Hand-To-Hand by Rainne (B/G, FRAO)
Title: Hand-To-Hand
Characters: Buffy/Giles
Prompt: A training session leads to something more.
Word Count: 1423
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP ^_^
Author's Notes: For Ari’s prompt at the “Every Slayer Needs a Watcher” ficathon
---
There was something about the pommel horse that always made Buffy’s mind go dirty places - places where Good Girls’ minds simply Didn’t Go. This was not a good thing in Buffy’s world, because Buffy strove very hard to always be a good girl. She had been raised by absentminded parents, but had one set of good, solid Yankee-stock grandparents who were full of aphorisms like “A little hard work never hurt anybody” and “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” and who had implanted these tenets of solid citizenship in the impressionable mind of their only granddaughter.
So Buffy tried. She tried to get good grades, even when Slaying got in the way. She tried to be a good Slayer, even when her own rebellious nature got in the way. She tried to be a good daughter, even when her parents were a little on the sub-par side. And she tried very, very hard to be a good girl.
So when Buffy had naughty thoughts about the pommel horse - specifically, about fun activities that she and Giles could take part in, using the pommel horse for purposes its original creators never intended - she always fought hard to make those thoughts go away. Try, try again. And again. And again.
Eventually, the day came that those naughty thoughts just wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried - and of course, being Buffy, it had to happen in the middle of hand-to-hand combat with the other participant in her bad thoughts. It just happened, really, quite by accident. He jabbed, she ducked; he bobbed, she weaved; he turned, she saw the pommel horse behind him, a flash-photo popped into her mind of bending over that pommel horse and feeling him enter her from behind, she lost her concentration, he jabbed, and she didn’t duck, because she was too busy wondering if she’d remembered to put a new pair of clean panties in her gym bag.
He brought her an ice pack for the high-quality shiner she’d be sporting in a couple of hours and watched her as she sat on the couch with the ice and an expression of chagrin plastered to her face. “What happened?”
“I got distracted.”
“Buffy, you can’t afford to become distracted in the middle of combat. What on earth distracted you?”
She blushed bright red and mumbled something he couldn’t hear. He asked her to repeat herself, and she shook her head. “It’s nothing. It won’t affect me on patrol, I promise. Just a random thought. Don’t worry about it.”
He sat down beside her on the couch, looking her in the eyes - or, at least, in the eye that wasn’t currently covered by a cold-pack. “Buffy. Please. Don’t shut me out.”
She looked down at her feet. “I… it… it was the pommel horse,” she finally said, looking mortified. “I saw it behind you, and I was thinking about something else, and I just… lost my focus.”
Giles studied her carefully, gauging her responses to his questions and his nearness, and suddenly put two and two together. There was really only one thing that Buffy ever got embarrassed discussing - sex. She had seen the pommel horse and had a sexual thought, and it had distracted her enough that she’d let him get in a solid hit to her face. He blinked. Could she possibly…?
He weighed the pros and cons of pursuing this line of questioning. On the one hand, he was fairly sure that Buffy was attracted to and interested in him - the evidence had been there since she was young enough to be confused by her own impulses and off-limits to him both morally and legally. Now, though, she was old enough to be neither, and there was a very good chance that if he played his cards right, he could get her to demonstrate whatever she’d been thinking about that piece of equipment. On the other hand, if she was too embarrassed or not ready to act, he could easily overstep and ruin everything.
It all hinged on one question: was she ready?
If the flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, and the sudden shallowness of her breathing was any indication, she was ready and willing. He allowed himself small smile, leaned forward and placed a hand on her cheek, noting with glee that she leaned into his touch. “Tell me, Buffy,” he said softly, “what exactly were you thinking about the pommel horse?”
She licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I was thinking about you bending me over the pommel horse,” she confessed.
He leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers. “Would you like me to bend you over the pommel horse?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He made the final move, pressing his lips to hers, slipping his tongue between her lips when she parted them. She made a soft sound of surrender in the back of her throat and he pressed his advantage, sliding his other hand into her hair as her hands came up to clench in the fabric of his shirt. When he finally let her go, he stood, pulling her up with him and giving her a gentle push in the direction of the piece of equipment that had been the focal point of their conversation. “Go and stand there,” he told her.
Swallowing hard, she obeyed, taking her place by the pommel horse as he moved to lock the door. He returned to her, stepping up behind her and pulling her flush against him, rolling his hips against her. “Do you feel that?” he asked her, murmuring into her ear. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
“Oh, God, Giles,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Yes,” he whispered back, pushing her forward. She reached out, placing her hands against the smooth leather surface, and arched her back when he ran his hands from her shoulders down to her waist, then gripped the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled them and her underwear down, dropping them around her ankles. She stepped out of them automatically and he kicked them away.
He bent, placed his fingertips on the inside of her knee, and ran his fingers up to the apex of her legs, finding her wet and ready for him. She gasped, her hips rolling back toward him, and he chuckled darkly, sliding two fingers inside her.
Buffy gave a soft mewl of pleasure, her fingers clenching on the pommel horse, as he thrust with his hand, two fingers inside her and his thumb on her clit, working her up to a peak of pleasure and sending her over into her first orgasm. She cried out her pleasure, her body clenching around his fingers, and he held her up until the strength came back into her legs.
Then he slipped his fingers out of her, unfastened his pants, and drew his cock out, pressing it against her ass. “Is this what you want?” he asked her. “Are you sure, Buffy?”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Please, Giles, please!”
He shifted, bent his knees, found his angle, and thrust, sinking balls-deep into her in one smooth thrust. Then he wrapped his hands around her waist and set a hard, fast pace. She was exquisite, better than his fantasies, and this wasn’t going to take long.
Her hair whipped around as she thrashed her head back and forth, crying out with each thrust. He clutched her to his chest, his arm wrapped around her body and his hand kneading her breast. His other hand tracked across her belly, sliding through her wet curls and finding her clit. She gasped, choked, and came hard, shuddering and sobbing out his name. He gritted his teeth, thrusting through her orgasm, and then came hard himself, spilling inside her and groaning her name into the side of her neck.
They fell against the pommel horse, shaking and clutching at each other. Once he regained his legs, he helped her to stand, stripping her shirt off and kissing her hard. “You’re mine now,” he told her softly, pressing kisses to her forehead, cheeks, eyes, nose and jaw. “Understand? Mine.”
“Yes,” she said again, her hands gripping his shirt. “Yes.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I have always loved you.”
She buried her face in his shirt. “I love you, too.”
He slipped out of his clothes and lowered her to the exercise mats. “Let me show you,” he urged.
“Always,” she whispered back, cradling him between her thighs and welcoming him back into her body. “Always, Giles.”
--end--
Characters: Buffy/Giles
Prompt: A training session leads to something more.
Word Count: 1423
Rating: NC-17
Summary: PWP ^_^
Author's Notes: For Ari’s prompt at the “Every Slayer Needs a Watcher” ficathon
---
There was something about the pommel horse that always made Buffy’s mind go dirty places - places where Good Girls’ minds simply Didn’t Go. This was not a good thing in Buffy’s world, because Buffy strove very hard to always be a good girl. She had been raised by absentminded parents, but had one set of good, solid Yankee-stock grandparents who were full of aphorisms like “A little hard work never hurt anybody” and “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” and who had implanted these tenets of solid citizenship in the impressionable mind of their only granddaughter.
So Buffy tried. She tried to get good grades, even when Slaying got in the way. She tried to be a good Slayer, even when her own rebellious nature got in the way. She tried to be a good daughter, even when her parents were a little on the sub-par side. And she tried very, very hard to be a good girl.
So when Buffy had naughty thoughts about the pommel horse - specifically, about fun activities that she and Giles could take part in, using the pommel horse for purposes its original creators never intended - she always fought hard to make those thoughts go away. Try, try again. And again. And again.
Eventually, the day came that those naughty thoughts just wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried - and of course, being Buffy, it had to happen in the middle of hand-to-hand combat with the other participant in her bad thoughts. It just happened, really, quite by accident. He jabbed, she ducked; he bobbed, she weaved; he turned, she saw the pommel horse behind him, a flash-photo popped into her mind of bending over that pommel horse and feeling him enter her from behind, she lost her concentration, he jabbed, and she didn’t duck, because she was too busy wondering if she’d remembered to put a new pair of clean panties in her gym bag.
He brought her an ice pack for the high-quality shiner she’d be sporting in a couple of hours and watched her as she sat on the couch with the ice and an expression of chagrin plastered to her face. “What happened?”
“I got distracted.”
“Buffy, you can’t afford to become distracted in the middle of combat. What on earth distracted you?”
She blushed bright red and mumbled something he couldn’t hear. He asked her to repeat herself, and she shook her head. “It’s nothing. It won’t affect me on patrol, I promise. Just a random thought. Don’t worry about it.”
He sat down beside her on the couch, looking her in the eyes - or, at least, in the eye that wasn’t currently covered by a cold-pack. “Buffy. Please. Don’t shut me out.”
She looked down at her feet. “I… it… it was the pommel horse,” she finally said, looking mortified. “I saw it behind you, and I was thinking about something else, and I just… lost my focus.”
Giles studied her carefully, gauging her responses to his questions and his nearness, and suddenly put two and two together. There was really only one thing that Buffy ever got embarrassed discussing - sex. She had seen the pommel horse and had a sexual thought, and it had distracted her enough that she’d let him get in a solid hit to her face. He blinked. Could she possibly…?
He weighed the pros and cons of pursuing this line of questioning. On the one hand, he was fairly sure that Buffy was attracted to and interested in him - the evidence had been there since she was young enough to be confused by her own impulses and off-limits to him both morally and legally. Now, though, she was old enough to be neither, and there was a very good chance that if he played his cards right, he could get her to demonstrate whatever she’d been thinking about that piece of equipment. On the other hand, if she was too embarrassed or not ready to act, he could easily overstep and ruin everything.
It all hinged on one question: was she ready?
If the flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, and the sudden shallowness of her breathing was any indication, she was ready and willing. He allowed himself small smile, leaned forward and placed a hand on her cheek, noting with glee that she leaned into his touch. “Tell me, Buffy,” he said softly, “what exactly were you thinking about the pommel horse?”
She licked her lips and swallowed hard. “I was thinking about you bending me over the pommel horse,” she confessed.
He leaned closer, his lips hovering over hers. “Would you like me to bend you over the pommel horse?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He made the final move, pressing his lips to hers, slipping his tongue between her lips when she parted them. She made a soft sound of surrender in the back of her throat and he pressed his advantage, sliding his other hand into her hair as her hands came up to clench in the fabric of his shirt. When he finally let her go, he stood, pulling her up with him and giving her a gentle push in the direction of the piece of equipment that had been the focal point of their conversation. “Go and stand there,” he told her.
Swallowing hard, she obeyed, taking her place by the pommel horse as he moved to lock the door. He returned to her, stepping up behind her and pulling her flush against him, rolling his hips against her. “Do you feel that?” he asked her, murmuring into her ear. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
“Oh, God, Giles,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Yes,” he whispered back, pushing her forward. She reached out, placing her hands against the smooth leather surface, and arched her back when he ran his hands from her shoulders down to her waist, then gripped the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled them and her underwear down, dropping them around her ankles. She stepped out of them automatically and he kicked them away.
He bent, placed his fingertips on the inside of her knee, and ran his fingers up to the apex of her legs, finding her wet and ready for him. She gasped, her hips rolling back toward him, and he chuckled darkly, sliding two fingers inside her.
Buffy gave a soft mewl of pleasure, her fingers clenching on the pommel horse, as he thrust with his hand, two fingers inside her and his thumb on her clit, working her up to a peak of pleasure and sending her over into her first orgasm. She cried out her pleasure, her body clenching around his fingers, and he held her up until the strength came back into her legs.
Then he slipped his fingers out of her, unfastened his pants, and drew his cock out, pressing it against her ass. “Is this what you want?” he asked her. “Are you sure, Buffy?”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Please, Giles, please!”
He shifted, bent his knees, found his angle, and thrust, sinking balls-deep into her in one smooth thrust. Then he wrapped his hands around her waist and set a hard, fast pace. She was exquisite, better than his fantasies, and this wasn’t going to take long.
Her hair whipped around as she thrashed her head back and forth, crying out with each thrust. He clutched her to his chest, his arm wrapped around her body and his hand kneading her breast. His other hand tracked across her belly, sliding through her wet curls and finding her clit. She gasped, choked, and came hard, shuddering and sobbing out his name. He gritted his teeth, thrusting through her orgasm, and then came hard himself, spilling inside her and groaning her name into the side of her neck.
They fell against the pommel horse, shaking and clutching at each other. Once he regained his legs, he helped her to stand, stripping her shirt off and kissing her hard. “You’re mine now,” he told her softly, pressing kisses to her forehead, cheeks, eyes, nose and jaw. “Understand? Mine.”
“Yes,” she said again, her hands gripping his shirt. “Yes.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I have always loved you.”
She buried her face in his shirt. “I love you, too.”
He slipped out of his clothes and lowered her to the exercise mats. “Let me show you,” he urged.
“Always,” she whispered back, cradling him between her thighs and welcoming him back into her body. “Always, Giles.”
--end--