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Two weeks have gone by since Giles was possessed by Eyghon. Two weeks in which you’ve gone out of your way avoiding the man. Two weeks in which you’ve replayed that one night, over and over in your mind. 

It had been another one of your dreams – or so you’d thought at the time. After all, you’d had a lot of them, of that, your dick could attest to.  

When you’d been in the stacks, looking for a particular book Giles had wanted, you’d thought nothing of him turning up by your side. Or even when he manhandled you further down the aisle, his lips next to your ear, demanding that you be quiet. You’d just nodded and shuffled forward as he’d plastered himself against your back, praying you’d wake up before you embarrassed yourself in front of your friends. 

Only, it hadn’t stopped, and you’d not woken up. Instead, you’d found yourself pressed face first against a wall, your pants and underwear down around your ankles, a warm hand wrapped around your cock and Giles thrusting his hips against your backside. 

It had felt so damn good, even though you were scared out of your mind at being caught. That at any moment one of the girls would come looking for you. And worse, actually finding you. 

Then something had changed. Giles wasn’t being Giles-y anymore. The harshly whispered words coming out of his mouth as he told you to suck on his fingers weren’t the words of the watcher you’d come to know, or who’d visited you in your dreams.   

Giles had been almost demon-like in his manner, and it was only in the aftermath of Eyghon’s reveal that you’d been right to think him so. But at the time, you’d been too afraid to stop him. You’d waited so long, after all. Wanting him to see you, or better, to do something about your attraction, hoping that what you felt was mutual.  

You’d sucked on his fingers like he’d ordered, then spread yourself when he’d said so. The shock of being speared by his finger had been a surprise. That had paled in comparison when he’d crooked his finger and scraped a nail across your prostate. Your eyes had gone wide, and you’d screamed Giles’ name, but thankfully no one had heard because he’d shoved his fist in your mouth, muffling the sound. Then there’d been the clenching of his hand around your cock, hard enough to suck the air out of your lungs… and prevent you from coming. 

“Giles,” you’d whimpered.

His lips had found their way to your ear and whispered, “Not yet. Me first.” There’d been something sinister in his voice, chilling. You’d nodded frantically, waiting anxiously as he’d changed fingers for something larger.  

“Relax,” he demanded. And you’d tried, because it had been Giles and he’d obviously known what he was talking about and had been trying to make it good for you. You’d glanced back to seek his reassurance, wanting to see the tender expression that you knew just had to be on his face… 

Your body had stiffened in shock at seeing his black, fathomless eyes. The leer on his face could only be described as pure evil.  

You’d turned away, wanting to get the image out of your mind. Desperate to retreat into your imaginary world where Giles’ spanking and discipline were just things you both played at.  

“Giles?” Buffy’s voice had sounded at the top of the stairs. Determined footsteps had started in your direction.  

For a second, you’d thought that Giles was going to ignore her approach and continue on with what he’d been doing. But then, he’d seemed to think better of it, and hastily stood back and pulled up his pants, allowing you to do the same.  

She’d come around the corner and spied both of you, and Giles had calmly plucked a book off the shelf, cast a put upon sigh, then said, “It’s right here, Xander. I do thank you for your efforts, however.” 

He’d given you a wink, one that Buffy hadn’t seen, and it had sent a shiver up your spine. And not in a good way, either. 

Luckily, Buffy had been hip to Giles’ weird behavior and by the next evening, Eyghon had been gone and things had been back to normal… or as normal as things could be with Giles and you almost having sex right there in the library.  

You’d decided to lay low, and outright avoided being in Giles’ presence, and it had succeeded for the most part, until the next apocalypse reared its ugly head.  

Then it was time for everyone to rally together and hit the books, find some way to prevent the human race from being sucked down into the hellmouth. You’d silently groaned, even as you found yourself on the phone, agreeing to meet Buffy and the others at the library as soon as possible.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

You slip into the library as quietly as possible and cast a furtive glance around the room for Giles. He’s nowhere in sight, and you heave a sigh of relief as you hurry to the table and sink down into a chair and open the first book your hands latch onto, desperate to remain unnoticed. 

You’re soon joined by Willow and Buffy, then finally Giles. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him staring intently at you, willing you to look his way, but you resist.  

That river in Africa is very familiar to you. Often have you found yourself swimming in it in complete abandon.  

Research finally complete, and everyone armed with the means of defeating the latest evil, you all set out to finish the job. It’s just karma – or sheer bad luck – that you get paired with Giles, and you say nothing as Willow and Buffy head off in the opposite direction.  

You feel a hand on your shoulder once they’re gone from sight, and you automatically shrug it off. 

“Xander…”  

“Come on,” you say, ignoring him. You’re not quite ready to talk about what had happened in the library, or about the feelings you still seem to have for the man.  

His sigh is long and loud, for all that it is silent. Yet you hear it nonetheless. Your own echoes in reply as you take the lead and put a fair amount of distance between you. 

It’s your preoccupation with Giles that prevents you from noticing the demon bearing down on you. Its cry mingles with Giles’ and you turn to see the anxious, horror-filled expression on his face as he runs towards you, frantically waving his hands. 

Then you see nothing but black as a searing pain lances up your side and across your chest.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

“… Xander… Xander, can you hear me?” 

Something wet splashes onto your face – when did it start raining? – and you feel your shirt being tugged away from your body.  

The pain is unbearable. 

“We’ve got to get you to the hospital,” you think you hear. Guess that it might be Giles, but then change your mind. Whoever it is sounds like they’re crying. 

“Hurts…” Hurt is your world right now. Nothing else exists but the pain in your side and chest. It’s worse than any beating you’ve ever suffered at your father’s hand… and that’s saying something.  

Someone screams; you pray it isn’t you. Because if you’re gonna die, you’d like to do it with some dignity. 

You struggle to open your eyes, and a blurry and tearful Buffy and Willow are kneeling on either side of you, wanting to touch you but afraid to do so. Giles’ voice intrudes, telling Buffy in his no-nonsense manner to help him lift you off the ground and carry you to his car. Darkness claims you for the second time when they do. 

You find yourself alone in the car with Giles, reclined on the front passenger seat when you come to, and you vaguely recall him telling Buffy to see Willow home, that it wasn’t wise for all three of them to go with you to the hospital. Giles was apparently a NASCAR driver in his former life because he gets you to the emergency room in record time, then turns into a drill sergeant and bellows for help as he pulls up to the sliding glass doors.  

Everyone jumps to do his bidding, and everything afterwards is a blur to you. You think you may have felt a hand squeezing yours tightly as you’re wheeled through the doors on a stretcher, but then, a lot of people are poking and prodding at you, and you just can’t be sure what is what.  

A needle pierces your arm and you succumb once more to the darkness, though, without the pain this time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

It’s the fingers in your hair, brushing it out of your face that wakes you. You still feel the pain, but it’s muted. 

“Good drugs.” 

You must have said it aloud because the fingers still, and suddenly there’s a face in front of yours. 

Fuzzy Giles. You giggle at the thought, then stop abruptly. Laughing and mortal chest wound do not mix. At all. 

“Ow!” you whine pitifully. 

“Careful, Xander.” And there’s a wealth of meaning behind his words. Either that, or the drugs are really, really good.  

“Giles?” You try to open your eyes, but you’re too weak to manage the task. 

“I’m here, Xander.” Something squeezes your hand, and you realize that Giles is, in fact, holding it. Almost in a death grip. “How… how do you feel?” His voice is rough, like he’s swallowed a gallon of sand. 

You’re intimately acquainted with the feeling. You lick your lips and wish for some water. 

“Sore. What happened?”  

You have a vague recollection of being nearly gutted by a demon. Giles confirms as much in his brief retelling, how you were rushed off for emergency surgery upon arriving at the hospital and were now in the recovery room. “You’re very lucky to be alive,” he finally says. 

“My parents?” 

“They think you’re staying at Willow’s for the evening.” 

You nod once. A few hours into their respective bottles and neither would care where he was, as long as he wasn’t home. 

“Xander…”  

Again you try to open your eyes, manage it this time, barely. 

Giles looks… haggard. Like he’s aged ten years in the space of a day. There’s scruff on his face – which is pretty damn sexy, now that you think about it – and his hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it half a dozen times. His glasses have gone by the wayside.  

This time it’s you that squeezes his hand, and you don’t look away when he meets your gaze. Worry, longing, disgust, need – emotions easily recognizable on his face. Your heart pounds away inside your chest, and you bite your lip nervously, waiting to see which emotion he’s going to act upon.  

“Xander,” he says again, and there’s no mistaking his intent as he lowers his head and kisses you.

The End...?

Of course not. Here’s the next in the series, called Interlude.

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