Author: Kay Tee
Disclaimer: Yeah, Joss's paying me a salary to write what he *really* wants on the show... except I'm lying and I'm poor. Don't sue me.
Feedback: Much appreciated, send to maybeshedoes@yahoo.com
Distribution: Take it, but tell me where so I can visit.
Rating: R
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Improv: end, tie, lush, straight
Summary: Xander uses Giles's shower. Often.
Spoilers: Sometime after 'Once More, with feeling.' AU from there, but hints at general season six stuff.
Author's Notes: I don't usually write or read this pairing, but I promised Sophy anything (guess I should have known better ~snort~) and this is my meager and long over-due attempt. There are others I owe, and other fics will be coming.
Dedication: Sophy. Duh. This isn't quite what you asked for, but I hope it'll do.
*
Giles still wears a tie sometimes. He doesn't need to, doesn't have a school or a shop to dress up for. He wears it for me.
I stop by his place in the evening. He's usually there studying up on the latest threat-- he does that by himself now, wants to give Buffy space to grow or something. I don't really care, because whatever the cause, I know the effect is that I get to have as much Giles alone time as I need. Want. Need.
I go straight to his apartment everyday now after work, I don't even shower. Giles waits for me. I know he's waiting 'cause he's always sitting there on the couch, thighs spread slightly, a few shirt buttons open, tie loose around his neck. I ask if I can use his shower and he always rolls his eyes at me, but I can see the smile starting. He usually says something mean like, "Xander, why don't you go home to your fiancée and use your own shower?"
That's when I lean in close to him, letting my five o'clock shadow scrape his cheek as I whisper in his ear, "I need someone to scrub my back."
Giles never just relents at that; no, when I pull back his eyes are full of challenge and promise. "I'm sure your fiancée is quite capable of handling a washcloth." If his voice didn't invariably hitch at the want on my face, I might get distracted by his terminology.
Instead, I rest my forehead against his and swear, "Nobody is as capable as you."
Giles usually likes to start being creative then, though he's always careful not to say her name. I know he's a little bitter, but he's never asked for more than these small evening interludes. If he wants me, I'd be happy... but maybe he doesn't, and I'm reading him with my 'hopeful' er, thing you read with. Eyes, I guess. Whatever.
And just when my inner babble-logue and Giles's private sarcasm rally seem about to ruin all chance of an inappropriate sexual encounter, I grab his tie and haul him to his feet. At that point, his protests get pretty weak, and I lead him to the shower like a dog on a leash. Or some slightly sexier equivalent. It's hard to think in metaphors and similes when his rough hands are pulling at my clothes and his head is bowed with that teasing mock-submissive tilt.
We end up in his bathroom and he makes me stand there and wait while he gets the water ready. It's always the same. Steam starts to fill the room, and I'm naked and hard and still holding onto that tie, but by then I know I'm the one on a leash.
Giles just stares at me, his lips slightly parted, his eyes gleaming. I want to tear at him, rip through the lush scent of his bath soaps and uncover that surprisingly warm flesh. I always want to see him, touch him. On the rare occasions the whole scooby gang assembles, I can barely keep from reaching out to him. Someday... but someday can't possibly be as interesting as every day-- this day, yesterday, tomorrow.
Giles takes the tie off slowly. I let the soft satin slide through my fingers, watching as he loops it over the shower-head, watching as he guides me under the water, watching as he uses the tie to bind my arms above my head. By that time the spray has soaked his shirt and it sticks to him wetly, outlining the musculature of his chest and arms. Bound tightly, I still strain toward him, and he grins.
He makes me watch as he slowly peels out of the damp clothes; Giles likes for me to watch him. He makes me wait while he washes himself. He's hard, barely restraining himself from sharing the pleasure of his lather, his scented soap running down his body, teasing me as it touches everywhere I cannot. He watches me watch him, and the first few times I made a couple of really bad watcher jokes, but I've since learned to be quiet. He likes for me to be quiet.
When he finally touches me, it is with near perfect control, though I can always feel his hands trembling.
What happens after that is different every time, but then, that's why I always go back.