CONTENT WARNINGS: This part is rated NC-17 for sexual content of a Giles/Willow nature. If
you are under 18, or really don't like the idea of mushy love
stuff between these particular characters, return to the Labyrinth Entrance. I'll
try to give enough of a summary in the next PG portion to
keep those who skip over this one up to speed on the story.
Giles opened his eyes to a shadowy dimness. For a terrifying, disorienting moment he had no idea where he was, he only knew that it was dark and that his body ached. He lifted his head cautiously and finally managed to piece together his situation. His apartment living room. He was lying stretched out on the couch, with the black and white afghan covering him. A dim, pre-dawn light filtered in through the front draperies. A harsher interior light was coming from the kitchenette.
There was someone in the apartment. He slowly sat up, fumbling about in vain for his glasses. He was only half clad, he discovered moments later when he tried to stand and his trousers slipped down around his hips. He pulled them up and fastened them, still warily eyeing the kitchen.
"Oww!" That whispered feminine exclamation brought the night back. Giles rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then stood. His shirt was nowhere to be found, but he did manage to locate his jacket on the arm of the couch and his glasses on the floor just under the end table. He shrugged the jacket on and moved quietly to the front door.
It was barely light outside -- just the first hints of dawn in the eastern sky -- and pleasantly cool. He stepped out to the sidewalk and, with a sigh of relief, found the bag where he'd dropped it the night before. He hadn't wanted to lose his best crossbow, and there were several early risers who lived in the building who would have been sure to stumble across the stray bag on their way out.
Willow stood watching him from the open door to the apartment, dressed only in his shirt and munching from a jar of maraschino cherries that she'd raided from the larder. "You can't go out like that," she said, somewhat anxiously.
"You have my shirt," he retorted, hefting the bag up to carry it inside.
Willow grinned at him and held out the jar. He helped himself to several of the cherries, then moved into the kitchenette. She trailed after him. "You don't have enough food around here. No wonder you're getting so thin."
Giles opened the cupboard doors over the sink and pulled out several small paper sacks. "I've been relying on take- out," he admitted. "I haven't had the time to cook."
Willow opened one of the bags and pulled out a box of gourmet crackers and several wrapped wedges of cheese. "This is better," she said. "No ice cream though?"
He went to the fridge to examine the insides. Several bottles of cider, an almost empty jar of pickles, and a bottle of plum preserves. "I wonder if anybody delivers at five in the morning?" Wandering back to the table, he sat down, claimed a box of crackers and tore it open.
"Pizza would be good." Willow started devouring a box of raisins, clump by clump. "And Chinese. We could call out for kung pao chicken."
"There's a grocer down the block, but they don't open until six," he said, already halfway through the crackers.
"Okay." Willow had finished off the raisins and was now spooning out cherry syrup from the maraschino jar. "It's too bad conjuring spells are so hard," she said between slurps. "We could zap ourselves up some nachos and cheese in the meantime."
"The energy expenditure would exceed the caloric gain. I must admit though to a craving for fettucini alfredo."
"Ooh, Italian! Ziti!" Willow exclaimed happily. At Giles' quizzical look, she grinned. "Sorry. It's a girl thing. Are we still loopy from the spell casting?"
"I suspect so." He dumped cracker crumbs from the box into a bowl.
"Um, good." She put down the jar and scooted around the table to climb into his lap. "Smoochies please?"
"Willow --"
"Just to pass the time until the grocery store opens?" She threw her arms around his neck and shifted to press closer.
His resolve melted. "Just a few . . ." but she was kissing him again before he had a chance to put any closure to that thought. The ravenous hunger he'd been feeling sublimated into hunger of another kind, and he wrapped his hands around her waist. She threw one leg over him, so that they were pressed tightly chest to chest, her thighs moving up to hug his hips.
Giles still had an acute sense of her, of her warm bliss, of the rhythms of her body. Intellectually he suspected that this preternatural closeness was not necessarily a good thing, but at the moment she seemed as necessary to him as the blood in his veins.
He stood, still kissing her, holding her ass gently. Willow started to pull her legs up to wrap around him, but she immediately sensed the beginnings of painful strain on his bruised ribs and let her legs drop again to the floor.
"Sorry," he groaned. "I'd like to sweep you off your feet . . ."
She smiled apologetically. "Hey, you have! And I'm a modern woman. I can stand on my own feet."
He kissed her on the nose and let his hands wander up under the shirt. She wanted him to take her upstairs to the bed; he was reading her desires far too clearly. And she his. His reticence was plainly hurting her.
"Willow . . ." He started to push her away and discovered that he simply couldn't bring himself to do it. "Please. We're too connected right now, and this has gone too far as it is."
She buried her face in his shoulder. "I know, but -- I've never felt this close to anybody before."
Giles ran his hand through her shimmering hair. "Neither have I. But a good part of this closeness is the magic. And that's not going to last -- even as long as today."
Willow held him tighter. "I don't want to let you go."
He shut his eyes and kissed her head. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere as long as you need me."
Her grip loosened. "Okay. But you still won't take me upstairs?"
He had a vivid flashback of discovering Jenny's body in his bed and shuddered. Willow sensed his distress and understood. "Oh. Okay. Last night on the couch was nice."
Giles kissed her again and boosted her up to sit on the kitchen table. "Bedrooms are over-rated."
Willow pushed the jacket off his shoulders. She moved a hand down his bruised stomach to one hip and urged him closer so that she could explore the line of his neck with her lips. He nudged her thighs apart and slipped a hand under the shirt, stroking her pubic hairs, then slipped a finger inside her. She moaned quietly and arched her back, tilting her head so that he could kiss the hollow of her throat.
She undid his trousers with more practice than she'd shown the night before, and they slipped down his thighs. Her hand clutched at his erection, sliding along it to caress his balls. Giles slipped a second finger up into her, and moved up to the table to sit beside her, his hand cupping her hot womanhood. Willow gave a small cry and bent her head to one side. Her hand tightened on his cock and she stroked down on it hard.
He gasped and grabbed at her hand, pressing the fingers of his other hand hard up against her clitoris. Willow yelped and began to moan as she pushed onto his questing fingers. The sight of her face, eyes turned up in mindless pleasure, sent him over the edge and he came spattering them both with his seed. He turned, licking at her neck, then on an impulse bit her.
"Yes!!" Willow cried out at the pain, and climaxed violently.
They tumbled back on top of the table in a tangle.
"Talk about your smorgasbords," Willow said finally, her voice more than a little shaky. They'd knocked over the cherry jar in their passion and were now both covered in syrup, cracker crumbs, and the products of their exertions.
"I admit there may be a good reason why the kitchen isn't at the top of the lists of best places to . . . uhm . . ." Giles brushed cracker crumbs from her bared hip.
Willow started to giggle uncontrollably. "Maybe we should take a shower before we go anywhere?" she finally managed. "But you're gonna have to wash this shirt."
"Maybe I'll retire it instead. For services above and beyond." He gathered her close to his chest and ran a hand up her thigh, wiping away the stray cracker crumbs. "We probably should get on with that shower. Xander and the others will undoubtedly be checking up on you first thing. And we still need to see to the groceries."
Willow clung to him, obviously not in any hurry to get on with the day. "Maybe we can . . .? Before we get all washed up, I mean."
"Tell you what." Giles eased her off the table. "We can shower together." He sensed her reluctance to let go of the night. He couldn't honestly say that he didn't share her fears. With the morning came a new set of troubles that neither of them wanted to have to face. And he had no idea how or if any of them were going to get resolved, although he suspected resolution was not going to come cheap.
Giles gathered her up in another gentle hug. Willow returned the embrace fervently. He'd failed Buffy. Not a final failure, but she'd run to a place where he couldn't help her. Willow, however, was here, as close to him right now as his own heart. He was determined to keep her safe, whatever it took.