Actions

Work Header

Dirty Dancing, I Mean Swordplay

Work Text:

“I need to be taught how to fight.”

Giles had his nose in an ancient text and was trying to parse out a particularly tricky translation, and was very confused by the sudden interruption.

“Pardon me?” He looked up and saw Anya, standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest. Under her chest? He looked away from her chest and up to her face.

“Dangerous things keep happening. I don't know how to defend myself. Back in my day, they didn't teach women to do that. And then I had demon powers, so I never needed to learn. And now I'm fragile and human, and we keep being attacked. You came here to teach Buffy how to fight. Now you can teach me.”
 
Giles adjusted his glasses and smiled at her, patently. “I arrived here to do more than just teach Buffy how to fight...”

“I know, I know, you came here to guide her to be all she can be. But you could teach me how to fight. If you wanted to.”
 
“I could, yes,” he said, hesitantly, knowing that there was no reason to fruitlessly argue that he couldn’t, but not thrilled about what he was being bullied into doing.
 
Anya grabbed him by the hand and tried to pull him in the right directly. “So let's get going. To the training room, Sensai.” 

He clasped her hand, but didn’t let her pull him up. “You're not going to say please?”
 
Anya furrowed her brow at him. He had this pretend innocent look on his face that she knew she was misreading as flirting. Giles didn’t flirt. Giles taught things. And he was going to teach her.

She removed her hand from his. “Giles, please teach me how to fight so I won't die horribly on your watch and cause you to feel guilt for the rest of your natural life and/or unnatural life.” She said this without any guilt trip in her voice, just laying out the bear facts.

Giles sighed, closed his book, and got out of his chair. “Well let's go, then.”

* *

And that’s how her training began. It’s not like Buffy was using the practice room much these days, or that Buffy really needed him in any way, and Anya was right: without her demon powers, she really was even more defenseless than Xander, and that was saying a lot.

And she was shockingly delightful for him to teach. Sure, she questioned him in her overly honest way when she didn’t understand the purpose of an exercise, but she actually listened to him when he explained the purpose, and never did that thing Buffy always did where she tilted her head to the side and pretended to listen. Anya wanted to learn. Anya wanted to not die.

“Anya when you're holding a broadsword, you really need to place your hips differently.” Giles approached her hips from behind, placing his hands directly on her hips, pulling her into the right place with the professional intimacy of a yoga instructor. “Tuck your posterior, please.”

“Like this?” And she pushed her bottom out, directly into his groin. He appeared not to notice anything other than her form.

“No, tuck. May I?” he asked, waiting for her nod before he placed his hands on the sides of her rear, tucking her into proper form. His hands lingered there longer than strictly felt necessary.

“Giles I don't need you to recreate the training scenes from Dirty Dancing with me. I need to be able to not die.”
 
“Dirty Dancing?”

“The movie where the impressionable teenage girl learns to dance from the man with the nice hips, only to have sex with him due to the sexy touching as they trained.”
 
“I haven't seen...” Giles began, wondering if perhaps he had been shown that film by the Scoobies, but didn’t recall since they always ended up talking through the films they showed him...but then his brain caught up with his hearing. “Sexy touching?” he asked, completely removing his hands from her rear, even though he had felt that he was only professionally touching her.
 
“Yes,” said Anya, turning to look at him. “With your long, strong, graceful, sexy fingers and guitar-callused fingerpads that are just a little rough on my skin, but not too rough. It's quite pleasing, but I'm trying to learn how not to die, not how to dance at a 1960s vacation spot.”
 
“Sexy fingers?” he asked, raking his decidedly common-place fingers through his hair. He then shook his head to right himself. “Right. I’ll keep my fingers to myself, then. Would it help if I showed you correct form instead of placing you in it?”
 
“In those jeans?” Anya said, looking downward at his trousers and shaking her head. “Probably not.” 

“These old jeans?” he questioned, touching the sides of said jeans, which only made the problem worse for Anya.  
“Well it's more your hipbones that are the distraction, but those jeans show them off.”
 
“My hipbones?” Giles asked, incredulously. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had called his hips distracting. Probably Ethan, sounds like a thing that man would have said...but he would only have pretended to believe it back then, and now he doesn’t bother to pretend that anyone would find him sexy.

“Giles, are you okay?” Anya reaches up to touch his head. “Do you have a head injury? You just keep repeating what I say.”
 
“I'm fine, Anya,” Giles said, pulling her hand off his head. “I'm just a little...you find my hipbones distracting?”
 
“Yes. I already said that. The way they jut out. I have trouble focusing on anything but them, and I’m trying to learn how not to die. Your hipbones aren’t helping.”

“Well I’m very sorry for that, Anya. I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to counteract that particular problem, as my hipbones are sort of a package deal with my training expertise.”

“No, I don’t suppose there is anything you can do about it. I’ve been trying to not be distracted by your fingers and hips for a very long time, so I guess it’s just my burden to bear. It was a lot easier to ignore when I was having sex every night with Xander, but now that no one wants to touch me, I’m finding your hipbones to be a problem.” At the end of this babbling speech, she looked up into his eyes, and she watched his left eye, the one with the portion of brown next to all the blue, start to shift from awkward and amused Giles to something she hadn’t seen before.
 
“What do they inspire you to do? My hipbones?” He was utterly still as he looked unblinkingly at her, waiting for her answer.
 
“Giles...” Anya stalled, realizing that opening up this conversation had now passed her distraction on to him, and now they were both distracted, and she wasn’t going to learn any more defense until they dealt with this whole attraction problem thing.

“Answer the question, Anya,” Giles said in his low, reasoning with an adversary voice. “We're just talking. No harm in talking.”
 
She looked from this blue eye to his brown blue eye and back. He seemed to want her honest answer, and Anya preferred being direct. “I want to lick them.” 

“Lick them?” A small smile began to pull up on the left side of Giles’s lips, encouraging her.

“Trace where the bone juts out with my tongue. I'm trying to learn how not to die, and I'm too distracted by your sexy hipbones to focus. If I die, it'll be the fault of your very lickable body.”

“Do you want to get it out of your system?”
 
“Get what out of what?”
 
“Follow your urges. Get it out of your system. So you're less distracted by the possibility. Perhaps my hipbones aren't as lickable as you've built them up to be in your mind.”
 
“You wouldn't mind?” Anya said, realizing that this could be true. Maybe she was just sexually starved and willing to cling to any male body that she spent too much time with. Maybe his skin wouldn’t taste salt smooth warm and his hipbone wouldn’t be pleasing against the pad of her tongue.
 
“I'd invite it. I too, find your hips distracting, as evidenced by your rightful accusation of my just barely caressing you, when I was meant to be instructing you.”
 
“What if it makes it worse?” she asked, a little breathlessly.  

“How so?”

“What if we release this thing, and suddenly all we can do is touch each other inappropriately? What if I never learn how to fight because your hips are more intriguing to me?”
  
“How did it pan out in Dirty Dancing? Did she learn how to dance? Or just, um, dirty dance.”
 
Anya grinned, realizing that she could have her cake and eat it, too. “She even got the lift at the end.” 

“Well, then, Anya, do what you need to do.” His voice had efficient Giles inflection to it, but it was dropped down lower than she was accustomed to.

So she got down on her knees and pulled up the edge of his shirt on his right side. The surface she was looking for was a little covered by the jeans in question, so she looked up for permission. “May I?” she asked.

“You may,” Giles said, his lips barely moving.

So she unbuttoned the top button of his fly, giving her enough space to roll down his waistband enough to expose his hipbone. She started with the point of her tongue, tracing the top of the bone upward. Then on the downstroke she zig-zagged over the edges of the bone, dipping into the rivulet next to it on either side, over and over. Then she took the flat surface of her tongue, and licked it bottom to top, sucking a little at his skin with her lips, and nipping a little at the bone with her teeth. She could hear the rumble down inside of him move from a purr to more of a growl as she progressed. Her final taste allowed her mouth to nip, a bit of a kiss, a small bit of a bite, along the path of the bone, calling him to cry out her name when she bit slightly too hard on the inner curve, right where she could see his jeans starting to get too tight for comfort.

She looked up at Giles, whose face was slightly twitching. “Do you need to do the same ministrations on the other side, or have you fulfilled your curiosity?”

She shifted her weight to the right, and performs the same tests on the other side in the same order, just to make sure nothing was different about this side. This time the growl was his baseline and a moan escaped his lips when the flat of her tongue did its tracing, and again with each nip along the length.

“Shall we go back to training, or do you need to have other desires fulfilled before you can concentrate?” Giles asked in a husky voice, but she could tell he was really asking her to determine what would happen next.

“All my other desires are probably too obscene to mention,” she said, standing up, and he began to laugh. “What?”
“Well that’s never stopped you before, has it?”

She bit her lip, and tried to come up with something he could do with those callused fingerpads that wasn’t...well all the things her imagination usually had him doing with his fingers when she was alone at night. Or, if she was honest, while she was having sex with Xander, back when she used to have sex with Xander.

But to stall for time, she decided to have fun with him. “You think that I say everything that comes to my mind? I only say the tame stuff.”

“Kinky role play and um, vikings in the sack...daily sex...that’s the tame stuff?”

Anya shruged, a small smile on her lips. “What I did with Xander was the tame stuff. You know how long I’ve been alive? Giles, do you think there are things I haven’t tried?”

“I do,” said Giles, taking back control over the conversation. She was turning him into a gobsmacked idiot, and it was time for him to let her know that he didn’t follow: he lead. He crooked his pointer finger used it to tilt her chin up to look at him. “You’ve never tried me.”

And they flew at each other’s lips. They smashed into each other with no mercy, no pretense, no reservations, and no romance. Her skin tight training clothes were pulled off her body, and he was divested of the rest of his jeans. She felt her body lifted off the ground and placed on the pommel horse.

“I’ve always through this particular apparatus would be uniquely well suited for screwing,” he mumbled into her neck, his callused fingers on her hips, positioning himself for entry. He slowed for just a second, a wicked grin on his face, and looked her in the eyes. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me so hard you practically split me in half,” said Anya, and she moaned as he thrust into her hard and fast, bracing her in place in a way she knew would leave sweet sexy bruises as next day reminders. She wrapped her arms around his neck for leverage and pushed against him, letting her head fall back as he shoved his face between her breasts for leverage and pleasure. She linked her legs around his back and raked her fingers through this hair, and then raked her fingernails down his back, marking him, claiming him. This was nothing like the virginal (albeit hot) sex scene from Dirty Dancing. This was what happened when two people who enjoyed rough sex repressed their desires for far too long and then suddenly allowed themselves anything they wanted.

He took her right nipple into his mouth and bit down, and that released her first orgasm. She moaned loudly enough that, had there been other people in the store, they would have come running to check on her injury. Luckily for them, and the unlocked door to the training room, they were alone. Giles kept his pace up to make sure she rode her wave of orgasmic energy as long as possible, all the while keeping himself under control by conjugating verbs in Sumarian in his head.

He slid out of her and she moaned at the loss. “Flip over” he said, and he assisted her and getting herself positioned so she was hanging over the close edge of the equipment, using the bars to hang in place. And he slid back into her, this time a little more gentle, a little more reasoned, not due to a desire to slow things down, but to prolong the encounter as long as he possibly could. Once he was in place, he also held onto the metal bars and began to thrust. He slid one finger down to where they were joined and began to massage her clit as he thrust into her.

“Tell me what you want, Anya,” he said, commandingly.

“I want,” she gasped out, “more.”

“You do seem a bit empty,” he mused, as he withdrew his now slick finger from her cunt and started to use it to massage the opening of her ass. He began to push inward, but met some resistance at the second ring. “You have done this before, Anya, yes?”

“Not since becoming human,” Anya moaned. “But please. Please.”

Giles timed up a thrust with a pushed, and she moaned out of pure pleasure and pain as his finger slid in. He paused for a moment, rubbing his finger against his own cock through her walls, reveling of the pleasure of touching a woman and touching himself so very intimately.

“What are you waiting for?” Anya moaned, “Fuck me, Giles.”

“Don’t call me Giles. Call me Rupert, call me Ripper, call me the King of all Pleasure, but don’t call me by my surname when my cock is inside of you.”

“Fuck me Rupert,” Anya said in a honied tone, aware of the power and intimacy of using the unfamiliar name, more intimate than the ministrations of his hand and cock, more intimate than any way she could dream of touching him.

And he began again. But this time, instead of the frantic attempts to smash his body into hers, he created a steady and increasing pace, matched by his finger swirling little circles, stretching out her opening ever so gently. Not today, she wasn’t prepared for it today, but she imagined how wonderful it would feel to have his cock inside of her ass, his fingers playing with her clit, her cunt, his teeth biting along her neck...the fantasy, in addition to the reality, which was damn nice as well, sent her over the edge again. This time he joined her, with the intensity of a man who hasn’t done this in quite a long while, while being slightly disappointed that he wasn’t able to hold off so he could keep going at it.

He slid his finger out of her and wrapped his arms around her body, helping lift her off the horse. As he let her slide down his body and onto the floor, his cock slide out of her as well, and he felt her shudder and heard her moan at the loss. She turned around in his arms and wrapped herself into him, her hands practically pawing at his chest.

He leaned down and slowly, romantically kissed her. “So you fancy doing a bit of training, now?” he asked.

She laughed. “Well, while I have cured my distraction problem, but now I have a whole, ‘not being able to stand up under my own power’ problem.”

She felt his fingers going through her hair, and then she felt the rough pads massaging her temples.

“That would have been a more appropriate thing to ask for, wouldn’t it, Rupert?”

“What?” he said, confused.

“I could have asked to feel your callused fingers massaging my temples.”

“Well you’re getting that now, free of charge.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Are you regretting...”

“No. Are you?”

“Oh God, no. In fact, I hope this will happen again. Or maybe not exactly this, but something equally lovely. In the future. If you’d like.”

“Lovely?” she asked, wondering at this man who would call the dirty way he had just fucked her lovely.

“Filthy sex is the most lovely kind, isn’t it?” he murmured into her ear. “When another person opens up to you, makes themselves that vulnerable to you...it’s intimate. And lovely.”

She kissed him. Softly. And then withdrew. “This doesn’t have to become awkward, does it?”

“No. Do you feel awkward?”

“No.”

“And I figure, if we make sure that, as long as we both want it of course, we have wonderfully filthy sex often enough, then temptation won’t get in the way of your training. Because you’re getting quite competent. And Anya?”

“Rupert?”

“I also don’t want you to die.”