Prisoners part 4
WickedFox


It scorched through to his very being, the wrongness of it. False or not, Buffy's affections for the scum of a man incensed him well beyond reason. He closed his eyes, as if to draw the curtain down on the drama. But the always grim sound of the cell door slamming shut demanded his attention once more. The bolting lock seemed to mock him with a metal chuckle. Vik's eyes peered through the portal, watching with a lecherous grin as Buffy moved toward the leaky faucet. He licked his lips and blew Giles a kiss before going about his usual business.

"Buffy, we need to talk," Giles' said evenly.

"No, we really don't." She didn't even bother a look his way, deciding a limp, dampened rag was of more interest at the moment.

"You can't continue ignore me."

"Yeah, I really, really can."

He took a step forward and stopped, not trusting himself to get any closer. "I've asked nicely, attempted to reach you but you won't listen or pay me the slightest compliment of notice."

"What's to notice?"

"Damn it, Buffy, talk to me!" He demanded, finally worthy of a glance, be it bitter and stubborn.

"Don't you get it? There's nothing to talk about so just leave me alone."

"You will talk to me. Even if I have to…"

"To what, Giles?" she challenged fearlessly. "What are you going to do, suicide me to death?" She was shaken quiet momentarily by the fury of his glare. "Look, I'm tired and just want to sleep for rest of my life. I'm not doing the vicious confrontational circle again." Buffy feigned an apologetic smirk as she headed toward the bench.

Giles watched as she shed her leather jacket, another gift from Vik. It stank of him. She stank of him. A small stain of red caught his eye, positioned high on her shoulder on the strap of her shirt. It looked to be a burn, sore and swollen, shaped like a 'V'. The bloody bastard had branded her. With that, Giles' restraint shattered.

Buffy caught a blur of movement from the corner of her eye. Before she had time to register what it was, she found herself shoved hard against the brick with her arms pinned at her sides, held securely by Giles' strong hands.

"Why are you bringing me to this?" he growled and clamped down, forcing the brick to pinch the bare skin of her arms. The raw burn on her shoulder stung feverishly against the cold. "Just what will it take for me to win your attention?"

"This is weak, Giles. Give up the tough guy act."

"Perhaps I should beat your words from you," he jostled her, slamming her back against the brick. Buffy's eyes went wide in disbelief. "Or fuck them from you." His tone was as dangerous as his shadowed stare. "At this point, I've nothing left to lose, have I?"

"What are you doing?"

"That's precisely what I want to know from you."

"I-I don't understand."

"We're way past innocence, don't you think?"

"You're hurting me." She glanced down at her trapped arms, grimacing as his hold went tighter still. He jostled her again to regain her attention, hard enough to send her head ricocheting off the brick.

"I've had enough of your avoiding me, enough of your games. It ends now. You're going to tell me everything."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Stop this!"

"Make me," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"W-what?"

"You're the Slayer, Buffy, make me stop."

"This is crazy." She pushed against him, managing to win an inch of space only to be shoved flush to the brick again. Only now, Giles leaned in against her, so very close, it stole her breath away.

"Yes, that's where we agree," he rumbled low and demented. "Crazy how you continue to go to him, night after night, day by day, accepting trinkets of his suspect affections as you poison yourself with whatever he offers, be it drugs, drink, or flesh."

"Let me go!"

"No."

"You don't know what you're talking about. Let me go!"

"No! You have to earn your freedom, Slayer." His fingers curled, digging into the muscle, making her cringe. "Start earning it."

"You're hurting me."

"Am I? But not as you like, is that it?" He released his left hand from her arm, quickly replacing it firmly around her already bruised neck. "How's this, better?"

"Fuck you." She clawed uselessly at his forearm.

"Or must I slap you around, first? Tenderize you like the ripe piece of meat you've reduced yourself to?" He cocked back his right, threatening convincingly.

"You wouldn't," she dared.

He leaned in close, penetrating her space with a whisper, "That's where you're wrong."

He set back and let his hand fly. Her breath hitched when it connected with a loud slap along her cheek. It stung a path right to her heart, the echoes of his print punishing her moments after the assault.

"You bastard," she spit her words, eyes tearing. "You fucking coward!"

His hand retreated back for another strike. She readied herself for the hit. "Stop it!"

"Make me, Buffy," he taunted her. His fist was wavering, white-knuckles straining with intention. She felt his fingers along her neck shift uncertainly as he leaned in. From his intimate distance, his hot breaths quickly overwhelmed hers.

"Make me stop." With each word, her hair wafted back from her face as his snarling lips neared.

"Do it, Buffy." His chest heaved with furious breaths, fueling the wildness in his green eyes that dared her to defend herself, to do anything but stand there uselessly submitting to him.

"That's an order, damn it! Make me stop!" He barked.

Buffy didn't have the fight in her any longer. She didn't wince. She didn't flinch. She didn't beg. She simply was. His fuming gaze faltered and though his hand remained around her neck, the choking weakened. Soon, his threatening fist fell tame at his side.

"Why won't you make me stop?" He whispered in a desperate plea.

All this time he'd been her rock, solid and dependable and now, he was crumbling before her very eyes and all Buffy could do was watch. She couldn't answer. No matter how much it ached to refuse him, admitting was too painful. So she watched and pitied, and finally… mercifully understood.

"You can't, can you? He's taken it all, hasn't he?" With every pant, his violence subsided, melting away the tension of anger knotted in his strong jaw. What harshness he wielded before had vanished, leaving only pain shimmering in his sorrowful eyes. "Lord, Buffy, what have you done?"

They both knew the answer but her silence was somehow that much more devastating. Giles' hand, resting loose around her neck, slipped behind and combed up through her hair. She wasn't sure if it was a gesture meant to comfort her or perhaps him. It managed both, in either case. He seemed to wilt as he closed his eyes and bowed forward to rest his forehead against hers. Buffy had seen this before. He was giving up and it was agony to witness.

"What have we done?" He whispered, more breath than speech.

"I told you before, I'm doing what I have to," she whispered back. "I can't lose you, Giles." Apprehensively, she released her hold on his forearm to cup his cheek. "I can't lose you."

The tragedy replayed in her mind, a dismal pornography colored blue with tears and red with blood. She'd sold herself to the devil in hopes to spare Giles, only to become a willing slave punishing him for her sacrifice. His anger was more than justification, it was cathartic. God, what he must think of her.

She swallowed hard, stealing the slightest nuzzle of inviting warmth of his stubbly cheek. "But I already have, haven't I? I've lost you."

Her touch was intoxicating, supple heat molding to his every press. The curve of her cheek drew him further. He could smell the perfume of her hair as he whispered consolingly within her ear, "Never. You could never lose me."

His emotive scent permeated her skin, cleansing the stench of disgrace from her. "I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to be so distant. I just couldn’t face you."

His hands touched down on the small of her back and pulled her in close. "I was a fool for trying to push you away."

She cupped his cheek, encouraging him to find her. "It was easier that way, avoiding you, forgetting you…"

"I missed you every waking moment." His body met hers, every bend and bow surrendering to her advance.

"I'm sorry."

"So very sorry."

All went silent as the Slayer and Watcher's gazes met with an intimacy that blurred both with arousal. The reality of the moment struck like a thunder, rattling each to a pause. Buffy was the first to break from the spell of doubt.

"Then tell me." Her nose brushed his in a sensual pursuit.

"Buffy?" His breath caressed her lips in a provocative tease.

"Give me a reason. Tell me I didn't prostitute myself in vain." Her mouth grazed his, scarcely more substance than her words. "Please Giles, tell me."

He swallowed hard, working up the courage to give up what little he had left. "I… I do love you." He whispered it as if it were blasphemy. But to Buffy, it was a most beautiful confession.

"Thank you."

Their lips met, sharing the salt of her tears with the union. They kissed sparingly, as if the moment was so very precious the slightest stress would shatter their fragile union. Their mouths suckled and pinched, modest in their conquest yet wanton in savoring. Fingers stretched, longing to burrow beneath what rags they wore.

Buffy broke from the kiss with a titillating gasp, pulled from her by Giles' bold stroke of his rough thumb along her peaked nipple. And with that blissful intrusion, all innocence was lost. It took but a moment for her t-shirt to be ripped from her and tossed aside. His broad hand cupped her bosom, fondling with a praising touch. The gentleness was sheer agony and Buffy wanted more. She hooked his neck and pulled him in. His mouth sought out the budding nipple he'd coaxed forth, coddling it as if a rare treasure. It was a contrast of sensations, the passionate heat of his tongue caressing her breast to the jagged scrape of brick along her sensitized skin.

"Oh, God… more."

Giles purred a path to her neglected nipple, seducing her with lavish laps. The prickle of his chin sent inspiring shivers to impatient regions, as he made his way up her chest and neck.

"So very beautiful." He was welcomed by a long lost smile before kissing her once more.

Their bodies swayed with an instinctive grace, hips to groin, breast to chest. Soon, Giles' thigh parted hers, pressing firmly to her with a sensual grinding. Buffy's head fell back, awash with the heat he coaxed from her.

"You'll not see him anymore," Giles ordered with a growl, teeth nipping dangerously along her chin.
"He's not to touch you." Another kiss and his thrusts intensified, drawing a grunt from her.
"He's not to drug you." His hand raked through her hair and curled tight, trapping her head back, exposing her neck.
"He's not to fuck you." He scraped his teeth along the crescent-shaped scar on her neck, evidence of other abuses she'd suffered in her history of regretful relations. She whimpered and he consoled her with the gentlest kiss to the mark.
"No matter the threat of consequences, you're not his to soil. Not any longer." He slipped his hand under her elastic waistband and gently clawed his fingers through her moist curls, persuading a shiver to travel through her.

"Say it, Buffy." A sole finger delved deeper, slicking along her velvet folds. "Tell me."

"I-I'm not h-his."

"That's right." He placed a faint kissed to her gasping mouth as he plunged two fingers within her aching flesh.

"I'm yours," she groaned desperately. "I need you." Buffy forced him to her in a collision of a kiss, rabid and hungry. Her tongue challenged his, daring him further, deeper. She retreated only enough to whisper a sweetly demand, "Fuck me, Giles," then recaptured his mouth in a suffocating embrace.

Refusing to deny himself a moment of her lips, he fumbled blindly to find the drawstring of his pants. Thankfully, Buffy took over the task, allowing him a never-ending taste. The moment his waist band went loose, she dove her hand within to claim his awaiting erection with an undaunted grope. He groaned against her lips where she wore a wicked smile. Her hand closed possessively around his cock and pumped slow and steady, torturously churning his passions.

"That's it," Giles whispered. "Harder, Buffy." She obliged, firming her grip and hastening her stroke.

They worked together, hands discovering foreign flesh, tempting cursing praise and pleas for more. Tensions built upon tensions with their arousal damning inhibition. Soon, their bodies demanded satisfaction beyond heavy petting.

"So bloody good," Giles growled.

"I c-can't…" Buffy stammered between uneven breaths, "Need more… need you, hard inside…"

"Christ, you're so wet, so beautiful begging for me."

"Please, Giles."

He tugged her pants down from her hips as she worked his shirt and pants off as well. Once the fabric pooled at their feet, they stepped blindly out of the clothes and toward the bench, kissing and pawing at each other all along the way.

"They'll see," Giles warned in a whisper and teased her nipple with a lick.

"I want them to see, every fucking one of them." She held him to her breast, using her foot to blindly shift the bench inch by inch from the wall.

"You're glorious," Giles smirked. Buffy bullied him to sit with a playful shove.

"Just you wait."

She climbed into his lap, straddling him with her legs wrapped loose around his hips. Giles watched her dominance and adored every minute of it. With a bit of a tuck and reposition, all things were in place and ready. Again, their gazes met as if to offer one last chance at escape for either one.

"I can't, you know?" She admitted shyly as her hand caressed along his stubbly cheek.

"What's that?" Concern creased his brow.

"Make you stop." She smiled meekly. "I never will and never want to. Never stop, Giles, promise me."

He smiled warmly. "I promise. Never."

She descended upon him, sheathing him in the sultry embrace of her warmth. The joining of their flesh paralyzed them, both victims of the extraordinary moment when a friendship dawned into so much more.

They began unhurriedly, exploring the sensations of penetration and engulfment with eyes wide open, taking in every sigh, every cringe, every blink. Buffy moved slowly, forward and back, riding him with a gradually escalating rhythm as Giles rose to meet her thrusts. The bench teetered with their motions, releasing the building pressures with an occasion squeak of wood on stone. The sound only seemed to fuel them further.

"So close," Giles grunted.

"Fucking close," she cried out.

"That's it, love, let go."

"Harder… Giles, fuck me harder." Anything to erase Vik from her.

"Don't… want to… hurt you," he whispered erratically.

"Please, damn it. Give me this."

He thrust up, jarring her from the force and nearly knocking over the bench beneath them with his effort.


"Hey Fry'kern, how's rotation treating you?" Vik joked as he entered the monitoring station, knowing midnight security detail was like a death penalty through boredom. He made amends with his associate by tossing him a taster bag of his freshest smack batched earlier that day. Fry'kern accepted with a good-humored smirk.

"I dunno yet. The natives aren't being too restless tonight; a couple mutilators, a few suicides, nothing spectacular to report. Except this…" he gestured smugly to one monitor. "There's a show on cam delta I think you might want to see. Or maybe not, since it stars your tasty chunk of swiss, Slutty the cock sucking Slayer."

He glanced down to monitor in question and stiffened immediately. The Watcher and Slayer were fucking for all to see, bodies writhing, moaning… groaning…

With a slap, the delta block communications switch flipped into the live position on the consol, awaiting a voice.

"Vik, don't you be doing anything stupid, buddy. You know as well as I do all communications run through and are reviewed by archives. Anything you do will be scrutinized... heavily so," Fry'kern urged.

Vik's fist hovered over the consol, trembling with anger.

"Comm One, we've received and are awaiting orders, copy," a static-thick voice sounded over the intercom and returned after a silent. "Comm One, transmission not received, do you copy?"

"Cancel alert. Standard watch. Out." Vik slapped the switch off, hand charging with unearthly essence. "I'll fucking kill them both!"


They remained locked together, fatigued bodies trembling still with aftershocks of their passion. Buffy teased grateful kisses to Giles' panting mouth, working to steady her own breathing in the aftermath. With a regretful smile, she slipped free and took a seat beside him on the abused bench. Ever the gentleman, Giles reached for a rag and offered it to her. She accepted, blushing far more than a lady with her experience should. He selected another and wiped the sweat from his brow before tidying up the evidence of their intimacy. The weight of what had just happened and the uncertainty of where it would go from there made the dripping of the leaky faucet too much for Buffy to bear.

"Well, color me embarrassed. Who knew I could swear like a sailor?" She smiled shyly. "Maybe I should have a parental warning tattooed to my butt as punishment."

"I'm obviously a bad influence on you." He suggested, a sly grin curling his lips as he guided a curl back behind her ear and cupped her cheek. "And I happen to adore your arse just as it is, thank you."

She scanned the scene, taking in the dank atmosphere of cell and shook her head in disappointment.

"I'm sure this will come as quite the surprise but this wasn't exactly how I imagined it… us getting together and all." She quickly backtracked. "Not that it wasn't good because it was. It was fantastically good… way way beyond the level of good, even. Bordering on extroi…"

"Buffy, you don't need…"

"You'd be in a tux, as handsome as can be… just as to die for as at the prom. And me in a beautiful gown… rose, no, blue… one that flowed with me and didn't turn me into the the unclassy mc-clumsy spaz I usually am." She cut off his disagreement with a finger. "First, there would be a candle lit dinner with a violinist playing something old but pretty and all romanticky. Something you would totally know but left me clueless but I’d be all swave lady-of-the-evening acting, though you’d probably see right through it. But it didn't matter ‘cause we'd be so swept up by each others company that our fifty dollar lobster dinners would go arctic. Our hands would meet at the center of the table. The music would swell gently as we rose from the table and you'd escort me to the dance floor. We'd be the only two there, swaying, spinning and dipping in the dim, sparkling light. Of course I'd magically avoid pummelling your toes, nothing like how I do in training." She smirked with the flood of memories. "Then we'd go back to my place, welcomed by scented candles and fresh satiny sheets, perfectly fluffed down pillows perfumed with vanilla to match the edible panties Willow highly recommended."

A grin accentuated the blush along Giles cheeks.

"We'd share our first kiss, delicate… sweet. Then you'd sweep me up into your arms and lay me down on the bed." She went quiet, shrinking into her fantasy.

Giles almost regretted bringing her back. "Sounds lovely."

"It would be, wouldn't it?" she agreed with a sad sort of smile.

"We'll get out of here, Buffy. We'll find a way and I'll sweep you off your feet, you'll see." Giles could see she wasn't sharing his confidence. What's worse, her expression turned grim.

"The spell Vik used, it's reversible. Bastard’s been dangling it over my head like some twisted blackmail. I never wanted to hurt you, Giles. I never wanted to… but the drugs made it better... easier. I could forget him and what he was doing. What I was doing. I could forget you. Forget everything. If I don't do what he wants…"

"No, not any longer."

"But the spell… your injuries…"

"Mean nothing. Trust me." He cupped her cheek and offered a comforting kiss.

"I want to, Giles, but I can't lose you. I need you."

"That's quite enough of that. You need only yourself. That's all you've ever needed."

"I'm not so sure that’s true anymore."

"It damn well is. That's what I've taught you from the very beginning."

"It’s different now."

"Indeed but the fact remains that you are the Slayer. Nothing will ever change that."

"But my strength, my power…"

"Nothing!" Giles insisted sternly. "We'll be free from this prison, I promise you. But no matter what happens, you must trust me. You must trust that I love you."

"I do. You know I love you, right?"

His response was a simple smile. "It's not love I need at the moment, Buffy."

She swallowed her doubts and whispered softly. "What do you want me to do?"

He leaned in and spoke discretely to avoid eavesdroppers. "Let's begin with the spell Vik used."


Part 5...