“I would like you to close your eyes.”
The evening air smelt of sweet cherry blossoms. The scent of spring mingling pleasantly with that of the rain and damp earth. Buffy shifted in her seat, the worn cotton of the daybed soft beneath the flat of her palms. Slowly, she followed his instructions, her world becoming dark.
“However, if you cannot keep them shut, I shall have to blindfold you.” A pause. “Is that what you wish?”
Buffy shook her head, a lazy smile creeping across her face. A small thrum of excitement had begun to build within her, the tension rising with each of his softly-spoken words.
They were in the summerhouse today, sheltering from the April showers that had beset Giles’ garden. Beyond, she could hear the soft pitter patter of the rain upon the glass, the muted birdsong of the nightingales and swallows that sheltered amongst the foliage.
There was the soft rustle of fabric to her left, followed by the sound of a footstep upon the wooden floor. She felt the lightest of touches against her neck, rough fingertips tracing the jut of her exposed collarbone. A frission of electricity rolled across her skin, following the path his fingers had taken, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake.
Buffy felt her smile broaden, fighting the urge to open her eyes. Instead, she took a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of Giles’ fingers and the sound of his voice.
“There are two-hundred and six bones in the human body. This,” he said, his touch firmer now, “is the only long bone that lies horizontally. Do you know what it’s called?”
He rewarded her answer with a kiss; a quick press of warm lips against the bone in question, tongue darting out to touch her velvet skin. Not for the first time, Buffy wondered what it would feel like to have him kiss her properly. To have those lips pressed against her own, feel the tentative brush of his tongue along hers. Almost a year had passed since she had forced upon him their first and only kiss; the ill-received kiss that had sparked the change to their relationship, whatever their relationship now was. Well, other than complicated.
Despite the nature of the afternoons they spent here, in the garden, Giles had never truly kissed her. Not as lovers kissed.
Not that they were lovers. Much to Buffy’s growing disappointment.
Try as she might, she couldn’t squash the feelings that swelled up inside her whenever he was near, and sometimes, even when he wasn’t. What had begun a year ago as only the merest hint of a crush had blossomed into something bigger, stronger; something decidedly harder to ignore.
“It comes from the latin clavicula,” said Giles, his tone taking on the lecturing quality it had so often back in Sunnydale. Familiar. Intoxicating. “A word meaning little key.”
Buffy straightened her shoulders, drawing herself up taller as Giles continued to trace the swell of her collarbone. His fingertips paused at a bump, questioning.
“Fell down the stairs when I was five,” answered Buffy.
The air around her shifted as Giles drew closer. So close she could feel the heat of him through her shirt. It made her light headed, almost nauseous with desire. She felt his touch grow a fraction firmer as his fingers moved towards the base of her throat, towards the tiny golden lock that nestled there.
“The point at which they meet,” he said, “this hollow, is called the suprasternal notch.”
Buffy frowned. “The suprasternal what?”
“Notch. A less well-known erogenous zone.” She felt a finger slide beneath the chain that adorned her neck, gently pulling it away from her skin. “Often accented with jewellery. Delicate pieces that draw attention to its shadow, its shape.”
Buffy leant forward, revelling in the feelings his touch elicited within her as the movement brought his fingers back into contact with her skin once more. She felt a second hand join the first, the palm pressed against the side of her neck, thumb lazily tracing the line of her jugular.
“Like the lock,” she said softly, her words barely more than a whisper.
“And does it capture your attention?”
“Always,” he replied. “The glint of it in the hollow of your throat, marking you as mine whilst you wear it.”
Buffy felt her stomach lurch at his words. A shadow of the ones she really wanted to hear; that she was his, lock or not.
Her eyes snapped open.
“And when I don’t?” she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
“You belong to no one but yourself,” he said, his tone serious. His gaze dropped to the finger beneath the lock, drawing it up and away from her skin once more. “Even this is only an affectation. A game of pretend we play.”
“But what you said –”
“And I play along.” His face became thoughtful as he scanned hers. “I do believe I told you to close your eyes.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“Then by all means don’t.” A sly grin curled his lips. “But then the game ends and we go back to our books.”
“I can think of a better game.”
“Of that I have little doubt.” Giles peered at her over the rims of his glasses, his face a picture of mock severity. “Close your eyes, Anne.”
Buffy closed her eyes, pouting as she did so, hands on her hips. “You’re impossible. Do you know that?”
She heard a brief huff of amusement.
“Lie back,” said Giles.
“And think of England?”
“Would you perhaps prefer to think of California?”
Buffy pouted but complied nonetheless.
“I think I’d prefer to just get on with it,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.
Buffy felt the mattress dip as Giles joined her upon the daybed. The rustling of fabric filled the air as he settled himself above her, his knees either side of her denim-clad thighs. She shivered, heat pooling deep in her belly as Giles’ hands encircled her wrists, gently uncrossing her arms. He moved them to her sides, holding them down with just enough pressure to force her palms flat upon the mattress. She flexed a little beneath him, testing the strength of his hold upon her.
“Patience is a virtue,” he said, smartly, his tone reminding her, briefly and somewhat disconcertingly, of Wesley.
“As is expedience.” A huff of amusement passed her lips as she felt his grip tighten briefly in surprise. “What? Contrary to popular belief, my vocabulary does extend to words of more than two syllables.”
“I don’t believe I ever said otherwise,” he replied nonchalantly, releasing her wrists and gently sweeping his palms across the bare skin of her arms.
Buffy felt a small stab of disappointment as he freed her. Though she knew his strength was no match for hers, there was something more than a little thrilling about being physically restrained in such a way, subject to his rule, his control. Even if it was just for show.
“Nah, you just thought it really loudly.”
The springs of the bed creaked as he rocked back into a kneeling position, the warm weight of him settling over her thighs. He placed a hand, his left, upon the flat plain of her belly, his thumb caressing the golden skin that peeked out from beneath the hem of her t-shirt.
“Nor do I believe you are a mind reader,” he said, his other hand gently turning hers, exposing the pale flesh of her wrist. A pause. “Well, not anymore.”
Buffy grinned, unable to help herself.
“Who needs to be when your thoughts are practically screaming at me?” she teased, fighting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.
“Oh really? And what, pray tell, are they screaming now?” he said, offhandedly, his fingernails tracing feather light spirals upon the soft skin of her inner forearm.
“That you want to fuck me.”
Giles snorted in amusement.
“How crass of them.”
“I always knew the polite, stuffy English thing was just a cover,” she said, wiggling her hips enticingly, delighting the soft groan that slipped from him as she did so. “You may be all books and scones and starched pants on the outside, but beneath your tragically tweedy exterior, you’re just as disgraceful as the rest of us.”
“Are you quite finished assassinating my character?”
“In that case,” he said, grasping her wrist once more and pinning it above her, “I want you to put your hands above your head.”
A sharp thrill shot through her as she complied with his request, bringing her other hand up to meet the one he had pinned. He moved to hold the other, pressing them both into the soft surface of the mattress.
“Are you going to tie me up?”
She heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a questioning, “Would you like that?”
“Yes,” she hissed, flexing her fingers. As if to emphasise the point, she rolled her hips, delighting in the strangled moan that escaped Giles as she pressed against the thick ridge of his erection.
Clearly he was not averse to the idea, either.
“Don’t move,” he said, his weight lifting from her as he moved from the bed. “And keep your eyes closed.”
As tempted as she was to sneak a peek at her Watcher’s retreating form, Buffy obeyed, keeping her eyes tightly shut. Somewhere to her left, she could hear the sound of a drawer opening and the quiet whisper of fabric as Giles rummaged for a suitable method of restraint. Moments later, she heard the soft padding of bare feet against the wooden floor and the creak of the metal bed frame above her head, felt the dip of the mattress as he settled astride her once more.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice low and a little unsteady.
Buffy nodded. She felt his cool fingers brush against her left wrist, then her right, binding them together with a length of something soft and silky. Not too snug, giving her just enough room to flex them, but tight enough that she felt restricted, restrained.
At his mercy.
Buffy tugged at her bonds, hearing the bedstead creak as she did so. They were shorter than she had expected, barely allowing any movement. She uncurled her hands, the backs of her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the bedframe as she traced the knot that tied her to it.
“Lift your head,” said Giles, sliding a hand beneath the back of her skull.
The swish of cloth filled the air and Buffy found her eyes swiftly covered by more of the silky-feeling fabric. A blindfold. Clearly Giles did not trust her to remember to keep her eyes closed.
She felt him press a small, chaste kiss to her forehead. A shiver ran through her. She thought once more of him capturing her lips with his, stealing hot little kisses as she lay beneath him, bound and helpless. A low groan rumbled through her chest before she could stop it.
“God, look at you,” he breathed, breaking her train of thought.
A small moan escaped her as she felt him palm her breasts through her t-shirt, his thumbs rubbing lightly over the stiff peaks of her nipples. Her back arched almost involuntarily, pushing herself further into his grasp as she sought to ease the ache that had settled there with his touch.
Slowly, his hands began to move lower, skimming over her ribcage and down across the taut plain of her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. She strained against her bonds as she felt him slowly inch down the zipper, his fingers sliding into the gap to press against her cotton-covered cunt.
She was almost embarrassingly wet, the fabric of her knickers slick. Above her, she could hear Giles’ soft groan as he traced the contours of her through the damp cloth.
“Please,” Buffy whispered, her throat tight.
“Please what?” he said, curling his index finger to drag a nail across the sodden fabric that covered her clit.
Please do that again. Please touch me. Please fuck me.
Before she could answer, Giles removed his hand from between her thighs, instead sliding it beneath the waistband of her knickers. She gasped as he pushed a long finger inside her. It was almost immediately joined by a second, his palm cupping the curve of her pubic bone, the delicious pressure against her clit sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Movement constricted by the tight fabric of her jeans, his pace was slow, almost leisurely. His fingers curled ever so slightly as they moved within her, hitting some secret spot deep inside, the pleasure slowly building until she was almost on the verge of orgasm.
“God, please, don’t stop.”
She felt him shift above her, his fingers pressing deeper as he moved. The sound of a lowering zipper filled the air, followed by a shaky exhale and the rhythmic sound of skin sliding against skin. Buffy swallowed roughly, her mouth suddenly dry.
“You look so perfect this way,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
A low groan bubbled up from her throat as she realised exactly what he was doing. Where his other hand was. She longed to remove the blindfold, longed to watch him stroke the hard length of his cock as he pressed his fingers deeper into her cunt.
Longed to watch the expression on his face as he lost himself to the pleasure of it.
But she couldn’t. Instead, she concentrated on the sound of him; the whisper of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings beneath them, the soft little moans he couldn’t help but make. It was intoxicating.
Buffy clenched tightly around his fingers, her hips jerking violently. She felt her muscles beginning to tense, readying themselves for the rush of her impending orgasm when, beneath her, she felt an odd buzzing. A loud and rather obnoxious noise cut through the haze of her thoughts. A noise that appeared to be emanating from somewhere in the region of her left buttock.
It was the ringing of a mobile phone. More specifically, her phone.
Giles’ hand stilled.
“I think you ought to answer that,” he said, his voice oddly calm for a man with two fingers still deep inside her and his other hand...
She rolled her hips, urging him to ignore the ringing and continue. She was so close it almost hurt.
“It’s probably nothing,” she growled, her frustration mounting as she felt the sharp ache of incompletion begin to settle between her thighs.
“The Council has that number. It could be something important.”
“But this is important.”
Buffy frowned as she felt him slowly withdraw his fingers, heard the metallic rasp of a zip and the rustle of cotton as he wiped his fingers on the handkerchief she knew he kept in his trouser pocket.
“That may be,” he said smartly, “but do you really want to risk it?”
“Fine,” she said. Scowling, Buffy went to reach for the phone nestled in the back pocket of her jeans, only to find she couldn’t; her hands were still tied to the bedposts. “Erm, Giles, slight problem.”
She felt him freeze above her.
“Oh, ahem, yes, quite.”
Buffy had expected him to untie her, or at least remove her blindfold. However, he did neither. Instead, he simply reached into the pocket and pulled out her phone.
“Hello,” he said. There was a brief pause. “Oh, hello Dawn. No, it’s Giles. I’m afraid Buffy’s a little tied up at the moment, but I’d be happy to pass on a message.”