FIC: Collar (Giles/Buffy, FRAO)
Title: Collar
Prompt: 24. Toys
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRAO
Word count: 1500
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Blackmail continuation.
"Take off your belt and give it to me," Buffy said.
Giles obeyed. She took it from him and examined it as if considering what to do next. "Buffy? May I make a suggestion?"
"Go ahead."
"If you, if you wish to, to bind me, I have some gear you might find useful."
"Bring it to me."
Giles rose smoothly to his feet and padded up the stairs to his loft. It was all in the back of his clothes closet. He came down with a cardboard box. He'd stored the gear when Jenny had died, and it had been a long time before he'd been ready to experience those sensations with somebody else. And then he'd been fool enough to think a professional would be discreet. He laid the box at Buffy's feet and returned to his knees. It was rather a lot; some of Jenny's equipment had been in his flat when she'd died, and he'd had no idea how to return it to her family without enduring an agonizing conversation.
Buffy opened them and began removing the contents. New tools set at the ready for the Slayer, each a weapon to be evaluated solemnly.
Several riding crops. A leather flogger. A horsehair whip. A paddle. Wrist and ankle cuffs in heavy black leather. Carabiners and quick releases. Rope and chain. Nipple clamps. A velvet bag with a selection of cock rings in it, including a thick metal ring that he'd loved wearing. Sometimes the sensation of it snug and heavy around his cock and balls had been the only thing making Snyder's staff meetings bearable.
A few boxes with plugs, some silicone, some metal. Buffy examined each of them carefully, then returned them to their boxes.
And a wide leather collar with a buckle and rings. The first leather he'd ever owned. Or been owned with. Ethan had come home with it, probably stolen, the day after he'd discovered that his friend liked it rough. Giles recalled the feeling of it around his neck, buckled tight. He had worn it through some of the most intense experiences of his life. The leather had softened with age and use, but it was still solid. Heavy. He licked his lips.
Buffy was watching him. "Do you want to wear this?"
"God, yes. Forgive me, that is, if it pleases you."
Buffy smiled at him. "I like knowing you're eager. So long as you're not pushy, that's fine."
She came around behind him and wrapped it around his neck. As he'd hoped, she pulled it snug, so he felt it. He felt her tuck the buckle end through and moaned. She tugged at it again. Giles arched his back in response. She held him firmly, one hand on his collar, one around his chest. She slid her hand down to rest above his navel.
"Are you hard under those jeans?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"You like this, don't you." She pulled at the collar again.
"Yes. Oh, God. So much."
"This will be our sign, then. When you're wearing this, you're mine."
She undid the top button of his jeans and slipped her hand down inside, over his belly. Her fingers brushed down, tantalizing him. She still had a hand on his collar, pulling him back against her. Giles could feel her breasts pressed against his back, her breath on his neck, her knees between his. She was small. Deceptively small. She could hold him in place effortlessly if he decided to struggle.
Giles melted. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Please. Take me. Do what you want with me. Anything. Please." He rocked his hips, trying to coax her into touching him. Those hands, Slayer-hot, on his skin, so close to where he burned.
She pulled her hand away. He whimpered in dismay, but a moment later she had her hand on him, cupping him through the jeans. Squeezing. He groaned and thrust into her hand. Then it was gone again and she was standing, pulling him up with her with that amazing strength. The strength that made him dizzy.
She released him and returned to the armchair. He remained where she'd left him, his arms still folded behind his back. She'd given him no specific orders, but already he knew she liked the little reminders, the little cues in his bearing. He would gladly give them to her, teach her what she might wish to demand from other lovers.
"Jeans off," she said.
Giles unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off. He folded and added them to the little pile of his clothing. His modesty. His reservations. His decorum. The little pile of everything he'd been told about how to behave with his Slayer, how to treat her, how to manage her. As if he'd ever managed Buffy. She'd owned him from the first. They'd raised him to love her, and keep her alive, and serve her, and here he was. Standing before her nearly nude, hands behind his back, head down, the proof of his devotion and service tenting out his boxers.
"The rest of it. Shorts off too."
Giles hid a little smile when he turned to add his underwear to his discarded armor. The first sign of impatience in his Slayer.
He turned back to her and clasped his hands behind his back. Her eyes were on his cock. He hoped she liked what she saw. Most of his lovers had. He was suddenly self-conscious. She'd been with beautiful men-- the sculptured undead Angel, and now the soldier boy with his artificial strength. Young men, or men with the appearance of youth, anyway. Not his all-too-human middle age.
Before his worry could spin into fear, she was speaking again. "Kneel. Spread your legs. Wider."
He obeyed. This, this he loved. Waiting on his knees before his lover. Awaiting her pleasure.
"So beautiful," she said, quietly, as if to herself. She was still looking at his cock. Then, to him she said, "There are some things I want to do with you tonight. I want your consent first."
Giles almost laughed, but fortunately controlled himself. He was naked, on his knees, aching for her hand on him, and she wanted to discuss consent. Jenny had made a big fuss over that as well. Ethan had simply done to him what he'd wanted.
"Buffy. Anything you want. I... What do you desire of me?"
She wanted to put him in bondage. She wanted to whip him, to hurt him, to use all his toys on him. She wanted to take him to bed and give him pleasure. She would ask before she drew blood. Ask before she left permanent marks. Ask before she involved anyone else. Simple things. What he had expected. It had all been done to him before.
Giles inclined his head and consented. He was disinclined to deny his Slayer anything she asked for, even when she demanded the right to leave visible marks on him tonight. Giles consented to that with a shaky voice, more from the thought of what she'd do to him than from the idea of others knowing. Then he thought about how long it had been since he'd flaunted the evidence of a lover. He'd required-- requested, rather-- that Jenny not leave any traces that would excite the interest of the students. Or any school personnel. He had no such restrictions on him now.
Tomorrow, when he went out, everyone would know he had a lover.
"Hmm, you like that idea," Buffy said. She had a wicked grin on her face. "I do too. But I have something serious to take care of tonight. I need to punish you for not coming to me first."
"Oh. Yes. Of course," he whispered.
"I'll let you decide part of your punishment. Which of these do you want me to use on you?" She indicated the whips laid out on his coffee table.
Giles opened his mouth, but was unable to speak for a moment. She wanted him to choose. Not just consent to the pain, but choose how it would be given to him. Jenny had never done this to him. Clever. Buffy would not be satisfied with a minor punishment, a wrist-slap. Not if she was the mistress he wished her to be. He thought fast.
"I don't have a cane. That would be traditional. Six of the best. Absent that... The riding crop, please, Buffy. On my back and thighs. Hard enough that I'll be reminded every time I sit down for days."
"Hard enough to draw blood?"
Giles swallowed. "If, if it pleases you."
She smiled, and this time it was a feral smile. Frightening. "I like your plan. Hard enough so you'll feel it for days. And I'll draw blood with the last stripe. All right?"
Giles consented. His mouth was dry. He'd been in this position before. Jenny had whipped him that much, once. The memory was precious. He hated the suffering while he was in the midst of it, but the rush, the rush would be worth it. The flood of release afterward. He craved it, but could not give himself that sensation. He needed a merciless hand on him. Ethan, Jenny, and now Buffy.
"Let's begin," Buffy said to him, and stood up. Giles squeezed his eyes shut. He heard her leather jacket hit the floor, then her quiet step behind him.
Continued in 5. Sweat.
Prompt: 24. Toys
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRAO
Word count: 1500
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table
Notes: BDSM kink. Blackmail continuation.
"Take off your belt and give it to me," Buffy said.
Giles obeyed. She took it from him and examined it as if considering what to do next. "Buffy? May I make a suggestion?"
"Go ahead."
"If you, if you wish to, to bind me, I have some gear you might find useful."
"Bring it to me."
Giles rose smoothly to his feet and padded up the stairs to his loft. It was all in the back of his clothes closet. He came down with a cardboard box. He'd stored the gear when Jenny had died, and it had been a long time before he'd been ready to experience those sensations with somebody else. And then he'd been fool enough to think a professional would be discreet. He laid the box at Buffy's feet and returned to his knees. It was rather a lot; some of Jenny's equipment had been in his flat when she'd died, and he'd had no idea how to return it to her family without enduring an agonizing conversation.
Buffy opened them and began removing the contents. New tools set at the ready for the Slayer, each a weapon to be evaluated solemnly.
Several riding crops. A leather flogger. A horsehair whip. A paddle. Wrist and ankle cuffs in heavy black leather. Carabiners and quick releases. Rope and chain. Nipple clamps. A velvet bag with a selection of cock rings in it, including a thick metal ring that he'd loved wearing. Sometimes the sensation of it snug and heavy around his cock and balls had been the only thing making Snyder's staff meetings bearable.
A few boxes with plugs, some silicone, some metal. Buffy examined each of them carefully, then returned them to their boxes.
And a wide leather collar with a buckle and rings. The first leather he'd ever owned. Or been owned with. Ethan had come home with it, probably stolen, the day after he'd discovered that his friend liked it rough. Giles recalled the feeling of it around his neck, buckled tight. He had worn it through some of the most intense experiences of his life. The leather had softened with age and use, but it was still solid. Heavy. He licked his lips.
Buffy was watching him. "Do you want to wear this?"
"God, yes. Forgive me, that is, if it pleases you."
Buffy smiled at him. "I like knowing you're eager. So long as you're not pushy, that's fine."
She came around behind him and wrapped it around his neck. As he'd hoped, she pulled it snug, so he felt it. He felt her tuck the buckle end through and moaned. She tugged at it again. Giles arched his back in response. She held him firmly, one hand on his collar, one around his chest. She slid her hand down to rest above his navel.
"Are you hard under those jeans?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"You like this, don't you." She pulled at the collar again.
"Yes. Oh, God. So much."
"This will be our sign, then. When you're wearing this, you're mine."
She undid the top button of his jeans and slipped her hand down inside, over his belly. Her fingers brushed down, tantalizing him. She still had a hand on his collar, pulling him back against her. Giles could feel her breasts pressed against his back, her breath on his neck, her knees between his. She was small. Deceptively small. She could hold him in place effortlessly if he decided to struggle.
Giles melted. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Please. Take me. Do what you want with me. Anything. Please." He rocked his hips, trying to coax her into touching him. Those hands, Slayer-hot, on his skin, so close to where he burned.
She pulled her hand away. He whimpered in dismay, but a moment later she had her hand on him, cupping him through the jeans. Squeezing. He groaned and thrust into her hand. Then it was gone again and she was standing, pulling him up with her with that amazing strength. The strength that made him dizzy.
She released him and returned to the armchair. He remained where she'd left him, his arms still folded behind his back. She'd given him no specific orders, but already he knew she liked the little reminders, the little cues in his bearing. He would gladly give them to her, teach her what she might wish to demand from other lovers.
"Jeans off," she said.
Giles unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off. He folded and added them to the little pile of his clothing. His modesty. His reservations. His decorum. The little pile of everything he'd been told about how to behave with his Slayer, how to treat her, how to manage her. As if he'd ever managed Buffy. She'd owned him from the first. They'd raised him to love her, and keep her alive, and serve her, and here he was. Standing before her nearly nude, hands behind his back, head down, the proof of his devotion and service tenting out his boxers.
"The rest of it. Shorts off too."
Giles hid a little smile when he turned to add his underwear to his discarded armor. The first sign of impatience in his Slayer.
He turned back to her and clasped his hands behind his back. Her eyes were on his cock. He hoped she liked what she saw. Most of his lovers had. He was suddenly self-conscious. She'd been with beautiful men-- the sculptured undead Angel, and now the soldier boy with his artificial strength. Young men, or men with the appearance of youth, anyway. Not his all-too-human middle age.
Before his worry could spin into fear, she was speaking again. "Kneel. Spread your legs. Wider."
He obeyed. This, this he loved. Waiting on his knees before his lover. Awaiting her pleasure.
"So beautiful," she said, quietly, as if to herself. She was still looking at his cock. Then, to him she said, "There are some things I want to do with you tonight. I want your consent first."
Giles almost laughed, but fortunately controlled himself. He was naked, on his knees, aching for her hand on him, and she wanted to discuss consent. Jenny had made a big fuss over that as well. Ethan had simply done to him what he'd wanted.
"Buffy. Anything you want. I... What do you desire of me?"
She wanted to put him in bondage. She wanted to whip him, to hurt him, to use all his toys on him. She wanted to take him to bed and give him pleasure. She would ask before she drew blood. Ask before she left permanent marks. Ask before she involved anyone else. Simple things. What he had expected. It had all been done to him before.
Giles inclined his head and consented. He was disinclined to deny his Slayer anything she asked for, even when she demanded the right to leave visible marks on him tonight. Giles consented to that with a shaky voice, more from the thought of what she'd do to him than from the idea of others knowing. Then he thought about how long it had been since he'd flaunted the evidence of a lover. He'd required-- requested, rather-- that Jenny not leave any traces that would excite the interest of the students. Or any school personnel. He had no such restrictions on him now.
Tomorrow, when he went out, everyone would know he had a lover.
"Hmm, you like that idea," Buffy said. She had a wicked grin on her face. "I do too. But I have something serious to take care of tonight. I need to punish you for not coming to me first."
"Oh. Yes. Of course," he whispered.
"I'll let you decide part of your punishment. Which of these do you want me to use on you?" She indicated the whips laid out on his coffee table.
Giles opened his mouth, but was unable to speak for a moment. She wanted him to choose. Not just consent to the pain, but choose how it would be given to him. Jenny had never done this to him. Clever. Buffy would not be satisfied with a minor punishment, a wrist-slap. Not if she was the mistress he wished her to be. He thought fast.
"I don't have a cane. That would be traditional. Six of the best. Absent that... The riding crop, please, Buffy. On my back and thighs. Hard enough that I'll be reminded every time I sit down for days."
"Hard enough to draw blood?"
Giles swallowed. "If, if it pleases you."
She smiled, and this time it was a feral smile. Frightening. "I like your plan. Hard enough so you'll feel it for days. And I'll draw blood with the last stripe. All right?"
Giles consented. His mouth was dry. He'd been in this position before. Jenny had whipped him that much, once. The memory was precious. He hated the suffering while he was in the midst of it, but the rush, the rush would be worth it. The flood of release afterward. He craved it, but could not give himself that sensation. He needed a merciless hand on him. Ethan, Jenny, and now Buffy.
"Let's begin," Buffy said to him, and stood up. Giles squeezed his eyes shut. He heard her leather jacket hit the floor, then her quiet step behind him.
Continued in 5. Sweat.