Tara was already off to class by the time Willow got back to their dorm room. She’d left a message on the white board on their door: “Missed you last night. Hope things are good with Mr. Giles. - Tara. P.S. Will take good notes in class today” The message was followed by a quickly sketched heart.
Willow felt her lips tighten in a painful smile, and she reached out and touched it. Her fingers smudged away a section of the red line, and something in her ached horribly. She’d messed up Tara’s little heart. It wasn’t perfect anymore.
She sighed and pushed open the door, walked into their room, and started gathering together her shower stuff.
She spent a long time in the shower. It was midday, and no one was around. Most everyone was either in class or studying or sleeping. The water pressure, as always, left much to be desired, but at least it was hot. Hot enough to steam up the whole room, even, and to turn her skin all pink. She scrubbed herself determinedly with her little blue bath puff, and stared at the tired, yellow tiles.
Bad. That’s what she was. Very, very bad.
She loved Tara. Tara was her girlfriend. Tara was *a* girl, and she was supposed to like girls now. Not boys. Her mother had been so proud of her when she came out. Excited, even. She’d joined PFLAG the very next day. She’d hung a rainbow flag next to their front door. But then, the next time Willow saw her, she’d called Tara “Tamara”.
Which was totally beside the point.
The point being... she’d just cheated on Tara.
With Giles.
Who she really... Well, it was hard to define how she felt about Giles. She knew she loved Tara. Loved a lot of things about Tara. She loved her shy smile, and her gentle voice. She loved the soft curves of her body, and the way she smelled, and her kitten-soft hair. She loved, most of all, the way Tara looked at her... like she was perfect, like she was wonderful, like she could do no wrong.
Oh, but she *had* done wrong. Big wrong.
She should tell her. That was the right thing to do. Sure, she had done a bad thing. But it was Tara. And Tara loved her. She’d forgive her. She’d just tell Tara that... that things had gotten a little out of hand.
But then... that would work, maybe, to explain the first time. The second time? Not so much. And sure, she could say that Giles had started it, because he had. But that didn’t really explain why she hadn’t stopped it. She hadn’t wanted to stop it. She’d just wanted to *do* it. And so she had. Even though she’d known that it was wrong.
No. No, she’d just been in the moment. That was all. It was a mistake. A big mistake. A fluke.
She swept a soapy hand between her legs, and her body twitched in response, still achy and tender. She lingered a little longer than strictly necessary. The hot water, slick foam, and her own fingers combined with the echoing sensations of that morning’s sex sent little electric tingles all through her.
Fluke, right. That’s what it was.
Maybe it would be best to just not say anything. It wasn’t going to happen again, after all. Ok, so, Giles maybe wanted it to happen again. Maybe. But... that didn’t mean it would. She was strong. She could say no. And she loved Tara.
So, really, there was no reason to even mention it. It would just dredge up all sorts of issues and stuff. And really, that wasn’t necessary. What Tara didn’t know... wouldn’t hurt them.
She made her decision as she shut off the water. She wouldn’t mention it. She and Tara would continue on, undamaged. And the next time she saw Giles, she’d just gently break it to him that that whole sex thing was never ever happening again.
***
He could feel her approaching, as though his body were a taut guitar string that had just been plucked. Thrumming.
He’d gone still, for a moment, at the counter, a customer’s purchase in his hand and halfway to the bag. Evening sunlight was slanting in and landing in crooked rectangles on the front floor of the shop, fluorescent orange. The Scoobie gang was grouped around the research table, clowning around as usual.
He had to shake himself to bring himself back to the present, finish up with the customer and send them on their way.
Then, he wandered towards the front of the shop, justifying the action to himself by straightening up a few shelves, brushing a bit of dust off a few of the statues. When the bell jingled over the door, he managed to keep himself fairly calm when he turned, and to keep his smile level and normal as he greeted her.
“Hello, Willow.”
“Hey, Giles,” she said, but when she looked at him, her eyes jittered a bit, like a flighty horse, and he felt a tightening in his chest. God, no.
She scurried to the back of the shop, and sat down quickly between Xander and Buffy, and the cheerful greetings from the rest of the group floated over to him. He found himself standing still again. Listening as the others’ voices mingled with the dust that drifted in the sunlight.
He was a fool. An old fool, at that. Thinking that he could ever have her.
But, he was also, apparently, a glutton for punishment, because after a moment or two, he walked over and joined the group at the table.
“So,” Buffy chirped, “What did you two *do* last night?”
“What?” Willow yelped, and Giles groaned inside. Yes, dear, and shall we sign a written affidavit confessing to our actions as well?
“Hey, chill Will,” Xander said, “Sheesh, another reaction like that and we’re gonna think you and Giles are having a torrid love affair or something. And can I just say: ew.”
“No, no love affair. Not at all. We went to bed. Early. Separately!”
Anya spoke up, at that.
“I can’t imagine why. Giles is quite physically pleasing. I would have sex with him. If I didn’t already have Xander, who’s much better, of course. But he’s mine and you can’t have him.”
As usual, Giles was left wondering whether to be pleased or offended.
“So, really, you two just went to bed? That’s boring,” Buffy said.
“We were tired,” Willow said, and Giles could still see the panic in her eyes. “Ooo, but hey, Giles felt the baby move.”
Bloody hell. Yes, let’s just bring that whole issue up again, shall we?
“Ooo!” Buffy said, “ Really? Is it moving now? Can I feel?”
“No,” he said, dourly, “But I do have a rather bad case of heartburn. Feel free to pop by the drug store and pick up a package of Rolaids if you are indeed concerned about my physical well-being.”
Buffy pouted.
“Fine, be that way. Geez, Giles. You need to lighten up a little.”
“Yeah, really,” Xander said, joining in, “I mean, think of it as a demonic possession. Only without the demon. Or the mind control.”
There was, he’d learned a long time ago and the hard way, such a thing as being too jaded. Things lost all meaning, then. Things lost all sense of balance, and proportion. The end of the world could feel as dreadful or as trivial as stubbing one’s toe, if one had developed the right frame of mind. Sometimes, that was a good thing, a useful thing. Sometimes it meant that you could completely miss the things that were truly important, that were truly meaningful.
The things that were truly painful.
Except, at that moment, with the heat of rage rising through him to match the physical pain in his chest, he would never have been able to explain that to them. So instead, he excused himself and walked away, measuring his step until he was safely ensconced in the basement stock room.
He leaned back against the wall, shut his eyes, and slipped his hand between two buttons on his shirt and pressed it flat, his fingers touching the skin of his stomach. Truth be told, now that he knew what the sensation felt like, he’d been feeling it on and off all day. It was like ants marching in his intestines: a trembly little flutter.
A baby. Good God, it really was alive in there. Moving.
It was horrifying. He had always had the utmost respect for mothers, truly he had. He’d even assisted at a birth, once, part of the extensive first aid training he’d received in preparation for being a Watcher. The Council was nothing if not thorough.
But this? It was wrong on so many levels, he couldn’t begin to count them. It was humiliating. Emasculating. It was like a cancer. Like a parasite. Like a horrible mutation. All he wanted was for it to be gone, for it to be over. The worst part of last night’s nightmare had been waking up to the knowledge that it wasn’t a dream. It was real.
This time, he didn’t feel her until she was right beside him. He even flinched when she touched his arm.
“Oh... sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
He opened his eyes, looked at her.
Beautiful girl. Eyes so big you could get lost in them. Of course she would be the one to come down here. She would understand. She could never be jaded. She felt everything, all the time. He couldn’t imagine it. But it amazed him.
She shouldn’t be in the dark like this. She was meant for the light.
“You ok?” she asked.
He couldn’t stop his ironic snort, and she smiled a little in answer. Because she understood him. She’d always understood him. God, from the moment they’d met in that library, she’d looked right into his soul.
He hurt inside, looking at her. And then decided, what the hell? He had faith in her. He knew she’d never let him harm her. She was stronger than that.
So he curled his hand around the curve of her skull pulled her closer and stepped towards her, and kissed her, because there were no words that he could say then. Words were far too dangerous, far too precise. Bodies only knew how to speak in broad terms. Bodies could say “I want” or “back off,” but not “I want to, but we shouldn’t, I have a girlfriend.”
And for a moment, hers was tense, stiff. Her lips were locked tight as he kissed along them.
And then her hands were on his back, and her body melted like warm butter, and her lips parted beneath his, and he could breathe again. Thank god, thank *god*, was all he could think as he pulled her roughly against him, as her mouth opened wide, as she invited him inside her.
He knew that on some level, this was escapism. That he was burying himself in physical sensations to escape that freak show his life had suddenly become. But she wasn’t just a convenient bystander. She was Willow. And he’d loved her for far longer than was socially acceptable. He wasn’t passing this up, his one shot. He was tired of being lonely. Tired of stepping aside and letting people go, or losing them to death or fate or fear.
He pressed her back against the wall, and she squirmed against him. She wanted him.
For the moment, that was all that really mattered.
They kissed for a little while, their bodies undulating gently together. But even as they did, Giles could feel the seconds bleeding away. Eventually, someone would come down here, try to figure out what had happened to them.
He kissed her hard, and then reached down, unbuttoned her jeans.
She groaned a “yes” against his cheek, so he unzipped her fly, pushed her pants and underwear down, hiked her up against the wall and held her up there.
“Whoa,” she said, but not at all in a restraining way. It was encouragement.
His hands gripped her thighs, holding her up, and she kicked her jeans off one foot, wrapped her legs around him, and hooked one arm around his shoulders. Had to hurry. God knew, Buffy was paranoid. She could be appearing down the stairs any minute now. His cock surged harder in his slacks and he almost laughed at himself. He’d lived long enough to accept the fact that public sex was one of his ironclad kinks.
“Unzip me,” he said, his lips near her ear, “Take me out, put me in you.”
“Oh goddess,” Willow gasped, and it thrilled him and aroused him to hear the wild abandon in her voice.
“Condom’s in my right jacket pocket,” he added, as her fingers touched his zipper. “Quickly.”
And then he lost himself to the feeling of her small, perfect hands on him. Loved the way she handled him, with sharp quick movements, fumbling a little from unfamiliarity and the constraints of their position.
And sliding inside of her was heaven, hot and slick and tight, moving around him. She grasped his shoulders hard and he bowed his head beside hers, panting against her shoulder as he fucked her. So good. So fucking good. That was all he could feel, or think, or comprehend. It was good. It washed up and down and all through his body, fiery waves of lust and satiation. He could taste her skin, smell her hair, hear her breath, and feel her. God, could he feel her. Clenching hard around him, drawing him deeper.
And he could feel her magics, too, reaching out from somewhere deep inside her and touching him, warming him in a way that wasn’t tangible, but was still so physical. She tasted like strawberries. He’d always assumed that was her shampoo, or her perfume, it was so strong around her. But it was magic. Oh god, she was powerful. He’d never even realized...
He stifled a groan against her neck, and she shuddered, wrapping her legs around him tighter, and pulling him up into her.
“Yes. Rupert, baby, yes, please,” she was saying, her voice still mercifully quiet, but taking on an edge of desperation, “Just a little more, please, more...”
More. A little more. Yes. He was gripping her thighs hard now, could feel his fingers digging into her skin. Prayed it wouldn’t leave bruises, and then forgot all about it as he hammered into her, deep, powerful thrusts that drove her inches up the wall, that made her squeak, and then bite her lip to keep quiet.
“Yes, darling, yes, come for me, come on,” he coaxed, watching her. Her eyes squeezed shut, her head thrown back against the wall, lost in the feeling, lost in *him*, dear god. He loved her. Loved her, loved her, loved her.
“Love you,” he gasped, hardly able to find the breath for the words.
And she came, her head thumping back against the wall, her whole body tightening around him: her arms and her legs and her hot, flinching channel. He buried himself in her as deep as he could, pressed his face into the hollow between her shoulder and neck, and his own orgasm took him, wracking his whole body, shoving him a few degrees over from reality, leaving him breathless and spent and sweaty.
And then, Xander’s voice came down the stairs: “Hey, you guys get et by vamps or something?”
She startled in his arms, and he let her down onto her own feet, and she called up, “No- Nope. We’re fine. Be up in a few.”
“Already was, actually,” Giles murmured into her ear and she giggled and poked his arm.
“Silly.”
“Ok,” Xander said, and the door whumped shut.
They went limp in relief against each other.
“Ok,” Willow said, “That was... really good timing.”
He grinned and kissed her.
“That it was.”
Then she reeled away from him, looking a bit drunk, and stopped a few feet away. Then she just stood there, naked from the waist down, with her jeans and panties caught around one foot and the other leg bare but for a sock. She glanced down at herself, and seemed momentarily taken aback, and she was just... simply the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. He marveled at his own capacity for sappiness as he dealt with the condom and then went over to help her get her jeans off so that she could get them back on again properly.
And then, when they were both properly clothed, he stepped back, and held out his arms for inspection. She looked him up and down, and nodded, then mirrored his posture.
“You look perfect,” he whispered, nothing but the truth, and kissed her one more time, letting the moment linger as long as he could.
They went back upstairs, studiously not touching, and he understood that this was the way it would be, for a time at least. A secret. He decided he could live with that.
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