks, and her hormone-imbalanced emotions once again veered wildly off-track.  All plans to remain calm flew irrevocably out of the window.

"Look," she spat, "just because Giles wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole if you were the *last* woman on earth does not give you the right to be such a vicious *bitch*!"

The woman's scarlet mouth tightened angrily.  "How *dare* you, you little tramp.  You-"

"How dare *you*, Neufield!" a furious male voice interrupted, his British accent giving his statement the tone of a Biblical condemnation.  "What gives you the right to attack my *wife*?"

"I did no such thing," Neufield replied, rising to her feet to face the Watcher.  "The child was needlessly insulting and disrespectful, and I did nothing to warrant her insolence."

<She's lying, Giles,> Buffy wanted to protest, but she held her tongue.  They'd already created quite enough of a scene. And, besides, she knew whom Giles would believe.

Giles glared at Neufield, clearly not buying it.  "You must think I'm blind indeed not to have noticed your attitude toward Buffy.  This is your only warning - leave my wife alone, or I will give you cause to regret your ill-advised behavior - to regret it a great deal."  The angry hiss of his voice was reinforced by the arctic expression on his face, and Buffy was assailed by disturbing memories of Ripper, even as his protective attitude warmed her insides.

"Giles," she admonished, reaching for his hand.  "It's all right.  Really."

He looked down at her, his expression softening.  "No, it isn't."

"No, it isn't," she agreed, smiling a little at his stubbornness, "but it doesn't matter, either.  I don't care what she thinks, and neither do you."

"That much is certain," he agreed flatly, shooting another glare toward Neufield, who backed away, her expression stony.  "I think it's time we should be leaving."

Buffy glanced about the room to find that they were the center of attention.  The college president regarded her calmly, an unmistakable warning in his eyes.  "I think you're right," she agreed softly, clutching Giles' arm as she levered herself out of the chair.  The muted hum of conversation began again as people realized the show was over, though Buffy could still feel the weight of many eyes on her.

Giles put his hand to her back in an unmistakably protective gesture.  She smoothed her dress over her rounded stomach and managed a genuine smile.  "Wilhelmina's asleep," she added in a low voice, so only he could hear.  "The tenure debate put her out like a light."

"She's not the only one," he replied, stifling a smile of his own as he led her toward the door.  "But I thought Gertrude was the front-runner this week."

"Xander told me that's what people on submarines call telephones," she informed him as he began to rifle through the hall closet in search of their coats.

"And this is a bad thing?" he wondered, helping her into her dark woolen coat.  The buttons met in front only with difficulty, so she left them alone.

"Mmm," she replied.  She pulled her hair out from under her collar and straightened her scarf.  "I just realized it's going to be hard to top Buffy and Rupert, that's all.  Hey, do you know any Chinese?"

"Let's stick to the one alphabet, shall we?" he said, smiling.  "I-"

"Rupert."  The college president's stentorian tones interrupted their banter as he entered the foyer.  "I'm so sorry you and your *lovely* wife have to leave the party so soon."

Buffy turned to face him, mustering all her determination to meet his steady gaze, all too painfully aware that, against him, she could not employ even the limited forms of retaliation available for use against witches like Neufield.  She took a small step closer to Giles.

"Yes, well, we really aren't much for parties," Giles replied, his tone just short of blatant rudeness.  Buffy could feel the tension in his frame, and abruptly began to feel much more uneasy about the conversation she'd witnessed between the two of them earlier.

"I quite understand."  The president had yet to look away from Buffy, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation akin to a bug under a microscope.  "I think we both understand, don't we?"

<Is he talking to me?>

"I understand perfectly, *sir*," Giles bit out through gritted teeth.  "Let's go, sweetheart."

Obediently Buffy turned to follow, raising her eyebrows at the unaccustomed endearment, but she decided Giles must have been trying to make some kind of point.  "Sir..." she echoed, and suddenly they were outside, breathing the blessedly cold clear night air.

They took a few steps down the walk before Giles stopped, turned to her, and pulled her into his arms.  "Are you all right, Buffy?" he murmured against her hair.  "I'm sorry about Neufield."

"I'm fine," she said, squeezing tightly.  The material of his jacket was rough against her face, and she turned to rub her cheek against it.  The Professor's scowling face in the window of the house caught her eye, and she was seized by a wicked impulse to stake her claim in no uncertain terms.  "Just fine."  She reached up to capture his face between her hands, pulling him down for a kiss.  "Totally" *kiss* "completely" *kiss* "absolutely fine."

He smiled down at her, his cheeks reddened from the cold night air.  "Let's go home."

"She was an absolute bitch, Willow," Buffy said, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear.  She lay supine on the big king-sized bed, her pink silk pajama top partially unbuttoned to reveal her swelling stomach.  She rubbed the distended skin with baby oil, doing a conscientiously thorough job - after all, she  didn't want stretch marks to mar her *youthful* figure.  <To hell with you, Neufield...>  "I finally pointed out to her that Giles would never go for someone like her, even if I *weren't* in the picture.  And then I think I might have mentioned how incredibly *old* she was."

Willow giggled as she relayed Buffy's words to her boyfriend.  Buffy could hear the indistinct murmur of Oz's reply in the background.  "Sounds as if you picked the wrong party to go to," Willow said when she returned to the line.  "Devon's was a blast and a half."

"Yeah, well..."  She drew a figure eight on her gleaming skin.  "When I'm with people who know me from Sunnydale High, it's like *weirdness*, you know?  They all stare at me like they're trying to figure out if Giles and I were going at it behind the Art/Lit shelves during study hall."

Willow's reply was a choked laugh and a gulp.

"What?  Willow?"

"It's nothing..."

Buffy frowned.  "Don't give me that.  I *know* you, Willow. What is it?"

Willow sighed.  "It *is* nothing, Buffy - it's just...do you remember Lenny Stiles?"

"Mmm...is that Lenny-I-Never-Met-A-Joint-I-Didn't-Like from fourth period french?"

"That's him," Willow agreed.  "He's a friend of the Dingoes new keyboard guy, and he was at the party tonight, and he...well, he'd heard some things and he asked about you."

"You mean he asked you if Giles and I were doing the horizontal mambo behind the encyclopedia section during senior year?"  Her voice was wry, masking her embarrassment.

"Um, in the book cage, actually.  Lenny's still a little..."

"Got it," Buffy replied as the door to the bathroom opened and a robe-clad Giles emerged.  "Are we still on for lunch on Thursday?"

"Yup," Willow affirmed.  "Say hi to Giles and Gertrude for me."

"Wilhelmina."

"What?"

"Never mind," Buffy said, smiling.  "I'll see you Thursday. Tell Oz goodnight."

"Bye."

Buffy hung up the phone.  "Willow says hi."

Giles pulled a hanger from the closet and reached for the suit coat laying on the bed.  "How was the party?"

"She said it went well.  The record guy came, and he stayed for the whole thing, and now Devon's convinced they're gonna be the next Beatles.  Get this, Oz even admitted to being 'a little bit excited.'"

His eyes twinkled at her sham amazement.  "Oh no, I believe that's one of the signs of the Apocalypse, isn't it?  I must consult my books."

"Not tonight, you're not," she told him, patting the space next to her on the bed.  "You've already gone above and beyond the call.  Time to go night-night."

He rolled his eyes at her as he crossed the room to flip the switch for the overhead light.  "Save that for Wilhelmina, Buffy." 

"Mmm."  She rolled ponderously on her side as Giles shucked his robe and slipped into bed next to her.  "What do you think of Hortense?"

He levered himself up on his elbow and smiled down at her. "I think that might qualify as child abuse, actually."  His smile faded abruptly, and he fell back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

"Hey," she said, frowning and reaching for his arm, "Hortense is out, no problem, don't worry about it."

He shook his head.  "It's not that, Buffy."

She scooted toward him.  "Then what is it?"  He remained silent.  "Hey, come on, tell me.  Remember - the truth, always. We promised."

Sighing, he nodded and opened his eyes.  "All right.  I...I heard you, on the phone with Willow.  I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but-"  Buffy cut him off, clearly chagrined.

"Look, Giles, I'm sorry about what I said to Professor Bitch, but she really did ask for it.  I-"

"I take no issue with anything you might have said to Margaret Neufield," he assured her, his expression conveying his distaste for the woman.  "I have no idea what her problem is, nor do I care, but she has no right to attempt to intimidate you."

"Don't worry about it, I don't intimidate easily," she told him, relieved that he didn't appear to be angry.  "And I know what her problem is - she wants you."

His eyebrows flew upward.  "What?"

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "She wants you.  She's drooling for your bod, she's warm for your form-"

"That's ridiculous!"

She laughed at his sputtering outrage.  "Why is that ridiculous, Giles?  I mean, look at her - she's totally plugged in to that whole academic thing.  The college is her entire life, and Willow told me there's all sorts of rumors about her and just about every guy on the faculty.  And let's face it - compared to most of them, you're practically Adonis - or at least Harrison Ford in the Indiana Jones movies."

Her quip made him smile.  "Adonis, hmmm?" he murmured, reaching out to trail a finger along her arm.

"I said 'practically'," she reminded him impishly, "but I do have to admit that in this instance, her taste is impeccable. Fortunately, so is yours."  She batted her eyelashes at him.

He leaned forward to kiss her softly.  "You think so?"

"Yup," she breathed against his lips, flicking them with her tongue, "but don't think you're going to distract me with your manly charms.  If what I said about Neufield isn't bugging you, then what's wrong?"

He leaned back again and stared up at the ceiling.  "It was what you said...about being uncomfortable with people who know you from Sunnydale High."

Her brow furrowed.  "Do you think I care what Lenny the Junkie thinks about us?"

"Was he the one who wore a Grateful Dead t-shirt to school every day?"

Buffy nodded.  "Giles, I'm impressed.  I had no idea you even knew who the Grateful Dead were...or is it 'was'?  I never can keep that straight.  But, yeah, him." 

"Well, I don't suppose you do care what he thinks.  But I'm very much concerned that you feel uncomfortable with your friends."

"I don't," she assured him, reached out to caress his cheek with her hands.  "Not my *real* friends."

"You would have enjoyed Devon's party much more than the president's fete this evening.  But you didn't go, you came with me.  Why?"

"I-" she turned away, afraid he'd read the truth in her eyes.  "I wanted to be with you."

"What else?"  She didn't answer.  "The truth, remember?"

Buffy sighed.  "All right."  She bit her lip.  "I guess I thought you didn't *want* me to go with you.  And being the irrational pregnant woman that I am, of course that made me want to go."

He grimaced guiltily.  "I don't know how it manages to slip my mind sometimes how incredibly perceptive you are."  She rolled over to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow.  "I *didn't* want you to go," he confessed.  "I had a feeling the experience would be a decidedly unpleasant one, and I thought to spare you from it, that's all."

They regarded each other silently for a moment, the only sound in the room the sussurration of their muted breathing. "What did the president say to you?"

"It doesn't matter, Buffy."

"I think it does," she disagreed softly.  "Tell me."

He shook his head.  "It wasn't what he said, Buffy...it was what he didn't say."

Buffy waited, but he added nothing further, and she rolled her eyes.  "I can't believe I called *Angel* Cryptic Guy," she muttered.

That prompted a small smile.  "Sorry.  But it *really* isn't important, Buffy."

"And you know what?  I might believe that if you tell me right now, but if you don't, then I'll know that it *is*."

He inhaled, then exhaled gustily.  "Buffylogic," he muttered mimicking her tone.  "All right, all right.  To put it simply, there was a rumor going around the department about the opening for the Early Modern British position."

She leaned forward, interested.  "What was the rumor?"

"That they were going to offer the job to me."

"But that's great!  Isn't it?  I mean, geez, Giles, you're *wasted* on Western Civ classes, and it would mean a *ton* less grading to do, right?  And more money, too."

"It would have," he agreed gently.  "They're not going to offer me the job, Buffy."

"Why not?"  She studied his calm expression.  "It's because of me, isn't it?"

He had to look away.  "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," she insisted.  "They didn't offer it to you because of me.  But I don't understand, Giles.  We've been married for months now - it's not like I was the big New Year shocker at the party."

"No," he agreed slowly, "but they weren't aware you were pregnant."

Her breath caught in her throat.  "Oh, God.  Oh, God, you didn't tell them?  It was a secret?"

"No," he rushed to assure her, "Of course it wasn't.  But they aren't my *friends*, Buffy.  We don't sit around drinking tea, chatting about our lives."

She bit her lip and turned her head toward the wall, so he wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes.  "I understand."

"No, you don't."  He sighed, reached over, and hauled her up against his side.  "I love you, Buffy.  I love you, and I love our daughter, little Wilhelmina Gertrude Hortense.  I am *so* proud to be with you, to have created a child with you."  He kissed her silken hair.  "And I *will* not allow the attitudes of small-minded, petty, arrogant people to sully that.  I *won't*!"

She snuggled closer, winding her fingers between the buttons of his blue silk pajama top.  "Okay, I really do understand now. It's like when I told Mom, isn't it?  I knew she wouldn't be happy for me, and that made me...well, I understand what you mean."

He reached one hand down to caress her swollen belly.  "What did Neufield say to you?"

She shook her head against his chest.  "Doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, "but I very much doubt she will be willing to let this go.  I think it's best I know everything."

"Fair enough."  She compressed her lips, trying to recall their words.  "Well, she basically called me a child - a *fat* child - and then she accused me of getting pregnant to trap you before you figured out how wrong I was for you."

He muttered a curse under his breath.  "Bloody interfering bitch...I'm sorry, Buffy."

She tightened her embrace.  "Don't be.  I don't care what she thinks.  We know the truth."

"Yes, we do," he whispered, almost absently.  "And the opposite is very much closer to the truth than her twisted version."

She frowned and raised her head to look at him.  "What does that mean?"

He ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the rumpled silk. "It means that if any trapping were involved, it was on my part, not yours."

She rose up further, allowing her elbow to dig into his chest.  He winced.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Giles?  You didn't trap me!"

"It's-...I just...," he closed his eyes and sighed, "sometimes I feel I've done you a great disservice by loving you."

"How can you say that?" she sputtered.  "*How*?"

He reached up to caress her cheek.  "You've heard the litany, Buffy.  Your mother recites it for you every time you speak to her.  Your position as Slayer has already taken so many choices from you...and now, becoming my wife, having my child..."

"That's what choices *are*, Giles!" she told him, exasperated.  "You pick some things, and not other things.  You can't go through your entire life *not* choosing things, just to leave your options open.  It doesn't work that way."

"But we could have waited...*I* could have waited."

"Well, *I* couldn't have!" she replied, stung.  "What exactly do you think I'm missing out on, anyway, Giles?  Keg parties?  College boys who just want me for sex?"

"No, of course not.  But you envy Willow at times, do you not?  The freedom, the dorm, the clubs...the unknown future?"

She bit her lip, unwilling to admit the partial truth of his statements.  "Sometimes," she said finally, hating herself for the hurt in his eyes.  "But it doesn't mean anything, Giles. It's like when I look at pictures of me from my Dorothy Hamill phase, and I think that I should have held on to that Olympic dream a little longer, you know?  It's just...not relevant."  She kissed him softly.  "And most of my feelings about the future have more to do with being afraid I won't have *this* one, not resenting the loss of some other phantom life."

"What do you mean?" he asked seriously.

"We're going to have a baby," she whispered, her eyes huge and dark.  "A baby.  And I'm so afraid that I won't be able to see her grow up...to see her learn to crawl, to walk...to send her off on her first day of school, to see her graduate like I did..."  He reached up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks.  "I want to take care of you in your doddering old age, Giles, and see you rock our grandchildren to sleep.  And I'm so afraid that I won't get the chance."  She buried her face in his chest, embracing him with arms of iron.  "Don't think that you've taken my future, Giles.  You've *given* me my future, and all I want now is to be able to live it!  That's *all* I want."

"You'll have it," he whispered fiercely, hugging her for all he was worth.  "I will do everything in my power to give that to you.  *Everything*!"

"I know that - I *do*," she said, smiling through her tears. "We just have to remember how lucky we are, okay?  No matter what idiotic professors, college presidents, and mothers think."

He looked deeply into her eyes, seeing all the love in the world contained within.  "We have a bargain, then," he whispered, nodding.

Buffy stared down at him, conscious of the delicious feel of her silk-clad breasts against his chest, the hard lump of Wilhelmina quiescent between them, the mingling of their warm breaths as their gazes met.  "Deal...then SWAK," she told him, smiling slightly.

"Hmmm?"

"Sealed With a Kiss," she explained, leaning down to cover his mouth with her own.  He returned her kiss wholeheartedly, his tongue sweeping her mouth.  He tasted of toothpaste and the cool tang of mouthwash, mingled with the sweet taste of pure Giles. She shifted against his chest, drawing her legs up to grind her pelvis against his, and she felt the stirring of his erection. "Or more than a kiss," she added, stifling a giggle.

"Are you up to it?" he asked concernedly.

"I think it's more a matter of whether or not you are," she replied, grinning at him.

He returned the smile, then shifted to the side to gently deposit her on the bedcovers.  "Oh, I can probably manage," he murmured as his nimble fingers worked the button of her pajama top.

She returned the favor, and they both shrugged out of the smooth silk garments, tossing them to the floor.  They smiled at each other, then Giles' gaze caught on something over her shoulder.  "Ah, *there's* an idea," he murmured.  "Hand me the bottle, please, Buffy."

She glanced over her shoulder and spied the bottle of baby oil.  "Sure," she smiled, reaching for it.  "Whyever do you need it?"

His teeth gleamed in the shadowed room.  "You'll see."  He took the bottle from her, flipping the top open.  "Lie back."

"Your wish is my command," she replied, reclining against the pillow.  She brought her arms up to fan her hair across the sheet, then rested the back of her head on them, grinning up at him in a combination invitation/taunt.

He held the bottle above her chest, allowing the cool clear liquid to drip down, splashing against her ripe breasts and rolling down the valley between them and her swollen abdomen. She inhaled sharply.  "Cold," she said, in response to his questioning eyebrow.

"Let me warm it up, then," he murmured, setting the bottle on his bedside table.  He reached out to trail his finger between her breasts, spreading the oil around so the skin could absorb it.  Her areolas puckered enticingly, and he pinched them between his fingers, first the left, then the right.

Her breathing quickened under his ministrations, and she regarded him through half-lidded eyes, heavy with desire.  He smiled at her, flattening his palm and smoothing the oil downward, then upward as his hand met the home of his child.  He leaned forward to kiss the swollen lump.  "Hello, Wilhelmina Gertrude Hortense.  It's Daddy."

Buffy giggled as his warm breath tickled her skin.  "I'm asleep, Daddy.  Are you going to wake me up."

"Probably," he admitted, chuckling softly.  "I want you to listen to Daddy, Baby - now, what I'm about to do to your mother, you're not allowed to let any man do to you until you're at least thirty years old, all right?  And even then, I don't want to know about it.  So you just close your eyes and ignore us, okay?  And I'll try to get your Mum to keep the noise down, though she does like to yell a bit."

Buffy reached down to cover his hand with her own, the heat warmed oil making their fingers slippery.  "Don't listen to him, Hortense honey.  He's the one who likes to shout, especially when I make him beg."

"I don't beg," he disagreed as he swirled his fingers around her belly button.

"We'll see," Buffy said, with a passable imitation of a Mona Lisa smile.

He leaned over to give her a slow, drugging kiss, his hands working her breasts until she moaned into his throat.  "That's it, sweetheart."  He pulled away, and her moan turned into a groan of disappointment, which changed to a smile of anticipation as he crawled to the foot of the bed.

Giles reached for the cuffs of her pajama bottoms, nodding approvingly when she arched her hips so they could slide off with ease.  He tossed them over the side of the bed to join their shirts, then hooked his arms under her knees, drawing her legs up over his shoulders.  He leaned down to kiss his child again, grimacing at the slightly bitter taste of the baby oil, then trailed his lips down her abdomen to the apex of curls between her legs.  A strangled gurgle emerged from Buffy's throat, and he looked up to catch her expression, stifling a laugh as he realized his child was directly in the way of his line of sight. "Are you all right up there?" he murmured through another laugh.

"Get on with it," Buffy said, her tone a mixture of cross and breathless.

He chuckled again, his breath whuffing against her curls, and he could feel the tremors running through her legs.  He kissed her wet center, then lapped at her with his tongue, swirling and delving inside in an uneven rhythm that made her thighs clamp more tightly against his ears.  He brought his hands up to caress and squeeze her buttocks, and another strangled moan erupted from her throat.  "Giles..."

"You like that, do you?" Giles murmured between strokes. "How about this, then?"  He brought one hand up and inserted his index finger inside her.  She twisted against him and moaned louder, her hands gripping the sheets at her side.

"*Oh* God..."

He pumped her with his hand, adding another finger to her tight opening, sucking her clitoris with all his might, his cheeks hollowing out with the force of it.  He knew from experience that it took only a few minutes of this pleasurable torment to bring her to the brink.

"Giles...*Giles*...oh, oh, *GILES*!"  She yelled his name, trailing off into incoherence as she bucked against him.  He held on through her powerful orgasm, his mouth still against her as she flooded him with juices.  He lapped it up, savoring the taste of his wife as she came.

He'd removed his pajama bottoms and resumed his place beside her on the bed before she returned to coherence, turning her head to blink at him and offering him a drunken smile.  "God, Giles, that was..."

"Yelling," he replied, smiling at her with arrogant satisfaction.  "Definitely yelling."

She tried to scowl at him but was too deliciously sated to pull it off.  "Oh, you're going to pay for that one, British guy. This all-American girl is going to whip your naked butt."

"Is that a promise?"

She grinned at him as she struggled up onto her elbow, reaching across him for the bottle of baby oil, allowing her full breasts to rub incitingly against his chest.  "You are *so* gonna beg me, buddy."

"We'll see."

She poured a generous amount of the liquid onto his chest, swirling it among the crisp curl of hairs across his pectorals. His muscles bunched beneath her delicate touch, and his breathing quickened, the erection that had fallen to half mast springing upward again.  She smiled at it, then him, before awkwardly maneuvering her leg over his chest to sit on his abdomen.  She could feel the hard line of his erection against her back, and she wiggled her hips until he moaned.

She leaned forward to kiss him, allowing her breasts to rub the oil into his chest as she ground her body against his.  The maneuver was less than graceful, as Wilhelmina's presence precluded the most sensuous moves, but Buffy knew her Watcher's body very well, and her practiced hands and lips worked their magic deftly.

Deciding she'd tormented him enough, she braced her hands against his upper arms and scooted down his body, and this time his moan was almost a shout as she moved past his straining penis.  She ended up sitting on his knees as her oil slick hands worked their way down his abdomen to the mound of wiry hair below.  She grasped his balls in her left hand, rolling them through the slick oil with ease, before bending down to lick the underside.  The acrid taste of the oil made her jerk back.

"Tastes terrible, doesn't it?" Giles managed through gasping breaths.

"Mmm-hmm," Buffy agreed, massaging them with her hand again, "but they make flavored kinds of oils for this sort of thing."

"And j-just how would you know that?"  Another moan.

She rolled her eyes.  "Cordy told me, I think.  Though I haven't the foggiest idea why.  I'll call her and ask her where to get it."

"Right this moment?"  He shifted on the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets.  "Are you conceding, then?"

"Not on your life.  After all," she added, grinning wickedly, "the oil isn't *everywhere*..."  To demonstrate, she leaned down and took him into her mouth.

"Oh, my..."

Buffy swirled her tongue around the swollen tip, then trailed it along both sides, nipping lightly with her teeth as she proceeded.  Giles' expostulations became increasingly incoherent as she continued her ministrations.  She wiped her hands on the sheets, then grasped the base with one hand, stroking even as she worked him with her mouth

She could feel the building tension inside him and she began to suck harder, determined to bring him off as intensely as he had her.

"Buffy, oh, God, Buffy..."

She paused to take a breath, her hands still working him deftly.  "Is that begging, Giles?"

"Mmmph."  She could see the conflict in his eyes, pride warring with frustration as he gripped the sheets to his sides even harder.  "I want to be inside you," he finally admitted. "Now."

"But I wanted to-" she gestured to him, indicated her desire to reciprocate what he'd given her.

He half/groaned, half/laughed.  "Buffy, eventually Wilhelmina's going to get so big that that might be the *only* way we can be together.  So, while we can, I want to be inside you."

She stared at him, sudden tears of happiness filling her eyes.

He groaned again.  "Do you want me to beg?"

She shook her head, blinking back the tears.  "No, no, it's all right."  She leaned forward, reaching for his hands to brace herself against.  "Because I *am* going to make you yell, so we'll be even."  She levered her bulky body above him, resting against the tip of his shaft.

"I'm looking forward to-AH! Oh, *BUFFY*!" he cried as she impaled herself on him and took up a fast, driving rhythm.  She pressed against him, using all her internal muscles to drive him mad with wanting, and the result was evident from the yells he could do nothing to stifle.  Her name, over and over.  She allowed herself a satisfied smile before abandoning all thoughts of bets and triumph in favor of simply feeling.

Their voices rang out in harmony, mingling each other's names with moans of desire and the delicious slap of oil-covered skin to oil-covered skin.  No more than a minute passed before they were both on the brink of oblivion, and their eyes opened at almost precisely the same time, sharing a soul-deep gaze of complete and utter love before their orgasms blew coherent thought away.

Long minutes later, Buffy rolled from his chest with a muffled sigh, not wanting to leave him so quickly, but worried about squashing her daughter.  "Did you enjoy that, sweetie?" she whispered, rubbing her hand across her abdomen.  "Mommy did."

"Daddy, too," Giles murmured, smiling without opening his eyes. 

Buffy snuggled against his side and kissed his chest.  "Love you, Mr. Giles."

"Love you, Mrs. Giles."

The End

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