FIC: Confession (Giles/Buffy, FRAO)
Title: Confession
Prompt: 10. Candle Wax
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRAO
Word count: 1600
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Blackmail continuation.
Buffy took his whisky glass and settled herself in his armchair. "So. Let's talk."
"Talk?" Giles felt a moment of mingled relief and disappointment. Did she not want to follow through immediately?
"I need to know what you want."
"Oh. I, um." Jenny had done this to him as well, make him talk about things he'd never said aloud to anybody. She'd said she had to know, if she were to give him what he needed. And if Giles were to do this right, he'd have to reveal himself as fully to Buffy. How would she react? He rubbed his hands against his jeans again. His palms were still damp. He felt almost queasy from nerves.
"On your knees. Now. Right here." Buffy pointed.
He moved immediately to kneel at her feet, and folded his arms behind his back. He didn't dream of disobeying. That voice of command came naturally to her, Giles thought. As naturally as submission came to him. Giles couldn't believe he was doing this. His breath was coming fast. His chest felt tight. His head spun. He'd been half-hard since she'd ordered him to stand, and now this had taken him the rest of the way. He didn't dare reach into his jeans to adjust himself to make it more comfortable.
She was studying him. He wondered what she saw. He knew what he saw in her. She had changed so much in the last year. She'd had lovers, had been betrayed, had glimpsed the world of adulthood. She was no longer the girl who refused her destiny. This older Buffy would meet it head on. So much older than she'd been. And she'd always been wise beyond her years. The gift and curse of the Slayers, that her life would be lived more intensely than the lives of ordinary girls. But, ah, a lovely light.
What would she be like in bed? What pleased her? What would she do to him? Giles wanted to know. Needed to know. Would know before the evening was through. He watched her watching him. His hands were not trembling only because they gripped his arms behind his back.
"Okay, Giles. Tell me all about yourself. How did you get started with this?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but it was difficult. He fixed his gaze on her boots. It was easier not to look at her. Giles still could not speak.
"Let's start losing the armor. Take off your shoes and socks. And your sweater."
Giles obeyed, and set them to the side, the jumper neatly folded. He returned to his kneeling position. It was easier to take off his clothes than to tell her his secrets.
"Talk," she said. Commanded, rather. He twitched reflexively in response, and cleared his throat to obey.
"I've had fantasies about it since I first knew it was possible. But I mostly... the first lover who... it was Ethan." He looked up at her anxiously. She hadn't known about his bisexuality before this. She looked amused, and not surprised in the least.
"Giles. Relax." She held out his glass of whisky to him. He kept his hands behind his back and let her feed him a few sips. "I figured out about Ethan. So, did you confess your fantasies to him?"
"No. He discovered it. He dripped candle wax on me when we were, ah, having sex. By accident. He was trying to move the thing out of the way. And I didn't react the way he expected."
"Where did it land?"
"My chest. Just here." Giles rested two fingers below his collarbone.
"What did it feel like?"
"Surprised me. Hurt, but felt so bloody good. All mixed up with how turned on I was. Ethan took one look at me and did it again. He pinned me down."
He remembered that moment: his involuntary moan, and Ethan's startled eyes meeting his. Then the intent look on Ethan's face as he did it again while Giles held himself as still as he could. The hot wax-spatter on his chest, his almost wild excitement at the pain, Ethan's hand on his throat holding him in place. Ethan's delight in the discovery, and the savagely methodical manner in which he explored it over the following days. They hadn't talked about it at all. Ethan had silently acted, and Giles silently submitted.
"That guy pinned you?"
Giles smiled briefly. "I was much scrawnier at the time. And I wanted to be pinned. So he was my first."
"Have you been with a lot of men?"
"A few. Mostly not in, ah, this sort of relationship. I tend to be dominant with men, Ethan aside. And submissive with women. I... well, I have a theory about that." He looked away from her, at her boots on the rug next to him. She nudged his knee, gently, with a boot.
"It's, um, the Watcher training. They condition us, I'm fairly certain, from a young age. To admire power in women. Physical power. Fighting prowess. Everything the Slayer is. And long to serve it. To... bluntly, to worship our Slayers."
"Aha," said Buffy, very quietly. "That's why your fantasy was to call the dominatrix Slayer."
Giles flushed again. He couldn't look at her.
"There is no shame here, Giles. I'm happy you want that. I'm going to give it to you for real."
"Thank you," he said. A flood of strong emotion that he couldn't name welled up in him, and he bent to kiss her boot. He lingered for a moment, then her hand was on the back of his neck, pressing him down, gripping hard. He sighed in satisfaction. His worries that she would be tentative because of inexperience faded. She released him. He knelt up again, cautiously, and met her eyes. He saw approval there. She liked the little gestures, then. He would be careful to please her with them.
"Take off your shirt," she said. Giles immediately pulled it over his head and folded it. She was slowly stripping him bare. Oddly, more slowly than he would have, if he were in charge. He'd be naked already. Jenny had always said he needed to learn patience.
"What made you buy it from someone?"
"Desperation. It had been so long, I... I couldn't find anyone. Either they got frightened off by the Hellmouth, or they were, were, were killed by it. Jenny-- I couldn't risk that again. Getting involved with someone seemed... impossible. But I wanted the sensations. I thought... I thought it could be safe."
She reached out, then, and stroked his face. Giles closed his eyes and opened himself to the touch, to her wordless sympathy and affection.
She gave him another sip of whisky. It was helping. She coaxed it all out of him like that, gradually. A taste of whisky, a question, another secret yielded. It helped that he'd done this before, with Jenny, who'd taught him words for some of his more intense desires. It all came out. The jolt of pleasure he felt when his lover took command of him. The sweet terror of helplessness. The need to have control stripped from him, so that he could be carried beyond himself, let himself feel. His tangled emotions about pain: need, craving, fear. The floating euphoria of the trance-state. The build to breaking point, when he at last surrendered himself to his mistress' will, when he at last let go of himself.
Catharsis, he said to her, and watched her anxiously to see if she understood. She nodded, serious and respectful as she'd been all evening. He recognized the expression on her face. She was thinking deeply, her gaze somewhere over his head. She refocused and smiled at him.
"I can give you what you need," she said.
God, may it be so.
She fed him the last of the whisky. He wasn't drunk, not in the least, but he was smoothed out, damped down by it. He might have fled his own flat in terror without it. He wished he'd had the courage to ask her to bind him immediately.
Buffy stood and carried the tumbler to the kitchen. Giles remained where he was, on his knees, because she had not given him leave to stand. He heard her moving around, opening the refrigerator. She returned with a bottle of spring water. She sat in his armchair again and drank a little. She didn't offer him any.
"Okay. Next. What don't you like?"
Giles sighed. This part of the catechism was more frightening. Ethan would ask him what he didn't like, and then do exactly that. Buffy, he reminded himself, was no Ethan. "I don't like humiliation. Ethan used to like to do that to me, but I... I like being valued."
"Valued for the gift you give to your top, of your body. Your pain and compliance."
Giles was a little surprised she understood this. "Yes, exactly. As I value the gift my mistress gives me, of her attention and her, her, her--" Giles broke off. He didn't have a word to use other than "love", and he didn't want to bring that up with Buffy yet.
There were a few more things he couldn't abide, not even to please a demanding top, but those were easily dismissed by Buffy as uninteresting to her as well. At last she was satisfied. She leaned forward, focused on him with new intensity. His mouth went dry again at her expression. Her hand would be on him soon.
"Right," she said. "I think that's enough talk. It's time to give you a taste of that helplessness."
Continued in 4. Collar.
Prompt: 10. Candle Wax
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRAO
Word count: 1600
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Blackmail continuation.
Buffy took his whisky glass and settled herself in his armchair. "So. Let's talk."
"Talk?" Giles felt a moment of mingled relief and disappointment. Did she not want to follow through immediately?
"I need to know what you want."
"Oh. I, um." Jenny had done this to him as well, make him talk about things he'd never said aloud to anybody. She'd said she had to know, if she were to give him what he needed. And if Giles were to do this right, he'd have to reveal himself as fully to Buffy. How would she react? He rubbed his hands against his jeans again. His palms were still damp. He felt almost queasy from nerves.
"On your knees. Now. Right here." Buffy pointed.
He moved immediately to kneel at her feet, and folded his arms behind his back. He didn't dream of disobeying. That voice of command came naturally to her, Giles thought. As naturally as submission came to him. Giles couldn't believe he was doing this. His breath was coming fast. His chest felt tight. His head spun. He'd been half-hard since she'd ordered him to stand, and now this had taken him the rest of the way. He didn't dare reach into his jeans to adjust himself to make it more comfortable.
She was studying him. He wondered what she saw. He knew what he saw in her. She had changed so much in the last year. She'd had lovers, had been betrayed, had glimpsed the world of adulthood. She was no longer the girl who refused her destiny. This older Buffy would meet it head on. So much older than she'd been. And she'd always been wise beyond her years. The gift and curse of the Slayers, that her life would be lived more intensely than the lives of ordinary girls. But, ah, a lovely light.
What would she be like in bed? What pleased her? What would she do to him? Giles wanted to know. Needed to know. Would know before the evening was through. He watched her watching him. His hands were not trembling only because they gripped his arms behind his back.
"Okay, Giles. Tell me all about yourself. How did you get started with this?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but it was difficult. He fixed his gaze on her boots. It was easier not to look at her. Giles still could not speak.
"Let's start losing the armor. Take off your shoes and socks. And your sweater."
Giles obeyed, and set them to the side, the jumper neatly folded. He returned to his kneeling position. It was easier to take off his clothes than to tell her his secrets.
"Talk," she said. Commanded, rather. He twitched reflexively in response, and cleared his throat to obey.
"I've had fantasies about it since I first knew it was possible. But I mostly... the first lover who... it was Ethan." He looked up at her anxiously. She hadn't known about his bisexuality before this. She looked amused, and not surprised in the least.
"Giles. Relax." She held out his glass of whisky to him. He kept his hands behind his back and let her feed him a few sips. "I figured out about Ethan. So, did you confess your fantasies to him?"
"No. He discovered it. He dripped candle wax on me when we were, ah, having sex. By accident. He was trying to move the thing out of the way. And I didn't react the way he expected."
"Where did it land?"
"My chest. Just here." Giles rested two fingers below his collarbone.
"What did it feel like?"
"Surprised me. Hurt, but felt so bloody good. All mixed up with how turned on I was. Ethan took one look at me and did it again. He pinned me down."
He remembered that moment: his involuntary moan, and Ethan's startled eyes meeting his. Then the intent look on Ethan's face as he did it again while Giles held himself as still as he could. The hot wax-spatter on his chest, his almost wild excitement at the pain, Ethan's hand on his throat holding him in place. Ethan's delight in the discovery, and the savagely methodical manner in which he explored it over the following days. They hadn't talked about it at all. Ethan had silently acted, and Giles silently submitted.
"That guy pinned you?"
Giles smiled briefly. "I was much scrawnier at the time. And I wanted to be pinned. So he was my first."
"Have you been with a lot of men?"
"A few. Mostly not in, ah, this sort of relationship. I tend to be dominant with men, Ethan aside. And submissive with women. I... well, I have a theory about that." He looked away from her, at her boots on the rug next to him. She nudged his knee, gently, with a boot.
"It's, um, the Watcher training. They condition us, I'm fairly certain, from a young age. To admire power in women. Physical power. Fighting prowess. Everything the Slayer is. And long to serve it. To... bluntly, to worship our Slayers."
"Aha," said Buffy, very quietly. "That's why your fantasy was to call the dominatrix Slayer."
Giles flushed again. He couldn't look at her.
"There is no shame here, Giles. I'm happy you want that. I'm going to give it to you for real."
"Thank you," he said. A flood of strong emotion that he couldn't name welled up in him, and he bent to kiss her boot. He lingered for a moment, then her hand was on the back of his neck, pressing him down, gripping hard. He sighed in satisfaction. His worries that she would be tentative because of inexperience faded. She released him. He knelt up again, cautiously, and met her eyes. He saw approval there. She liked the little gestures, then. He would be careful to please her with them.
"Take off your shirt," she said. Giles immediately pulled it over his head and folded it. She was slowly stripping him bare. Oddly, more slowly than he would have, if he were in charge. He'd be naked already. Jenny had always said he needed to learn patience.
"What made you buy it from someone?"
"Desperation. It had been so long, I... I couldn't find anyone. Either they got frightened off by the Hellmouth, or they were, were, were killed by it. Jenny-- I couldn't risk that again. Getting involved with someone seemed... impossible. But I wanted the sensations. I thought... I thought it could be safe."
She reached out, then, and stroked his face. Giles closed his eyes and opened himself to the touch, to her wordless sympathy and affection.
She gave him another sip of whisky. It was helping. She coaxed it all out of him like that, gradually. A taste of whisky, a question, another secret yielded. It helped that he'd done this before, with Jenny, who'd taught him words for some of his more intense desires. It all came out. The jolt of pleasure he felt when his lover took command of him. The sweet terror of helplessness. The need to have control stripped from him, so that he could be carried beyond himself, let himself feel. His tangled emotions about pain: need, craving, fear. The floating euphoria of the trance-state. The build to breaking point, when he at last surrendered himself to his mistress' will, when he at last let go of himself.
Catharsis, he said to her, and watched her anxiously to see if she understood. She nodded, serious and respectful as she'd been all evening. He recognized the expression on her face. She was thinking deeply, her gaze somewhere over his head. She refocused and smiled at him.
"I can give you what you need," she said.
God, may it be so.
She fed him the last of the whisky. He wasn't drunk, not in the least, but he was smoothed out, damped down by it. He might have fled his own flat in terror without it. He wished he'd had the courage to ask her to bind him immediately.
Buffy stood and carried the tumbler to the kitchen. Giles remained where he was, on his knees, because she had not given him leave to stand. He heard her moving around, opening the refrigerator. She returned with a bottle of spring water. She sat in his armchair again and drank a little. She didn't offer him any.
"Okay. Next. What don't you like?"
Giles sighed. This part of the catechism was more frightening. Ethan would ask him what he didn't like, and then do exactly that. Buffy, he reminded himself, was no Ethan. "I don't like humiliation. Ethan used to like to do that to me, but I... I like being valued."
"Valued for the gift you give to your top, of your body. Your pain and compliance."
Giles was a little surprised she understood this. "Yes, exactly. As I value the gift my mistress gives me, of her attention and her, her, her--" Giles broke off. He didn't have a word to use other than "love", and he didn't want to bring that up with Buffy yet.
There were a few more things he couldn't abide, not even to please a demanding top, but those were easily dismissed by Buffy as uninteresting to her as well. At last she was satisfied. She leaned forward, focused on him with new intensity. His mouth went dry again at her expression. Her hand would be on him soon.
"Right," she said. "I think that's enough talk. It's time to give you a taste of that helplessness."
Continued in 4. Collar.