Rupert Giles didn’t remember the moment when he realized how much he was drawn to her. Knowing him, and his tendency toward obviousness, it was probably months after he had become drawn to her. Perhaps he had been drawn to her from the very first, when she sat far too closely to him while they did that spell to get rid of the alternate Willow. But nevertheless, he was all caught up now. And she, of course, was engaged to Xander Harris.
Xander Bloody Harris.
If she was unencumbered, or hell, if she were with someone who wasn’t in Buffy’s inner circle, Rupert would have had no qualms about making a move. He might be occasionally slow to recognize his own desires, but he was quite adept at letting Ripper come out to play and making his desires a reality. Were she not engaged to that damn boy.
And he was feeling his will starting to crumble. That was one reason why he was considering the move back to England. And it was the reason he started taking his daily afternoon wank breaks.
That’s what they called it at school, and that’s what he couldn’t help thinking of it as now. There would be a business lull at some point in the afternoon, and Anya would take it upon herself to dust the shelves, or rearrange merchandize on a high shelf, and her conservative shop girl frocks she had taken to wearing would rise up her thighs just a bit, or she would need to use a ladder to get something, and ask him to hold it in place, and he would accidentally perhaps a bit on purpose catch a glimpse of her lace knickers, and he’d have to excuse himself to the back room for, and there was no other words for this: a wank break.
He was discrete about it. Casual, even. Quiet. He would splash water on his face after to make sure she wouldn’t notice anything amiss. It would be more rude for him to walk around with a bloody erection, wouldn’t it? He didn’t want to be that boss, that gross old man, but it had been far too long since he’d known a woman’s touch, or a man’s touch for that matter, and he had needs. He knew that wanting her didn’t entitle him to having her, but a man is allowed his fantasies, as long as he’s discrete.
Though not discrete enough, apparently.
“Anya, I’ll be in the back.”
“You’re taking your masturbation break a little early today.”
Is it possible for a man to simultaneously lose his erection out of fear and get harder at the same time? After his heart started beating again, Giles looked at her. Her eyes had that devilish look in them, and her face had a false innocent look on it, as if her excuse if called out for the inappropriateness of her comment would be ‘I was just being honest.’
Were the boy around, Xander would tell her that she was being inappropriate, as if she was unaware of the social rules and he, as her human mentor, had to inform her of said rules. But Giles had never bought into the concept that Anya didn’t know the social mores. She just didn’t bloody care.
So he didn’t, either.
He slowly made his way to her, his hips taking on the posture of a lion stalking its prey. “You know, Anya, were I Xander, I would tell you that that comment was inappropriate, as if you didn’t know that in the first place. But I’m not as innocent or condescending as all that, am I?”
And the girl who never stopped babbling was totally silent, eyes on him, slight smile on her parted lips, waiting patiently to see what he would do. She had gotten her reaction, perhaps the reaction she had always been looking for when she teased him like this.
“So I have to ask myself a few questions. Firstly, how did you know? Was I not being discrete enough? If that’s the case, I do apologize for the unprofessionalism, but I don’t think that’s the case, is it? Is it possible that your need to perform tasks that hike up your skirt during the afternoon lull because you’re looking for a certain reaction from me?”
He saw her flush a little, and bite her lower lip, still not taking her eyes off his. He took a step closer to her.
“And after I excuse myself to the back, have you ever pressed your ear against the door, to hear what your ministrations have done to me?” He watched her head nod, barely, imperceptibly, her eyes still locked to his. “Speak, Anya.”
“Yes, I’ve listened at the door.”
“Did you like what you heard?”
She nodded quickly and enthusiastically.
“I love it.”
He stood as close her as he dared without actually touching her. His skin burned for her, but Ripper was in control, and Ripper loved to play with control. So he leaned down to her ear and said, “Well no reason to only get to listen. I don’t mind being watched.”
And he withdrew to his office. No change from what had become his daily routine: reclined in his desk chair, pants open and slighting down his hips, lube in hand, beginning by tugging his foreskin down and up around the head of his cock. The only difference is this time he didn’t close the door.
He had a moment of terror that she wouldn’t follow, that he had just sexually harassed his employee, and that the world would come crashing down around him, as it so often did when he let Ripper take the lead, but there she was, almost a ghost in the doorway, drifting into a posture that he now knew was a familiar one, only now there wasn’t a door between them.
He grinned at her wickedly as he began long twisting strokes, the confident strokes of a middle aged man who knew his cock really well, but with a little bit more tease than he would add for just his own pleasure. Usually he would close his eyes and think of her thighs, her breasts, her smile, Christ, her smile, and it would soon be over, but this time he didn’t have to close his eyes to see her.
For her part, she played the part of the voyeur. She watched. Didn’t touch herself, save an instinctual licking of her lips whenever she looked directly at his cock, which was an instinct that, if he thought too hard about it, was guaranteed to send him over the edge and too soon end this delightful encounter.
She looked nervous, but less in a psychologically uncomfortable way and more in a ‘wanting things she knows she shouldn’t’ sort of way. And he didn’t want to push her. He wanted her to be comfortable with their interactions far more than he wanted her tight little lips wrapped around his...
“Christ, Anya!” he allowed himself to call out as he came. It was the first time his eyes closed during the encounter, and after the pleasure moment was over, he was nervous that his calling out of her name might make her disappear, either out of disgust or as a release of some magic that had its hold over both of them, since how could something this absorbing and powerful not involve magic?
But when he opened his eyes, she was still standing there, eyes wide, pupils dark with arousal, and lips parted. He saw the wisp of a smile settle on her lips, and then she walked away, giving him the space to clean himself up.
And they didn’t speak of it. As well they shouldn’t, as he was her boss and she was engaged to another, and all of his was highly inappropriate.
Until the next day, when she somehow needed to use a ladder during the afternoon lull. Her skirt was still professionally knee length, but it was well chosen for how the skirt circled out, leaving ample room for him to look up it. As she descended the ladder, she was the first one to speak.
“You taking your break now?”
And it was like the spirit of Ripper was now in her. All he could do was passively nod.
“Speak,” she said, grinning, about to giggle, teasing him for his behavior yesterday.
“Close the shop. Put the back soon sign up,” he commanded, gaining back his control. And he walked to the back room.
And had that horrifying moment of doubt that she wouldn’t follow until she did. And it played out exactly the same as it had the day before.
And so it went on. Every weekday, at the quiet time of day, they briefly closed the shop and she silently watched him take himself in hand, keeping those gorgeous ancient eyes on his and on the ministrations on his cock, ending his release by moaning her name, and then they’d go back to work, never discussing it.
It was almost becoming routine the day she wore the wrap dress and had already opened the front closure by the time she appeared in his door. She didn’t walk into the room. She didn’t remove the dress, but he had full view of her black lace bra and her scrap of a black lace thong peaking out through the unwrapped front of her dress.
“Please,” he said, never stopping his achingly slow strokes, marking the first time they’d spoken during these encounters, save for his moaning her name at the end.
“Please what?” she asked, her fingers of her right hand petting down the muscles of her taut young stomach.
“Touch yourself. You know you’ve been wanting to,” he smiled at her, both Ripper and Rupert sharing that comment, with the goading and malice coming from Ripper and the concern for her sexual wellbeing coming from Rupert.
She smiled, and allowed her hand to fall over the gentle curve below her belly button and under the scrap of lace. He watched the scrap shift: Christ, did she shave herself bear? And he had to stop touching himself when he watched her slip a finger inside herself and watched her lips go to a pert o. She remained in the doorway but leaned up against the side frame as she closed her eyes and began to push two fingers, three, up inside of her. He watched her swirl her thumb on her clit, moaning, opening her eyes with hooded lids, looking over at him.
“Why’d you stop?”
And he realized he had. He was so absorbed in watching her pleasure, he had stopped his own entirely. Well, that was stupid, wasn’t it? He began to pump, no longer teasing, twisting and pulling, aiming for pleasure, keeping his eyes on her face, her hand, her dress falling back, her left hand pinching her nipples through the lace of her bra, and her right pulsing over her gorgeous cunt.
“Oh my god, oh my god, Rupert!” she cried out, reaching her own pleasure moment, slumping against the door frame, somehow still standing under her own power, in heels no less. The sound her his given name on her parted lips brought him over the edge, and he bellowed out her name as he came.
And he watched her pull her hand out of her knickers, lick her fingers clean in a way that would have erased his refractory period entirely had he been a younger man, close her dress up, and walk back out the reopen the shop.
And now this was their pattern. Things progressed slowly, with one day her arriving to the back room, finding a comfortable chair just inside of the door frame, still far enough from him that they could maintain the lie that no one was cheating, no one was having sex, but enough that she could lean back and relax into her own pleasure. Another day she arrived to find a gorgeous glass dildo on the chair for her.
“Did you buy this for me, or is it yours?” she asked, breaking their established code of silence.
“It’s clean,” he protested, revealing the answer to her question.
“I wasn’t concerned about that. I trust you. I just wanted to know if you use it on yourself.”
He was a man of action when it came to sex, not a man of words. And when it came to his more intimate habits, he didn’t have a lot of practice sharing them or discussing them with lovers, not since Ethan. And were they even lovers? They’d yet to touch. And in his experience, knowing that a man likes the feel of a dildo is the opposite of a turn on to most women.
“Yes,” he said, barely audible. “It’s mine. I use it.”
“Would you show me some time?”
Her face was so open, he would use the word innocent to describe it if they weren’t talking about his dildo.
“I want to see you use it today,” he said.
She smiled, and opened her legs (she had stopped wearing knickers at all some time back, and he was correct about her shaving herself bear. Strange trend of the young these days, or those living like the young, though he had to admit that the unobstructed view was lovely.) He watched the glass sink down inside her, and began his own silent ministrations.
The next day when he set the chair in the right place, he noticed that she had left a much thicker glass dildo on the chair, and had moved his thinner option onto the desk.
He’d never been this nervous and aroused before in his life, not since he was a ruddy virgin. He was having the most fulfilling sex he’d had since moving to Sunnydale with this woman, and he still hadn’t touched her. In fact, he was touching her less than he used to. They both went out of their way to avoid brushing past each other or touching hands in any way, knowing that the briefest contact could uncork the bottle, and there’d be no holding back after that. And she was with Xander, he kept having to remind himself, as their relationship kept enticing him to forget.
But when the afternoon lull came upon them, he watched her cunt open up to take in her giant toy while he removed his pants entirely, crawled on his desk on his knees, opened up his cheeks, and used his dominant left hand to slide the dildo up his tight opening, twisting and thrusting on himself while his right hand clamped on his cock. He watched her eyes go wide, at first, he feared, in horror, but then he realized...it was wonder. She came 4 times that day.
The next day she called in sick, and he knew that it was over. They had taken it too far. He loved blaming himself, but this time he couldn’t: she was the one who insisted on seeing him do the most intimate of things. She was the one who pushed it too far. Not for him. He had been ready for a repeat performance today, if she’d wanted it. A lifetime voyeur, he had finally found his exhibitionist side, and he had woken up that morning fantasizing about how they could push the limits of their mutual masturbation further. But then she wasn’t there, and had left a message on the work answerphone before he would be in, clearly in an attempt to avoid him.
That was the longest day of his life. There had been a Scooby meeting scheduled for 5:00 that afternoon, but he didn’t expect to see her there. He knew he had lost her entirely.
When Xander showed up, he looked a bit under the weather. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Anya really was ill. Maybe he hadn’t lost her.
“Xander, if you’ve got whatever illness Anya has contracted, please don’t spread it around the group. Buffy might have a strong immune system, but no one else has.”
“Anya’s not sick,” Xander said, confirming his suspicions. His heart sank. “Well maybe she is. What else would cause her to break off our engagement today?” And the stupid boy suddenly realized that he was speaking to her boss, and she must have phoned in ill. “I mean, she’s very ill, very contagious, please don’t fire her.”
“I’m not going to fire her...she broke off the engagement?”
“Yeah. Gave the ring back and everything. Something about being too young to be tied down. She’s 1100 years old, how is she too young to be tied down? If anything, I'm the one too young to be tied down!”
And luckily all the women started petting Xander and comforting him and making him feel better. So Giles mumbled something about needing to go and having the meeting without him, and remembering to lock the door after themselves, and he took off.
She wasn’t at Xander’s apartment, where he knew she had been living. She wasn’t at her studio apartment she owned as part of her original vengeance arrangement, and therefore kept. He had no idea where she might have gone. Maybe he was correct earlier. She was disgusted by what they’d done and she had left town. Maybe had lost her.
He headed back to his own apartment. And there she was, sitting on the ground in front of his front door.
“I broke up with Xander.”
“I was pretending that what we were doing wasn’t cheating, since we never touched. But it was, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“I’m one of those people I used to punish. I’m bad.”
He wanted to tell her no. That what they had been doing was fine. Permissible. That they’d found the loophole. But he couldn’t. He reached his hand down to help her up to her feet. “Perhaps. But you did the right thing today.”
“I didn’t come over here to seduce you.”
“You look too sad for that, Darling.”
And something about his using an endearment on her broke her, and she started to sob. She fell into his arms, wetting his shirt, and he wrapped her up inside of him. It was the first time they’d touched in over a month, but there was no sexuality there, just concern, care, and emotion.
He kissed her hair chastely and said, “I don’t expect anything from you. I never did. If all we ever do together is what we’ve done, I’ll count myself a lucky man. You’re so...” and he cut himself off since he didn’t know how to finish that particular thought. “I thought I might have lost you entirely today. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. If I never see you naked again, that’s alright. I just can’t lose you in my life.”
“Rupert, you stupid man!” she exclaimed. “I said I didn’t come over here to seduce you. Tonight. As you said, I’m too sad. But you think that after what we did that I wouldn’t want to have sex with you many many times now that I’m not with someone else? How are you this incredibly stupid?”
“Stop calling me stupid, please, Anya,” he requested, laughing a bit.
“But you are. I realized that what you said the first day you invited me in to watch you was correct. Xander doesn’t understand my honesty. I’ve been ignoring it for years. He’s embarrassed by me. By the way I speak. Last night, after watching you do those beautiful things to yourself, I got home and asked him if I could fuck him. And when he realized that I meant I was going to be the one doing the penetrating, he freaked out. Said some very regressive homophobic things that I’m not going to repeat. And I realized that if I’m human, I’m only going to live another, what 60 to 70 years if I’m really lucky? Probably less if I stay living near a hellmouth. And I was about to agree to only ever have sex with someone who not only didn’t challenge me, didn’t show me new things, but said some very unappealing things when I suggest something new. He and I have a lot of sex, sure, but I’m way too old to want quantity over quality.”
“I can do quantity as well.”
“I’ve seen. Giles, Rupert, I’m not saying that I’m going to be your girlfriend. I just broke off an engagement. And I’m not saying that I know what my feelings are for you. But I never once considered treating this like it was an apocalypse and running. I wouldn’t do that to you. If that means anything.”
“So much. That means so much.”
She smiled her little smile, the one she smiles when she’s been appreciated.
He stroked her hair. “Can I invite you in? Order us some supper? Open a bottle of wine? A pint of ice cream? Talk? I feel like we’ve done enough not talking in the last few months to last us a while.”
“That would be nice,” she said, as he opened the door and let her in. She followed, saying “And I reserve the right at any time to change my mind about whether or not I’ve come over here tonight to seduce you.”
He didn’t turn around to face her, but gave a dark Ripper like smile for a second as he headed to get them a bottle of wine. “Darling, I leave that entirely in your hands.”