rest your bones

[ btvs, manchild, little britain anicons ]

sinistercircus — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 06:49:40 GMT

14 x BtVS anicons
02 x Free Agents anicons
05 x Manchild anicons
03 x Little Britain anicons

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Free Agents; Manchild; Little Britain
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(x.posted about)

[ ff: perchance to dream 1/2 ]

sinistercircus — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 05:33:58 GMT

Title: Perchance to Dream
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: M
Spoilers: General
Warnings: Strong sexual themes
Disclaimers: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: “Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” Edgar Allan Poe
Notes: A little naughty fun. Written for the 2010 summer_of_giles event.

The bell chimes clanked noisily against the wood as he pushed it open, no creaking despite the rickety state of the shoppe’s screen door; one that had obviously seen better days. Giles idly wondered, stepping into the small confines, why a newly established business could be borne from such decaying surroundings.

He cleared his throat, expecting a musty, dirty smell to compliment the water stains near the door, the broken-tiled floor and lack of general bustling that a grand opening often gathered. He was, however, pleasantly surprised when the rich aroma of teas caressed his sense of smell, smiling inwardly at the calming effect it had on him. He stepped fully into the small store, the door swinging behind him abruptly but coming to a close with a muted hiss.

His footsteps offered the only noise in the small shoppe, which he had decidedly deemed quaint and rustic, in a charming sort of way. It was almost how a tea shoppe should be, in his imaginative state. He dusted his fingers along the counters, tracing small sample bottles of various teas, ranging from herbal to medicinal, strong, milky, creamy, loose-leaf and bagged. Boxes sat colouring the shelves, and clear jars lined the small area behind the cash, displaying ground tea leaves that just ached to be opened and inhaled.

A dark, tall and slim man popped up from behind the register, hands holding a small tea kettle in form of a smiling cat. Giles’ lips twitched at the absurdity of the small kettle, before nodding politely to the man, who’s smile seemed equally disconcerting and comforting all at once.

“I’m uh,” he paused, lips pressed tightly together as words seemed to whisper away, his senses still overpowered by the range of aromas the teas produced. Heady, almost dizzying. “A beautiful establishment you have here, Sir,” he finally managed out, once again taking in his surroundings.

“Thank you, my good man,” the man smiled, his light African accent caressing each word. “Anything in particular, that suits the gentleman’s fancy?”

Giles let out a small exhaled smile, before shaking his head. “I was wondering if you had anything to help relax one into slumber.” He looked around, eyes scanning the large selection of teas. “Something with chamomile, or with a hint of lavender, perchance?”

He disappeared for a moment, before popping back up with equal gusto, thumping a large wooden crate on the counter, dusting it off and effectively breaking Giles out of his thoughts. “Been saving this just for you, my friend,” he remarked, as he popped open the crate with curious ease. “Grown underground, in Africa.”

“Underground, you say?” He asked, fingers toying with the leaves that lay nestled, in the burlap-lined crate. He bent down as he brought the crisp leaves to his nose, inhaling the scent. He felt his muscles almost immediately relax, and he blinked repose away. “Potent stuff.” He rubbed the leaves between his index and his thumb, feeling the texture and listening to the slight crunch as his mind began to clear. “Did you say…underground? I would think that the leaves need sunlight to reach their full potential…”

“Worry not about the finer details, my boy. It comes rare from Africa - a friend of mine managed to barter two whole cases. Let it be known that this old man has trouble keeping tabs on Rip Van Winkle himself. A small cup before bed and dreamland couldn’t come sooner. And I assure you that you will wake up refreshed. Money back guaranteed.” He pushed the crate forward, motioning it with a nod. “Yours. An even one hundred.”

Giles turned the crate, head cocked as he examined the ingredients, which included quite a high percentage of chamomile and what was to be expected as over-priced Ceylon. Still, there had been a beautiful sensation that still tickled his fingertips, that he couldn’t ignore, and found himself drawn to teasing the leaves once more. “I’ll take it.”

The cash register dinged with a sale, as the African man counted to one hundred and happily shoved the money underneath the cash. “Thank you, kind Sir, for your business.”

Giles tipped his head down reverently, offering the man thanks as he walked out with his purchase. He inhaled one last time as he left the pungent aroma that surrounded the tea shoppe, vowing to come back and explore more of the wide array of ingredients and products.

He opened the door to his Tramp, and placed the crate in the front seat. There was a certain serenity encompassing him, and he allowed a smile to rest on his lips as he drove towards the school. Dusk was creeping towards them, and he had promised to offer the library to Xander and Willow’s needs, for the night.

The smile remained, knowing that Willow was probably long prepared for the essay due on the morrow, but Xander was the one who required the aid. And where Xander was in need, Willow, he was sure, would offer any assistance she could.

***
Buffy awoke to a soft caress; fingers lightly trailing affection down her spine. Now surprisingly bare. A soft moan slipped from parted lips as she arched into the embrace, feeling warmth and security despite the assaulting intimacy.

Lips touched the small of her back, dotting whispered kisses on her goose-bump ridden skin, smoothing away shivers with a breath so gentle. So familiar.

The situation triggered alertness in her mind, and her senses finally managed to break from the intruder’s fog-induced touches. She whipped around, panic and anger churning in her belly, her adrenaline-expected power forcing her to take control of the situation. However, now lying on her back, arms pinned over her head by stronger hands, she tried to observe her captor and pinpoint his weakness, instead of fight blindly.

She moved conflictingly against his touches, sometimes trying to avoid, sometimes pressing against, confused by the level of affection and care, despite the offensive situation. There was familiarity, thick in the air as she felt his lips descend, caressing the smooth planes of her belly. Her breath hitched as she felt his mouth ascend, hot breath causing her to squirm under his hold. Lips slid along the underside of her bare breast, reaching his destination. He gently bit down on her nipple, teasing her with his tongue as she continued to move underneath him, a moaned mewl disobeying her mind’s reactions to her body’s wanton state.

There was a lull in his administrations and she managed an arm free as she felt his controlling weight slowly slinking away from her form. Reaching over and turning on her light, she caught sight of familiar greens, darkened with arousal as he stepped back into a darkened corner of her room, his body engulfed by darkness.

She bolted out of bed, turning on her overhead light as she rushed to the very corner where he had slipped to.

She blindly reached for her sheet, wrapping it around her body as she stared at the vacated area in her room. The place where she had expected him to be, but not wanted him to be present. Her mind had accepted the familiar greens. Her body had accepted the touches and caresses. But her heart, her heart couldn’t accept the person behind the invasion.

***

He inhaled deeply, the richly steeped tea’s aroma gently caressing him awake. When he had gotten to the library, he couldn’t control his desire to brew a small cup of his newly purchased addiction. He had steeped but a small amount, allowing the brew to be weak in case it was as potent as he imagined it to be. And it had - even the lightest of aroma and taste had knocked him out for a good hour, and he had been stirred awake by a giggling Xander with a marker guiltily in hand. After having washed away the mustachio’d evidence of Xander’s prank, he forced a scowl in place despite the humourous upturned corners of his mouth.

Giles had returned to his work, a fresh cup of English Breakfast in hand and his mind focused on his work and on the last remembrances of his dream, vivid and life-like. He had been slightly disoriented when he had been awakened, and it had taken him a moment to realize that he was in the library. With a curly Snidely-Whiplash mustache.

A few hours had passed and Giles now found himself looking at the two with a fatherly pride, as he observed both Willow and Xander slumber on the large wooden table; one slightly more graceful than the other, he noted with a crinkled smile, as a small snore sounded from Xander’s sprawled out form.

It had been a tiring night for all them. In between their giggles and poking and sneaking and teasing, they had managed to churn out quite a chunk of the significant term paper, all in Xander’s favour. Whilst they tended to their own work, Giles had focused on his Watcherly research: a new Watcher’s journal had surfaced, and he had volunteered to test the authenticity of it. However, the long hours and lack of sleep during the previous weeks had taken its toll and even he had felt slumber’s pull.

Part of him wanted to postpone the inevitable awakening as he noticed morn’s light begin to filter in.

The library’s door banged open, causing all three occupants to jump, both Xander and Willow offering a muffled yelp of surprise.

“Vampires, zombies, demons, wha-?” Xander mumbled, jostled awake.

“Oh it’s Buffy. Only Buffy,” Willow relaxed, her eyes closed and failing to notice the anger in the Slayer’s eyes. Had she seen what Giles saw, she would have reminded Xander that an angry Slayer was worse than all three demons combined.

Giles had noticed and set his cup down, without taking his eyes off Buffy. “I-is something amiss, Buffy?” He asked, taking a tentative step forward. He stood tall as she stalked towards him, and in the few seconds that she approached his form, he ran through possible reasons for her current observed state, ranging from possession to perhaps her monthly visitor.

He had little time to react as he registered her clenched fist and how far her arm had swung back. Blinding pain and a quite-concerning crunch registered on the side of his face as he found himself knocked down, just barely grasping on the edge of consciousness. The ringing in left ear started to wind down, but the ache seemed to pulse as he tasted blood. He glanced down, and a few drops fell to the floor, confirming his suspicion.

“Buffy! What the hell?!” Xander was up immediately, followed by an equally terrified Willow. He grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her back, a quiet sigh of relief as she allowed him to pull her away from her Watcher.

“You disgust me!” She spat out at the man still on the floor, glasses off to the side and blood staining the corner of his lips.

He placed a hand to his cheek and stared at the floor, surprise and another look that neither three could decide what it was, flitting across his face.

“Buffy, what happened? What did Giles do?” Willow asked, taking a tentative step towards the angry Slayer.

She wrestled out of Xander’s weak hold and for a moment, they all believed her to rush the older man, still half lying on the floor.

“How could you break our trust? Was it worth our relationship, Watcher? Was it worth it to touch me like that, last night? Did you get off on it?” She yelled, tears stinging her eyes.

Xander and Willow took a step back, their eyes resting on Giles, who had remained silent, unmoving save for eyebrows that seemed to jump in a frightful manner.

“Um, Buffy…Giles was here all last night.” Willow’s soft voice, laced with her nervous signature, filtered through, though it did nothing to calm the irate Slayer.

“Yeah Buffster. He even fell asleep for a bit, but we were all here, the whole night. Remember, Willow volunteered to help me finish,” he jerked forward as she elbowed him in the side, “um, start my term paper due today?”

Her breath hitched as she swiped the tears from her eyes. She too, kept her gaze locked with the Watcher, who still had his leveled with the floor. “R-really? He…you were here all night?” Her breathing was coming out in short spurts, close to hyperventilating. She turned around, her hand to her mouth as she searched the library for answers she knew she wouldn’t find.

“I swear it to you, Buff,” Xander offered, filling in for Giles’s silence.

She turned to face her Watcher, sincere apologies in her eyes and trembling embarrassment on her lips. “I…”

Willow wrapped an arm around Buffy’s shoulder, guiding her friend to the bathroom. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up a bit.”

Xander watched Giles as he watched Buffy’s retreating form. The younger man’s eyes narrowed before he walked over, offering him a hand.

Giles took it graciously and as soon as he was up, leaned back and sat on the table.

A few moments later, Xander returned with an ice pack and handed it to the Watcher, who took it without removing his eyes from the direction to which the Slayer had just fled.

“So…um…pretty crazy accusation, huh? As if you’d take advantage of Buffy…” Xander began, making some tea for Giles. He spied some loose tea, sitting in an unmarked tin. A quick sniff and Xander felt himself relax. This was exactly what Giles needed, after the commotion, he thought. “And no offense,” he continued, “it’s not like you could, either. I mean, she’s like, the Slayer. Wham blam kablam! You should check out what she did to your face!”

Giles glared at the young man’s back, ignoring the lack of tact. “Yes, well, her fist and my jaw have unfortunately already been acquainted,” he mumbled, wincing at the pain that jolted the left side of his jaw.

“What I’m curious about though…” Xander began, offering a cup to Giles, who politely declined, surprising both giver and receiver. “We know that Buffy probably had a dream or confused you with someone else - and God I hope it’s the first one, but…” Xander leveled his eyes with the Watcher’s. “How come you looked so guilty? How come you didn’t defend yourself, stand up for yourself?”

Giles opened his mouth and then closed it promptly, his eyes quickly following suit as he cowered behind a lowered gaze.

Xander’s patience was strong, the Watcher noted, as the young man merely leaned against the table beside him, slurping the cup of tea noisily. Purposefully noisy, knowing that such a noise was high on his list of peeves. A stubborn streak stabbed Giles, and he shoved a hand into his pocket, the other still holding the ice pack to his jaw. He’d remain silent until the younger man tired himself from the silence, or worse yet, had to go to class. His gaze still remained glued to the floor, and it was only when a pair of all-too-familiar open-toed flats came into view, did he register his almost hypnotic inactivity.

“Giles?”

He allowed his eyes to skirt across her face, blinking rapidly as he forced his gaze to travel elsewhere. He couldn’t meet her stare, and it wasn’t due to fear. Well there was a level of fright, but it was not due to the possibility that she would lash out physically at him again. No, his queasiness lay in what could be a coincidence, but their Hellmouthy location seemed to scream otherwise.

“I’m sorry.”

So softly was it whispered that the emotion behind it drew his attention immediately, blocking out the voices in his head, blocking out the visual distractions. His eyes blinked to hers, and remorse and fear were present, dancing amongst embarrassment.

“Quite alright, Buffy. I uh…” His sigh was louder than he expected, and his tongue slipped out to dab at the blood that still seemed to stain his lips.

“No…I punched first and asked questions later,” she began, arms crossed protectively around her. Her head was tilted downwards and she shifted her weight nervously. “I…I hate myself for not trusting you, for not believing that you’d never hurt me like that.”

“I wouldn’t,” he offered her strongly.

“I know!” She exclaimed. “I just felt so…so violated. And I couldn’t do anything, Giles! That’s what’s freaking me out the most! It’s like my Slayer powers were zilched or something.”

He pulled out a chair, a tentative hand on her shoulder guiding her to sit down. “Sit, explain,” he coaxed her gently, taking a seat on the edge of the desk, beside her. “From the beginning.”

“It’s…kinda graphic. A little. I mean, think softcore porn. Except it wasn’t really about the sex, well it didn’t feel like that. It felt…meaningful, like it was about pleasuring me and not the pervert who was assaulting me.”

In her babbling frenzy, she missed Giles’s wince, as shameful eyes were cast down.

“There was like, touching and kissing of my skin and…it could have been romantic had it not been some creep.”

“And your ire towards me fits in where?” He asked, slightly tense as he kept his eyes on the floor, not daring to look, or perhaps secretly imagining it with his mind’s eye.

“It was in my room, and like, this guy is touching me. And I managed to get free cos I’m pinned and my strength has vanished, and I turned on the light. And…” She stared at his knee, watching it shake nervously. “And it was you. Your eyes,” she allowed her gaze to slide up, to look into those very eyes that she witnessed. “And I went to turn on my overhead light and you vanished. Into a corner of my room. Just gone…just…I couldn’t believe it, Giles. I didn’t want to, but I could still feel your hands and lips on my skin, on my stomach and my -”

“- enough!” He yelled, standing up abruptly. He brushed a hand through his hair, a breath of defeat exhaled as he tried to bring his emotions into check.

She sat bone-still, scared by his uncharacteristic outburst.

He looked over his shoulder as Xander and Willow tentatively approached, having heard the volume of his voice.

“So…do we know what um, caused this misunderstanding? Do you think it’s a demon?” Willow asked, looking at Xander to see if he too witnessed the tension in Giles’ features.

“Incubus perhaps…” He glanced toward his Slayer, his voice firm but somewhat distracted, even deemed careless. “Perhaps you disturbed a grave or it picked up your scent from another demon?”

“So yay, research time?!” Willow exclaimed with feigned happiness, a strong desire to mend whatever rift was forming.

Giles swallowed hard, eyes focused on the troubled expression on Buffy’s face. “I will research as you all have classes to attend. I will call on you should I find any pertinent information,” he paused, a quick breath before addressing his Slayer, “Buffy?”

She stood up, standing in front of him, eyes wide. “Yes?”

His eyes focused on her mouth as her lips formed the simple word. “I implore you to stay at home tonight. I would much rather see you safe - who knows if this demon is able to affect you during waking hours as well as slumber.”

She nodded her consent and he wondered just how much this event had shaken her.

“Off to classes then,” he smiled, knowing that they even discerned the lack of honesty behind it.

The day was off to a grim start, coupled with a lack of proper sleep from all members of the party.

“Oh erm, Buffy?” He touched her shoulder as she prepared to leave with Willow and Xander in the lead. He waited until the other two had exited the library before looking towards his Slayer. “For um, for what it’s worth? I am sorry -”

“- Giles!” Buffy cut him off. “I should be the one groveling at your feet! I hit you! When you didn’t do anything!” Her voice softened, and she let her fingers ghost the bruise forming on his jaw. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

He watched her withdraw her hand after a moment of soft bliss, feeling the heat of her fingers on his skin as his eyes had closed of their own volition. His eyes followed her departure, watching as the doors swung shut. “I have so much to be sorry about,” he whispered softly.

He sat down abruptly at his desk, cracking his knuckles as his mind raced to locate a specific area to begin his research. Her recounting of her…experience, had matched his dream to a close likeness.

He wondered briefly if it could be teleportation while slumbering, but that would negate both Willow and Xander’s testimony of his presence. Perhaps an incubus was pestering her dreams, he reasoned, and began to search through his materials for exorcising said demon. His first and foremost purpose, in life, in his heart…was to protect Buffy.

He prepared himself a cup of his new tea, needing the comfort it offered him. He’d be able to fight off the imminent slumber, but his body was too tense to accomplish any work.

***

She felt familiar weight on her body, pinning her down once more to the bed. Her breaths quickened, her pulse seemed to beat through her skin as she felt hands…hands known trace warmth and comfort across her skin. Fingers teased goose-bumps until hands were clasped above her head, holding her victim and cherishing her at the same time.

She could see him clearly in the moonlight; the glint of his spectacles as the moon’s rays filtered in through her window. His mouth was hot and wanting, and it tasted her skin, tongue slipping to wet the skin right behind her ear. She let out a mewl of protest, but even her own body was unsure of the intent: was it because he had started this, or because he had stopped.

His body pressed hers into the mattress, a welcomed weight despite the situation forced. She wondered idly if it wasn’t such an invasive scenario, would the likeness of his presence be welcomed? Lips teased along her soft skin, tasting and nipping and biting and branding.

She felt herself being marked for his own, as teeth sunk in pleasurably against the softness of her neck, causing her to gasp and press raised hips against his. She felt his arousal hard and waiting against her thigh, and she wondered whatever manifestation this was, she wondered if intercourse was this…demon’s intent.

She breathed into his mouth as it closed over her own, soft lips sliding before grasping her lower lip between two gentle teeth. Her own tongue snaked out and she forced her mind to accept it as a means to ward off these unwanted advances, but there was an unacknowledged need brewing within.

Her hand shot out as his mouth continued to caress, drawing a rhythmic movement of her hips to push against him. Fingers numbly reached the phone, knocking it off the receiver and on to its side. His mouth was unyielding and knowing it was Giles but not Giles at the same time, brought on a certain level of arousal that left her breathless and gasping and grasping for more.

The figure withdrew suddenly, melting into the same darkness that he had the night before.

This time, she didn’t bother searching the area. This time, she didn’t bother turning on the lights. No, this time, breathless and wanting, she dialed the all-too familiar number, panting his name as his sleep-laden answer whispered through the ear-piece.

***

Giles walked through the nearly-empty hallways, his mind in a daze over the last two days. Twice now he had dreamed and twice…she had felt. His thoughts were interrupted as someone ran into him, his folders thrown up in surprise and papers raining down all around.

“Hey! Why don’t you watch where you’re going, asshole!”

An eyebrow raised, Giles’ lips pressed into a thin line. He wondered how much his lack of sleep could affect his self-control. Without a word, he bent down and began to pick up the papers, only to be quickly joined by the offending person.

“Uh, I’m sorry Sir, Mister Giles. I uh, didn’t know it was you.”

Giles’s eyes picked up the bright white lettering on the red and yellow varsity jacket, and he finally placed the face.

“Yes, Mister Spencer,” he began cooly, as he placed the papers back in his folder, his attention on his task rather than on the student. “I suggest we both should pay attention whilst walking in the hallways from now on and perhaps avoid such colourful language in the future - dear Lord, what happened to your eye?”

Giles cocked his head to the side, his previous train of thought gone as he observed the deeply bruised eye of the varsity football captain’s otherwise pristine face. He grimaced openly.

“Football practice, you know? I uh, wasn’t paying attention.” The young man nodded towards the librarian’s jaw. “What about you? Book fall off a shelf or something?”

Giles offered him a glare, before dismissing him with a wave. “Yes, something like that.” He let out a tight sigh through clenched teeth, before continuing on his way to the library.

***

He placed a warm cup of tea in front of her, hoping it be a balm for her tired soul. He inhaled the scent of his English Breakfast before taking a comforting sip, he too feeling exhaustion. He offered a small smile towards his Slayer, who was staring at him with an expressionless gaze, quite zombie-like.

“Ah good, you’re here,” he greeted both Xander and Willow, who came in together and offered the Slayer a sympathetic smile. “Buffy had another occurrence last night. I’ve been doing some research on incubi, which is what we think is perhaps visiting Buffy at night, manifesting itself as…a person of familiarity in order to ease her into doing its bidding. Of course, this is just a theory given the information she has relayed from her dreams -”

“- Guys! You will not believe the crazy dream I had!” Xander exclaimed, ignoring the shocked look the Watcher threw at him.

Buffy, however, her eyes trained on Giles, did pick up his quick emotional change, and she stared at him, curiosity prickling.

“I dreamed that I was on the football team! And that jerk Vince Spencer?! He kept gunning for me during the whole game. So I score the winning touch-down, naturally and he goes to pick a fight with me. Right in front of that babe, Shannon Jones.”

Both Willow and Buffy made a face, and Giles rolled his eyes warmly at the thought of Xander’s one-track mind.

“So anyway, I knock him clear until Tuesday! It was fantastic. One, huge pow!”

“Right in the kisser?!” Willow added, her tongue peeking out from her toothy smile.

“Actually his eye, but close.” Xander pointed at her, nodding proudly to himself.

“His…eye?”

“Oh! Giles got that Giles-look! Something always exciting and learning happens when Giles gets that Giles-look!” Willow exclaimed, excitement somewhat contagious as the other two Scoobies perked up.

“I saw Mister Spencer in the hallway just now. He uh…he told me it was a football accident,” Giles mumbled distractedly. He glanced at Xander, walking up to him and looking at him over the rims of his glasses. “Could it be…?” He began, walking away just as suddenly, theorizing and muttering to himself.

“O….kay, who else thinks that Giles has gone wacko?” Xander asked, his hand already raised as he stared at the Watcher with raised eyebrows.

Both Buffy and Willow raised their hands, though small teasing smiles rested on their lips.

He shot them all a glare before sitting down at the desk. “I never thought it possible but…perhaps some form of manifestation can occur, where one’s dreams can prove to be another’s reality? The body, per se, isn’t transported to the slumbering location, but…”

“Oh!” Xander exclaimed, “because I dreamed of bashing Spencer’s eye and his eye is totally messed up right now!” The young man paused, eyes staring off into the distance. “That is so cool!” He sat down quickly at the table, resting his head on his folded arms. “I’m going to try to dream that I won the lottery!”

Giles turned his attention to Willow. “And you? Do you remember what you dreamed of last night?”

“I dreamed that I got a 99% on my Algebra test! Ugh, talk about nightmare!”

Both Buffy and Xander shot Willow a filthy look, which she innocently ignored.

“See, we have no way of knowing if it’s just me, now, cos Wills always gets 99%. That occurs whether she dreams it or not!” Xander bemoaned teasingly.

“It’s not just you, Xander…” Giles muttered softly, eyes staring straight ahead. He refused to meet his Slayer’s pressing gaze, wondering if it was a confused look or a now-knowing look. He didn’t want to find out if she had figured out the situation, that his dreams were often if not always riddled with her and a desired intimacy, one so long dreamed and yet never obtainable. A punishment as well as a pleasure.

“Why? What have you been dreaming about…” Xander began before taking in Buffy shocked look, directed solely at her Watcher who was seemingly ignoring her presence. His eyes took in Giles’s shame and the light red tint that dusted his cheeks. “Oh,” he offered to start, followed by another “oh” as he put more pieces of the puzzle together. “Damn Giles! Have you been having naughty dreams about Buffy and now they are actually happening in reality?!”

“Yes, thank you for your tact, Xander.” Giles sighed, embarrassment sitting like a knotted weight in the pit of his stomach. He felt nauseous and bit his lip, eyes closed as he tried to contain his strong desire to run to the nearest lavatory.

“Giles?”

He heard his Slayer calling him, heard the same panic she had offered this morning, when she woke him in the early hours of the morn. She had told him that the incubus had visited again, had relayed all the information of the dream and he reacted as if it had all been new. But in essence, he had visually relieved it with growing arousal, having felt her mouth beneath his, and still feeling her body move against his administrations. He had lied, betrayed and almost raped her, through selfish and lascivious dreams. He was every bit the pervert and creep that she had described with a hated grit.

“Giles,” her voice tried to coax a response out of him again.

The moment her hand touched his shoulder, he dropped his cup of tea and marched towards his office, slamming the door shut behind him. He grabbed his wastepaper basket and heaved the dry toast and part tea that he had consumed in the morning.

He sat back on the floor, leaning against his desk as he pushed basket to the side. Head tilted back against the cool wood of his desk, he closed his eyes and wondered how he’d be able to face his Slayer again.

He knew, he could feel it in his bones: trust had been severed.

And without trust, he knew neither of them would ever survive the fight against the darkness.

--TBC--

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[ ff: straight to the source ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 05 Jun 2010 21:16:21 GMT

Title: Straight to the Source
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Jenny
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Sexual content
Tags: Episode addition
Spoilers: Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered (S02.E016)
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: "In this light? Like this...without words or songs...just us..."
Notes: A little bit of naughty fun, written for the 2010 LJ summer_of_giles event.

His breath caught as her hair tickled the side of his face, watching as she whipped her head back to catch a lasting, desperate glance of her misguided love. Love faked and tainted by magic. Foolish magic, that left him angry at the lack of respect towards the craft and towards those that it hurt.

Dark thoughts were pushed as he focused once more on the connection. Their connection. Despite the removal of her presence in his personal life, she still remained ingrained in his heart, they were still emotionally connected, and he suspected that they always would be. Circumstances ruined what could have been one of the greater loves, of that he was sure.

"Xander," she almost mewed, reaching out towards his form that disappeared as the doors to the library swung closed behind them.

"Jenny...you're under a spell," he responded calmly as she tried to wrestle free his hold of her upper arm.

"But Xander is that way. Xander needs me. Xander wants me."

The innocence in her voice aided him keeping his cool, knowing that she was not to blame. "He's not the only one," he murmured, sure that she was too preoccupied with thoughts of the love-God Xanderus, to even hear her. He threw his head back, impatience rising quickly as he felt her resist his attempts to guide her away from the library, on to the more neutral school grounds. "For Heaven's sake, Jenny, I -"

He paused, green eyes staring at dangerous browns, battling where one side knew the prize and the other still remained in the dark.

"I...uh, w-why did you um, stop?"

Head tilted downwards, she watched him through her lashes, a feral smile to match the wildness in her eyes. "You want me?" She smiled, lips quirked as she sauntered towards him, one foot slowly in front of the other, hips swaying gently. "You need me?" She walked her fingers up his tie, until she reached the knot, loosening it while never taking her eyes of the prize. "You can have me..." She leaned up and spoke against his lips, not a kiss, but a slide of mouth against mouth as she spoke.

"Jenny..." His sigh was almost strangled, as he stood there in the thankfully deserted hall, hands clenched at either side as he tried to harness his focus, his self-control. She was bewitched and to take advantage of her would not only destroy whatever fragile threads connected them, but would shatter him from the inside out. He swallowed hard, head jaggedly pulled to the side, and away from temptation.

Fingers caressed his hair, gripping his scalp with frightening urgency, forcing his eyes to hers. He allowed her to handle him, to tilt his head in several directions as her eyes traced each scar, each contour, each feature as if she was seeing them for the first time. He let out a shaky breath as she trailed her fingertips across the shell of his ear, down past the lobe and finally whispering across his neck.

"You know..." She began, words lazy and sultry all at once.

"Y-yeah?" He whispered back, eyes now closed as her hands returned to his hair, sending tingles through his body.

"In this light? Like this...without words or songs...just us..."

He breathed out for her to continue, finding it harder to fight her seduction.

"Just us like this...in this light...you can totally pass for Xander!"

His eyes snapped open and he almost growled in anger. "Oh for the love of -" He grabbed her hand roughly and pulled her down the hall. This was the last straw - they were going to find Amy and put a stop to this madness.

***

"Jenny, please, I'm begging you...just open the door," he pleaded with her, knocking lightly on the janitor's closet. It had taken her all of three seconds to slip her hand out of his grasp and make a giggled dash towards the utility room. Well that, and a sharp pinch to his rear had been a sufficient distraction, and had also elicited an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp, one he was glad no one had been around to witness.

The door opened slightly and he sighed with great relief. "Good, I'm glad that you're willing to discuss this like a mature -"

His words had been cut short as he was yanked into the closet by his tie, any further protests silenced by the door slamming behind him.

He was turned and pushed down on an upside down bucket, a make-shift seat that left him wondering if this had all been planned. He had a few theories on what sort of spell Amy had performed, but none in his repertoire called forth the manifestation of transference. This supposed lovelorn spell was supposed to woo every woman save for the one in possession of the bewitched item. So why hadn't Jenny broken out and sought out Xander.

Why was she still staring at him like he was a gazelle and she the hungry lioness.

And all at once he was incredibly nervous, slightly frightened really. The carnal look in her eyes, her body poised for some sort of attack did offer some form of fear, but he was more afraid of his own reactions, his own present wants.

"J-Jenny, uh...what about Xander?" He wondered how burnt he would get from playing with this kind of fire, but he was too curious not to try. He wanted to know why she wasn't destroying everything in her path to reach Xander's side.

She leaned back against the door, a coquettish smile on her lips. "See, I was thinking about that. All these girls, fawning over Xander. Xander-this, Xander that. And yeah, I kinda want him too. A lot, actually. But the more I think about it, and I did a lot of thinking in here...the more I think..." She cocked her head to the side, a small, open-mouthed smile forming. "Why not go to the source?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "The uh...the s-source?" He let out a small breathy chuckle, the one that signified his unease with the situation. "I-I, um...what do you mean, the source?"

She walked languidly towards him, very feline in her movements. "Xander's a special guy. Sexy. Funny. Good looking..." Fingers danced on his shoulder, sliding up to tickle the sensitive skin behind his ear.

He let out a shuddered breath. Dear Lord, she still knew all of his special spots. He leaned against her touch, finding his resolve fading to her gentle petting.

"But...what makes him that way? What has...no, who has guided him...shaped him..."

His brow furrowed. "I uh...I mean, I've offered guidance to the boy, b-but...I didn't mould..." He frowned. "I don't understand. This spell was for him...why aren't you as affected as the other girls?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's just that. Girls. Maybe it's because I'm a woman..."

He considered her words for a few minutes. "Lunch-lady Moira seemed quite smitten, giving him an extra serving of mystery-meat today and she's pushing sixty-two."

"Well then, maybe I'm just more informed? Smarter?" She let out a small moan as she pressed her breasts against the back of his head, fingers lost in his hair. “Hornier.”

He grunted as each hand grabbed a tuft of his hair, yanking his head back as he watched her from a disadvantaged and vulnerable upside down position. "Jenny," he breathed, unable to divert his eyes from her heaving chest, from her perfectly sculpted breasts, so pert and aching to be grabbed, felt...loved.

It probably didn't help that he was eye-level with them, his mouth dangerously close and thirsting for her body.

A small moan escaped his lips as they connected with hers, feeling her chin against his nose as she kissed him upside down. His hands reached up of their own accord, steadying her mouth by cupping her cheeks on either side as he tasted his heaven, so long desired but never forgotten.

His head was jerked back into position, forcing him to stare straight ahead at the closed door. Fingers still gripped his hair, holding him in place. He knew he could easily fight her hold; he was bigger and stronger than her, having trained with the Slayer gave him quite an advantage, but there was a part of him that didn't want to fight.

That part that understood the cravings, the want, the conflict. He knew of the fight between his mind, versus his body, heart and soul. The part that didn't want to resist anymore, that wanted to feel what he deserved - what they deserved.

He hissed softly as a leg rested against his shoulder and down to his chest, draped over from the back. He nudged her leg with his chin before rubbing his cheek against the silky soft skin that tantalized him.

"Jenny," he whispered, "don't tease."

Her leg disappeared and just as fast, she stood in front of him, hands on his chest, feeling him through the material of his shirt.

The clothing that now felt claustrophobic in response to the wild call her body was taunting him with. He inhaled deeply, his chest puffing and pressing against her talented hands as they continued to explore and tease.

His own hands found her hips and he pulled her forward, forcing her legs on either side of his seated position.

His eyes now level with her breasts, he pressed his face against their softness, kissing her tummy before kissing her through the material of her cardigan. "This needs to come off," he murmured between kisses, grunting as his head was jerked away from her body.

"Ah...uh," she replied, finger wagging and an open-mouthed smile that left him wanting more and a little afraid, all at once. "I'm in control."

The statement was said with such fact that even he found himself believing in it.

"Er, I...uh, I suppose then," he muttered, as he watched her eye him with that feral quality that seemed to come very easily. "Um, w-what did you have planned, ex-exactly?" He cleared his throat, his arousal still throbbing despite his unease.

She breathed a little laugh, a toothy grin appearing between plump lips. Fingers found the buttons of his shirt, opening each with calculated precision.

His pants were next, as the button was popped, the zipper teasingly slid and then roughly pulled off, along with his shoes. She tossed the pants over her shoulder, where they hit the door before sliding down to the floor. His shirt was pulled off, and tossed in the same fashion, leaving him naked and aroused before her.

"You wear too many clothes, England," she whispered, her voice low and sultry, breath tickling his ear as her hands aroused the same in other regions.

He squirmed before glancing up at her. "Pot calling the kettle -" The rest of the statement was replaced by a squeak as she grabbed hold of his erection, stroking the tip with her thumb.

His hips lifted off the over-turned bucket, and he gripped the edges so as not to fall backwards as he followed the motions of her ministrations. "Jenny," he grit through his teeth, voice full of desire.

He closed his eyes, vaguely registering her breathy giggle as she removed her hand from his arousal.

Clothing pooled around her as she stood in nothing but her panties and bra. She stood where she had once stood before, the inside of her legs pressed against the outside of his, as she toyed with one of the straps of her bra. She watched him through her lashes, face innocent but eyes sparked with playful desire.

When her tongue traced her upper lip, he lost his resolve and pulled her to him, lips urgently seeking hers as his body desperately wanted to be connected. He tried to fight logic, reason, warnings and common sense. All he could do was feel; he was lead to temptation and how easily he had fallen to her wishes, her command.

He squeezed her through her bra, feeling and stroking as his hips thrust against her, his arousal meeting her panty-covered core. "I'm so sorry, Jenny," he whispered against her lips, as his fingers stroked her through the material. Her mews of pleasure only fueled his desire and he carefully pulled her panties to the side, before slipping in.

They both moaned in unison, breaths in sync and hearts beating momentarily in tandem.

Giles lost himself in her slick warmth, fingers gripping her thighs as he guided her against him, a rhythm not forgotten brought back to the surface. He kissed her gently, teeth nipping at her lips before moving to her neck.

Their rhythm remained steady until he felt her tense, felt the nails press into his shoulders and the whispered cries of release tickle his ears. Her climax brought forth his own as he held her close, allowing each to drift back down from their highs.

He reached back blindly, feeling a roll of paper towels. Ripping off a sheet, he gently cleaned her, eyes holding hers as he wiped the inside of her thighs all the way to the apex. He cleaned himself off as well, tossing the used sheets in the garbage before standing up shakily and dressing in a curious silence.

He glanced at her, wondering if her carnal needs had been satiated. However, dark thoughts slowly filtered, reminding him of his sin, of how he took advantage of her instead of protecting. Demons taunted him as he pulled up his pants and buttoned his shirt, roughly tucking it in.

He had probably severed all trust and love future possibilities. He had hurt and broken one of the most important people in his life, the one he swore to protect. He couldn't even protect her from himself. He shook his head and pounding his fist roughly against the wall, cursing himself.

"What? Still got some mojo juice left in you?"

His head whipped around and he watched her feral smile, as she buttoned the middle button of her cardigan, before smoothing it out.

"I beg your pardon?" Formality jumped in to hide his confusion, a defense mechanism that he knew she had easily deciphered and eventually ignored.

She sauntered over to him, eyes holding his boldly.

"I'm up for more if you're up for more...though I don't know why we got dressed." She hung her arms loosely around his neck, forearms resting on his shoulders as she swung around and pressed her back against the door. "Did I ever tell you that I love that confused, scared-shitless look? I used to end up trying to get that reaction on purpose..." She licked his bottom lip once before pulling back, her voice low, almost a growl. "Such a turn on..."

He took an unsteady step back, stepping out into the hallway.

"Giles!"

Both of them glanced up as they heard the ever-panicky voice of the young magically-afflicted man, running through the hallways.

Giles sighed, slowly untangling himself from Jenny's hold, reaching down to pick up his vest. "Well, I guess we better go and save the young..." He glanced up, hearing the door slam. He looked around the small janitor's closet, mouth slightly open out of confusion. "Um, J-Jenny?"

He opened the door and peeked out, spotting an oblivious Jenny trotting towards a terrified-looking Xander, who was now cornered and defenseless against the techno-pagan.

He dropped his head to his chest, letting out a loud and unhidden sigh. Closing the janitor's door behind him, he straightened his tie and walked towards Xander, who was trying to fend off the over-amourous computer teacher.

Some part of him knew that things wouldn't progress as far as they had, in the janitor's closet, so he walked by, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Mind her then, she can smell fear," he told him before pulling back and walking away, in search of Amy.

-Fin-

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[ ff: stuck ]

sinistercircus — Tue, 18 May 2010 06:22:11 GMT

Title: Stuck
Author: Gomes
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Tags: Episode addition
Spoilers: Help Me (6x22)
Summary: “- you think I want to shack up because of some misguided coveting fetish?”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respectful owners. So there.

Fingers extended, stretching to grasp the edges of a dream they both fought against. But this was a reality - their reality, and they contracted as eagerly, gripping and needing the other’s hand as fingers steepled together before clasping with a desired squeeze.

Her back was against the door frame, its uneven ridges digging in as his body pressed against hers fully. His position so wanting. So trusting. So believing.

Lips forced her head back, her hair scraping against the painted wood as his hot mouth tickled her neck, knowing what charmed her, what caused her to press her pelvis against his, as her body spasmed with remembered delight.

Twenty years and his touch was still just as fresh. Bold. Arrogant. Knowing.

From her vantage point, she watched speckles taint the bathroom’s ceiling as light shone off the mangled mirror sitting prettily in his tub; evidence of his near collapse and subsequent broken mirror, shards that reflected not only the light bulb’s profession, but one that offered her a glimpse into the events consequences.

So much had been lost; time, hearts, lives. Destruction reverberated from the collapsed building, a catalyst perhaps, in her own life and that of the man who’s continue exploration had set her senses alive with fear and hope and sympathy and lust and love.

Hands cupped her rear through her pink scrubs, fingers cunningly snaking amidst layers of clothing in order to breathe her bare skin. They squeezed and fondled without shame, bringing her closer to him, to feel his own arousal building up for her.

Laboured breaths, tandem and complimenting, always filling the air with exhalations, seemingly burst through their ribcages, air bouncing off the other. Her own hands were far from idle as one gripped his shirt just above the small of his back while the other gripped his wiry hair, nails grazing his scalp.

She allowed her hand to rest at the base of his neck, pulling him back and holding him idle against her as warm foreheads touched, feverish hearts and bodies sweating desire that she felt sit , growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Slow down,” she murmured, out of breath and full of desire for the man whose actions still had not receded, still had not ceased since secrets divulged.

A small push offered her the distance she wanted, but hands held his, once again clasped with his, held a balance they both required.

“What’s with the non-rush?”

And for the first time, she witnessed a complete confusion, a full lack of understanding mirrored in the doctor’s eyes. There was no hurt, no defiance, no mistrust…just incomprehension.

She closed her eyes as his hands whispered across her waist, lips brushing and nipping her mouth to a level of toe-curling delight.

But the stakes were high and physical pleasure seemed to dwarf the severity of the situation they found themselves basking in. They had the want, the history, the connection, but they also had the loss to contribute to fevered kisses and desperate touches beneath the covers.

“Rash decisions, House.”

At her words, she watched his eyes darken and his body retreat slightly. Hands reached for him, gripping his forearms to stall any hasty escape.

“We’ve both lost…a lot. I’m not saying that it’s a rebound but our judgments are impaired.”

She watched his Adam's apple bob, a biting retort wet on his tongue.

“My break-up with Lucas was barely hours ago. Your patient's life. Your assumed loss of our…relationship, when I told you about the engagement -”

“- you think I want to shack up because of some misguided coveting fetish?”

And the acid burned, knowing his deliberate attempt to make her feel objectified. Yet she still did not relinquish her hold on him, still did not allow him flight from the fight.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cuddy.”

All she could do was press her lips together as he wrenched his arms from her grasp, as he bent down awkwardly to retrieve the two pills from the floor.

Steely eyes turned, a mocking and self-hating smirk resting upon drawn lips. “What? Still no lunging?”

And she watched as he held the pills up to his mouth, defiantly popping one and seconds later, the other, his eyes never leaving her form and his mouth contorted into a dangerous smirk.

This time, the pills held much deadlier consequences, almost cementing the expansion of the growing rift which, mere minutes ago, had been sealed with truths and kisses.

To hurt and be hurt seemed to be their perpetual dance and for the first time, Cuddy wondered of her decision. To settle and experience a sense of happiness or to constantly fight but feel passion. He was so frightened, and it felt as if he was deliberately rushing and pushing, wanting to push her away as he, in his deliberate and infinite conflict, pulled her to him.

“Look at you,” she began, her voice void of sympathy and yet, lacking the strength to fully convince of any callous intentions. “You’re so scared…scared that something good can happen to you. That you have an opportunity to maybe be happy?" She scoffed, somewhat cruelly. "Would you even recognize goodness?" She paused, her voice lowered, her eyes shining and unblinking, afraid of whatever emotion that might offer him more power. "And what, you’re going to throw it all away because of a not-now?” She shook her head, fighting disgust and hurt and regret.

Blue searched blue, though she felt that his eyes were more observant than her tired gaze could hold and she dropped it, seeing mistakes and a questionable future almost through the floor.

She listened to him retreat, uneven and unsteady steps disappearing into his bedroom. His bed creaked and material rustled against material as she all but saw him settle beneath the covers.

She followed, perching herself on the end of the bed, body curled up with her legs folded underneath her. And she sat and watched as he feigned a ridiculous sleep. Minutes turned to moments, which proceeded to carry on far longer than she was beginning to accept. However through the darkness, she barely registered his eyes now watching her, as she had regressed inside her mind and heart, fighting to block out her mistake, his decision and her inability to move on, just as he was incapable of doing so.

Her heart ached at his avoidance, defiance, need to hurt, reluctance to trust.

“If we don’t trust each other,” he began, a slow whisper of drawn out words.

Her breath hitched minutely, and she wondered if he could read her mind. Or perhaps they were so attuned to each other that their personal language spilled over vocal barriers.

“If we don’t trust each other, we’ll just be stuck. Right where we are. In stasis between you and me and…us.”

And everything rose up, welled up inside, from the pit of her stomach traveling up her esophagus. Cruel words, disbelieving words, angry words, accusing words. And all the while she debated with herself, he kept a cool gaze on her face. She knew he could pinpoint her exact emotions, and probably lecture her on the reasons each one appeared and disappeared in that succession.

In that moment, something wasn’t right.

In that moment, she knew he was hiding something from her. Or perhaps testing her. Her eyes followed his blinked gaze, stopping on the dark brown bedside table.

Body leaning forward, she crawled across the bed, avoiding his legs. Hands held her weight, distributed half on her knees, as she peered at the two small pills that sat, in a small puddle of saliva. They showed signs of slight disintegration, edges choppy and pasty, but the pills in whole were there.

She remained on all fours, but turned to face him, questions and elation in her eyes.

“If you’re waiting for me to tell you that you’re more important than that,” he motioned with a nod at the small table and its contents, “that you are the most important thing in my life…I’m not going to say it.”

Her head cocked to the side, eyes soft and a smile to match, lips twitching in anticipation to join his, to feel his breath mingle with hers.”

“You should already know...”

--Fin--

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[ ff: within 4/? ]

sinistercircus — Tue, 04 May 2010 04:38:52 GMT

Title: Within (4/?)
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Torture, violence, strong sexual themes
Tags: AU, Adventure
Spoilers: General knowledge
Summary: “Sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: I took a few liberties, mainly concerning when Giles came into Buffy and the Scoobies' lives. They are in their last year of Highschool, and Giles has been present in their lives for about four years or so.

chapter one
chapter two
chapter three

Breaths held tandem with the quiet, calculated yet rushed sloshed footsteps, that interrupted darkness's hold in the sewers. Rats scattered with shrill squeaks as both Slayer and Watcher waded through the ankle-deep sewage, water as dark and dank as their surroundings.

"How can you see where we're going?" She whispered, hand trailing alongside the wall, blind guidance as she strained to follow his breathing.

"Ghar'mon's renewed strength," he replied hushed, fingers finding her jacket and giving her a quick tug, inciting her to hurry.

She stumbled again, biting back a curse as she rushed to keep up with him - with her Watcher. With her demonic Watcher. With her demonic Watcher now infused with a surge of power. Her breathing quickened as her mind flipped through possibilities of him leading her astray to dispose of her.

She was running, but she still wondered if she was running from the wrong person. She tried to relieve her hand from his grip, twisting her fingers but he held on tightly, pulling her along instead.

The idea of a demon with a renewed strength worried her, and she found herself falling back. Now with energy reserves probably capable of unleashing terrible damage, Buffy wondered about the demon's…and Giles' intent. Had Quentin been right all along?

"Giles, enough!" She stood, fists clenched and ready for battle, eyes darting through the pitch blackness that engulfed them. It was silent now, save for the water settling. Save for the hiccup like breaths from both bodies, clasped in a deep, dark, dank enclosure.

"They've picked up our scent," he whispered, emotion excluded from his words. It was a statement, one he knew she needed to hear. One that perhaps would help her differentiate friend from foe.

She swallowed her gasp, his voice closer than she had expected.

"They're only coming closer. The longer we stand here, the closer they get. Each second ticks, they are closer to slaughter." He gently slid his fingers down her arm, slipping down the leather material until he reached her wrist. Feather-light; fingertips splayed open until his hand dwarfed hers, before interlocking fingers together.

Time had slowed down, even her heart, she had noticed. That whispered moment, that renewed connection bonded them for the time being. She sniffed courage and blinked back fear, giving a nod through their visual blanket.

They continued wading through the now thigh-high water, darkness soaking them as easily as the murky sewage that penetrated through their clothing, clinging putrid stench.

"Next time, we take the high and dry road," she whispered, vomit on the verge of slipping up her esophagus.

Finally, a faint light could be seen through the cloudy shadows, as they continued pushing through the now thicker liquid. The light slowly became visible, born from a small bulb protruding from the cracked walls. The yellowing decaying light, though anemic in intensity was strong in contrast to their previous darkness and she squinted, her eyes having just adjusted to the pitch black that had engulfed them.

Grabbing hold of the rusty metal ladder, she began to climb, ignoring how the rough metal scraped at her palms, leaving them tinted with a sickening copper tone. She grimaced, feeling her wet pants cling to her legs, the stench causing her insides to churn. The ladder moved beneath his weight and she let out a shaky, startled breath. She swallowed her trembles as she felt his chest brush against her back as his long legs helped him climb faster, taking two steps at a time.

The soft clanking of their boots against the metal was interrupted by shouts and furious, quick tempo sloshing as Quentin's men gained ground.

"Almost there."

The gentle, calm reserve of his voice unsettled her and she found panic rising within. She reached the top and tried to push the cover off, hitting it with the palm of her hand when it wouldn't comply. Her eyes watered with fear and anxiety as she continued with her attempts.

He pressed his body against hers, holding balance and keeping her shielded against the ladder. Snaking his hand through the gap between steps, he aided her efforts, as they both began lifting the manhole cover off its hinges.

Giles glanced down, as Quentin's men began their climb towards their victim. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and channeled his power. "Buffy…close your eyes." He knew his whispered statement would not be adhered to, so he pressed his hand over, robbing her sight for a moment.

A bright, blinding light seemed to explode from his body.

His hand over her eyes, Buffy stopped struggling, feeling the light's heat against her skin. It was warm, and for a brief moment reminded her of a sunny beach, of comfort, of picnic baskets and red-and-white checkered table cloths. The sensation slowly dissipated as she felt his hand being removed, fingers trailing whispered caresses along her eyelashes. It was only then did she realize that the manhole cover had been blown right off, a loud thunderous clanking noise being heard a couple of moments later as the large metallic piece fell hard on the concrete.

Buffy was still visibly shaken by what had occurred, more so that Giles was being so casual about the situation. She glanced down, hearing the gasped pains of the men below, as they clawed at their eyes, almost wanting to rip them from their sockets. She couldn't witness the finer details, but she could smell a faint whisper of burnt flesh. She gripped the ladder tightly, as she continued to watch with a tormented curiosity.

"Buffy?" His mouth was close to her ear, lips lightly brushing against her sensitive skin. "W-were your hurt? Can you…um, c-can you see?"

And all at once, his stuttering brought her back to a time before when she could honestly proclaim her trust for this man. It reminded her of tea and biscuits, of libraries and researching and teasing and stern looks. It allowed her to remember the mild-mannered reserved and stuffy British librarian who had to adhere to his own calling.

She closed her eyes tightly, pressed against the warmth of his chest, pinned against the cold, rusty ladder. "Good. I'm good. Let's go."

"After you, my dear."

She whipped her head around, glanced over her shoulder, holding his gaze. His eyes lacked their usual warmth and it left her even more unsettled. She climbed the rest of the way up, happy to now be standing on firm, waterless ground. She stood observing him; perhaps to make sure that he was okay or to make sure that he wasn't planning an escape. She was still uncertain about her feelings towards him, towards this situation.

A gunshot echoed through the dank sewers and Giles gave a cry, losing his footing slightly, as he gripped the metal bars to hold himself up.

In a second, Buffy was down on her knees, grabbing hold of his arms. Digging her heels into the soft gravel, she pulled at him desperately.

He scurried up with her aid, holding on to her with a weakening grasp as he ascended the rest of the way. Once on solid ground, he collapsed, rolling over on to his back, his breath coming out as quick gasps.

Buffy looked down, startled to see the metal bars almost chewed through, seemingly as if acid had stripped away the mineral. She glanced back at her Watcher, kneeling down beside him. She reached a hand for his injured leg, unable to fight her loyalty towards him.

"No!" He interrupted her intent, grabbing her hand and moving it away from his injury. "No…n-not yet." Voice lowered, his eyes still conveyed a level of thanks. He turned his leg towards her, showing the affected area.

She stumbled back, hands to her mouth in shock. The material of his pants had disintegrated, leaving a sickening view of the bullet lodged into his flesh. The skin around had turned a violent red and it seemed to slowly spread around the bullet.

He breathed heavily as he dug his fingers in, blood squirting out of the wound. His blood hissed and fizzled as it hit the ground, creating holes in the gravel as the acid disintegrated the small rocks.

She frowned, a hand on his shoulder, much to steady him as it was to steady herself. She watched as he continued to extract the bullet with his fingers, trying to ignore his breathed cries. Something was different about this bullet -

"- it's poisonous to him," he answered her silent question. "Compacted," he grunted, eyes closed tightly and breath short, "oxygen…is deadly. Quentin's done his research," he bit back a morose chuckle. He finally managed to remove the bullet, letting it drop to the ground. It bounced, a small puddle of blood cushioning its fall. Buffy watched as the blood seemed to retract from it. It reminded her of those dishwashing liquid commercials where a drop could scatter grease.

"Good?" She asked, hooking a hand underneath his arm, helping him stand.

He limped a little, but nodded. "Good." He looked at her when she stopped him, a hand to his chest. "Buffy?"

"Are you…indestructible? Immortal?" She chose to let the uncertainty shine in her eyes.

"I am…now. Ghar'mon isn't." He cocked his head to the side, exhaling a small laugh. "I…it shall all be explained to you, once suitable shelter is found. I propose we best hurry for Quentin is a man of many resources. It won't be long until he picks up my scent." He watched as she stared at him with a mixture of defiance and an untrusting air that he had somewhat expected to occur. "I promise you, I shall not harm you nor our friends, Buffy. I…I don't know what will happen, but your safety has always been my priority, no matter who or what I am."

Taking off her jacket, she pressed it against him until he held it. She removed her t-shirt, leaving her in a rather skimpy camisole which did little to hide her sports bra underneath.

Giles raised an eyebrow but said nothing as she kneeled down in front of him. He felt her hands steady on his hips, sliding downwards until her left hand reached the area above his wound. He let out a silent breath and closed his eyes, head tilted back as he felt her warm breath against his crotch, right through the material of his pants.

She gripped his right thigh with both hands now, careful not to touch the wound. She turned her shirt inside out and twisted it into a tight rope. She wrapped it around his thigh, securing it tightly with a knot. "Immortal or not, I think it's better to avoid infection, huh?" She glanced up at him, closing her eyes briefly as she felt his fingers thread through her hair.

He glanced up, his eyes growing wide a second later as two headlights seemed to approach them at a terrific speed. He grabbed Buffy by the shoulders and threw her to the side just as the white van collided with him, sending him flying about ten feet.

"Giles!" Buffy yelled, standing up and rushing to where her Watcher now lay, in a crumpled pile. "Giles?" She refrained from touching him, remembering his warning and drawing her own conclusions when it came to his blood. Seeing that the wound had not opened again, and that there was no blood, she rolled him onto his back, checking his pulse.

"Wha-?" She withdrew her hand quickly, having felt fingers push back as she had come into contact with Giles' skin. Her mind whispered back to the moments in the sewers, where they had borrowed blind faith and hid in plain sight, nestled underneath a darkened jacket. She had felt something there - an emotion in her heart but a physical caress against her cheek.

Giles groaned, rubbing the side of his head. He immediately checked for any blood before looking up at Buffy, who was kneeling down by his side once more. He dropped his hand to her thigh, allowing himself a moment's rest as he caught his breath.

"Stay away from her!"

He craned his next, staring at three forms standing in front, silhouettes against the headlights. "Xander, for the last time, I'm not a vampire." He exhaled, dropping his head back down with a thud.

Xander cleared his throat, pocketing the crucifix that he had been holding out. "I knew that."

Buffy reached for him, helping him stand. "It's good, guys." She took a breath, casting a disapproving glare at her Watcher. "Complicated…but good. At least I think."

"Or you hope," Giles supplied, eyes crinkled closed as he felt his ribs ache. It burned to breathe and he coughed, almost doubling over.

"So not helping, Demon-guy."

"Wait! So he is a demon?!" Willow took a step back.

"I thought you said everything was good! You lied? Why would you lie? Are you under his spell?" Xander squeaked, taking a step behind Willow.

"Think lesser of two evils," Buffy added, helping Giles into the side of the van.

"I'd rather think of no evils," Cordelia answered, climbing into the passenger's side.

"Not that I don't want you here…because I don't," Buffy paused, eyes searching for the right phrasing, "…want you here, that is, but um, why are you here?" She looked to Xander who holding out a bottle of Holy water, poised to use it. "Why is she here?"

He quickly pocketed the bottle, offering an embarrassed smile.

"She has a remote cabin up in the woods that you and your demon can hang out in," Cordelia replied in a huff. "She is doing you a favour."

"Cordelia willingly doing us a favour?" Buffy glanced at the brunette. "Are you possessed too?"

"Blackmail," Willow supplied proudly. "I found out that at one time, Cordelia's parents were one welfare, for a month before they managed to win their riches back."

"Hey! That's top secret information, Rosenberg. The deal was I ask no questions, and you give no answers!" Cordelia groused, arms crossed over her chest.

"Good job, Wills! You'll be working for the CIA soon!" Buffy congratulated her friend as she helped Giles settle into his seat.

"Or being investigated by," Giles offered, as he rested his head against the back of the seat. "I don't suppose reminding you lot that we are now being chased by a deranged power-hungry lunatic so perhaps we should gabble less and consider our journey to this hideout?"

Cordelia wrinkled her nose as she rolled down the window. "Has anyone told you guys that you both smell like a toilet at a gas station that hasn't been cleaned in over ten years, located right beside a Taco Bell?"

"No, but your colorful description is quite touching, Cordelia." Giles didn't even bother opening his eyes to cast her a glare, deciding it would fall on muted sight anyway.

"But kudos to you Buffy, to have that much blind confidence to go out with hair like that." Cordelia added, smiling to herself.

"Hair? What's wrong with my hair?" The Slayer touched her blonde locks, looking to her red-headed friend for support.

"It's probably full of spiders or something," Cordelia commented, glancing back at Buffy.

"Cordelia? Buffy is the Slayer. She fights vampires and demons of epic proportions on a daily basis. I highly doubt a tiny spider is going to scare -"

"- I think I saw something move!" Cordelia gasped, interrupting the Watcher.

A series of shrieks broke out as Buffy's infectious flails caused a domino effect within the van's confines, as all three girls whipped and jumped around, causing the vehicle to teeter from side to side.

Giles watched as his Slayer batted her hands, fingers raking through her hair as she tried to rid herself of the invisible pest; also known as paranoia, he mused.

The cries slowly died down, save for a higher pitched one that still echoed with panic. Giles silently observed all three girls, his eyes darting from his Slayer, to Willow and finally to Cordelia - all three who were now staring with a somewhat slack-jawed expression at the young man sitting in the driver's seat.

Xander calmed down, hiccuping his final shriek as he realized the mass hysteria had dissipated. Silence reigned, awkward and still as all four eyes were still resting expectantly on him. "What? I really hate spiders, okay?" He mumbled his excuse.

Any more explanations were interrupted as the passenger's side mirror cracked with a bullet's ping - the offending object still smoking as it lay nestled amidst the shards.

"Holy cheese and crackers!" Xander exclaimed, leaning over Cordelia to examine the damage. "I just got that replaced!"

"I assure you there will be a lot more damage done, and not just to your vehicle. My recommendation is to perhaps vacate the area as soon as possible." The Watcher remarked, anxiety and warning in his voice. He glanced around, letting out a tense breath as he watched Quentin's men sneak into hiding, preparing for an ambush. "As in perhaps now!" He added, teeth clenched.

"Um, I don't know what the rules are in demon town, but I can't just go hitting people -" Xander began to explain, pointing to a group of three people standing in front of the vehicle, guns drawn.

"Watcher, I do not want your band of children. Come with us and no one else shall suffer any pains."

Giles ignored Quentin's condition, gripping the driver's headrest and pulling himself up forward. "You bloody-well hit me! Quite easily, might I add!"

"Uh, last time I checked, you are a demon! I thought you were trying to kill us -" Xander pleaded his case, looking for some support.

"- let me tell you, my boy, they are trying to kills us all right now -"

"- because of you!" The young man yelled, putting a stop to their squabble. The only thing that was left was the slight trembling breathing coming from him, mixed in with everyone else's breath, held in synchronized fear.

"Quite right, old chap," the Watcher murmured, opening the sliding door. "I've put you lot in senseless danger - this is my battle. There's music to be faced, yes?"

Buffy's senses tingled, and with a quick exhale, she grabbed him, wrenching him in the van, just as another bullet whizzed by, narrowly missing the Watcher. They both stared at each other, Giles on his back and looking up at her wide-eyed before his eyes softened with thanks.

"Scoobies stick together, guys." She glanced up, her face resolved with temporary loyalty towards her Watcher. "Giles…there's still a Giles in there…somewhere. If we go, we go together." She swallowed relief, receiving a nod from Willow and an indifferent shrug from the bold brunette sitting in the passenger seat.

"Whatever. I just don't want to, you know, die, so maybe we should come up with a plan." Laced with quite a dose of innocent sarcasm, the rest of the group rolled their eyes, though somewhat used to her acerbic tongue.

"Rupert, I hope you realize that these are not foolish games that we are playing. You are a threat, Rupert, and it is our job - the Slayer's job, to remove this threat. Give yourself up, seek the help you need, and your friends will not get hurt."

Again, the group ignored Quentin's voice, amplified by the loudspeaker that he held to his mouth.

"Perhaps it will be wise for me to commandeer the wheel, hm?" Giles offered, already moving to switch places with Xander.

The young man glanced at Buffy in protest, but she merely raised her eyebrows, daring him to defy both Watcher and Slayer.

Another bullet crashed through the right-hand window in the back of the van, causing the occupants to duck, arms criss-crossed above their heads as glass rained down on them.

"Now!" Buffy yelled and both Giles and Xander scrambled awkwardly to exchange places. As soon as he was behind the wheel, Giles keyed the ignition and gunned the engine, coaxing the old van past its limits. Tires squealed as the van took off, the distinct sound of gravel mixed with glass crunching beneath the wheels. Gunshots now rang out in succession, pings hitting the side of the van as Giles swerved, narrowly missing the men in front of him, who were shooting with no restraints.

Once on the highway, Giles continued his speed, pushing the van as fast as it would go.

"Giles, slow down…" Buffy tried to soothe her Watcher, feeling his anxiety and fear.

"They've got faster and better cars, Buffy," he mentioned, glancing in the rear-view mirror. "Bloody pillocks!" He exclaimed, hitting the steering wheel as he spotted their vehicle quite hot on their trail. "Black SUV, behind us," he clarified.

Another shot rang and everyone hunched, ducking behind the seats as the other back window exploded, shards crinkling inside the van.

"A cop! Giles, pull over! The cop will save us!" Xander leaned forward, pointing ahead where a cop car sat visibly, a radar aimed at the road.

"Good thinking, Xander!" Buffy cheered her friend before placing a hand on Giles' shoulder.

"Pull over, Giles! Quentin'll be really stupid to keep shooting at us with a cop on our side!"

In the moment, Giles nodded and pulled over, slowing down quite abruptly, stopping a click or two away from the car. Lights began to flash and a siren blared as the cop car rolled down from the small grassy knoll on which it had been perched, and rolled to a stop behind their beaten-up van.

The group sighed as they watched Quentin's SUV continue by them. Giles made a mental note of the license plate, hoping that the police would be able to help them.

"Right, so um, did anyone else think this through?" Cordelia asked, ignoring the collective sighs.

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked, her patience wearing thin as she spied the police officer get out of his vehicle.

She continued, still oblivious to Buffy's clipped response. "Well maybe it's just me, but doesn't it seem strange that a beat-up half-naked old guy is driving a broken down, bullet-holed van with a bunch of high school kids?"

There was utter silence in the car: no one moved, breathed nor blinked.

"Bloody hell," was the only noise, whispered by the Watcher has he crossed his arms over the steering wheel, laying his forehead in despair.

Giles eyes met Buffy's in the rear view mirror as the police officer rapped the end of his flashlight against the window before shining it in.

--TBC--

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[ ff: some sort of revenge ]

sinistercircus — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 05:08:51 GMT

Title: Some Sort of Revenge
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Jenny humour
Rating: G
Spoilers: general
Warning: None
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: “You certainly know how to woo a girl…”
Notes: Fluffy fun.

Giles waited patiently in the library, a place where his confidence grew. After-hours allowed him privacy and the liberty to mould his safe haven into an inviting environment for his heart. He let out a breathy laugh, his lips twitching into a smile as his eyes fell upon his beauty.

"Jenny, hello." He took both her hands in his as she approached him, leaning in, pressing his lips intensely against hers.

"So, England...what's this mystery date you have planned for us?" She asked, biting down on her lower lip, still tasting him. She glanced around the library, noting the dimmed lights that cast a warmth she had never felt in the establishment before. Soft classical music filtered from a small stereo that sat beside two glasses of champagne, on the main table right below the mezzanine. Soft petals adorned the table as well, their colours whispering a beautiful contrast with the dark wood grain.

Her fingers trailed up his button-down shirt, grasping at the silky material of his tie. She gripped it, pulling him down until their lips teased each other. “You certainly know how to woo a girl…” She whispered, moving her mouth against his.

His lips slid against hers, grasping her bottom lip between his teeth as he spoke. "I uh...well, I thought we could stay...um, well here. Together. Champagne. Nice music, y-you know." He drew back, hands thrust in his pockets as he walked back to the table. He threw her a glance over his shoulder as he picked up the glass of champagne and took a taste.

She narrowed her eyes: there was a certain sly aspect to his nervous behaviour. A dash of naughty confidence that she had never seen before. Suspicion fuelling her thoughts, her eyes fell upon the piles of books sitting near the desk; the very same he had mentioned wanting to re-categorize. She pressed her lips, trying to fight off her smile. "This is payback, isn't it. For the Monster Trucks?"

He threw her a toothy grin, his voice hard-edged with pride and humour. "Quite right. Let's begin at 'A', shall we?" He grinned, dumping a stack of books into her arms.

-Fin-

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[ ff: within 3/? ]

sinistercircus — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 12:32:27 GMT

Title: Within (3/?)
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Torture, violence, strong sexual themes
Tags: AU, Adventure
Spoilers: General knowledge
Summary: “Sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Written for the summer_of_giles event. I took a few liberties, mainly concerning when Giles came into Buffy and the Scoobies' lives. They are in their last year of Highschool, and Giles has been present in their lives for about four years or so.

chapter one
chapter two

The crystal ball had barely touched Quentin’s fingers when she allowed it to roll, hearing the older man’s gasp before glass shards scattered at her feet. She glanced up at the Head of Council, defiance in her eyes. “I hate being lied to -” the rest of her statement was cut off, as strands of purple haze whipped around her.

The funnels of smoke were cool to the touch as they circled her, almost scanning her body. She felt breeze as they whispered by, surrounding her before separating into six different ropes. They whizzed around the room, everyone turning on their heels to track the agitated motions.

One zipped by, too close and cutting her cheek. She felt the energy begin to anger, and began to dodge the attacks. She rolled to the side, moving out of harm’s way, but her Watcher’s grunts caught her attention. She watched in horror, his name but a soft gasp from her lips, as the swarms of coloured smoke began to circle his body.

His demon began to grow more and more agitated, as she witnessed hands wanting to break free, stretching his skin from the inside. She bit her lip, wanting to look away every time his cries broke through the mayhem in the room.

“Giles!” She pushed herself up and attempted to move to him, wanting to protect him.

“Foolish child!” Quentin grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her down to the floor as another wave of coloured funnels screamed by. “Don’t you see what you’ve done?” He pointed towards Giles, where one serpent-like cloud circled him before shooting painfully into the left side of his neck.

Giles cried out in pain, thrashing against his restraints. Fingers clenched, he bucked against the chair as he managed to free his left arm, breaking the heavy manacle right off the arm of the chair. Another cry echoed as another cloud bolted through his right leg, allowing him to break the metal restraint there, that had once kept him immobile.

“You’re feeding the beast!” Quentin exclaimed through grit teeth, though Buffy could easily make out fear amidst the anger in his voice.

She looked back at her Watcher, seeing him finally freed from his restraints. She watched him collapse to the ground, in a heap, his broken body spent from the powerful energy overloading his system. She glanced up, a violent red still streaking across the room. She watched as it plunged, hitting him in lower back, his body arching painfully. The shock forced his whole body momentarily off the floor before it crashed back down.

“Giles!” She cried out, pushing herself out of Quentin’s hold and rushing to him. She bent down, slowly reaching out to his unmoving form until a powerful blast pushed her back. She glanced up at him as he stood with ease, as he watched the cuts and bruises slowly dissipate from his skin.

Her eyes met his - remnants of a glowing red dissipating to those familiar greens. She eyed him as he extended a hand to help her up before pushing herself back, not caring about her dignity as she scurried backwards, in a crab-like motion.

Quentin stood up, standing in front of Buffy, putting space between them in an attempt to protect her. “It’s over, Rupert.” He looked back down at the girl, seemingly fragile and scared. “You’ve frightened your last ally. Give up.” He looked as if he was going to take a step forward, but instead stood his ground. “Give him up.”

“Buffy…” Giles ignored the older man, focusing only on his Slayer. “Buffy, come with me. You know in your heart, you know I am good, and not this monster that these people make me out to be. I promise you…”

“Your promises have gotten you no where. Alone and alienated for five hundred years. On the run and power hungry -”

“- I have quelled any hunger and have atoned for any sins that I have committed in the past,” Giles spoke with conviction.

His passion had been so strong that Buffy had to look away, to trust her inner thoughts without the aid of seeing familiarity. She stood and took a shaky step forward, decisions still battling between heart and mind. She watched as several men gathered behind Quentin, understood that a fight was about to start.

However, she somehow knew that her Watcher needed no help - that the concentrated energy that had been trapped in that crystal ball, had offered him more power than she could ever imagine. She knew not of the extent, but she knew the dangers it posed.

Buffy watched Giles walk cautiously backwards until he reached the door. He jerked it open, the lock breaking with simplicity. There was a stunned look on his face before he schooled his emotions. “Buffy,” he pleaded with her one last time, one last breath of hope exhaled before it all ended.

Before he became a wanted man, alone and on the run. However, this time, being chased by the ones he trusted.

She walked almost mechanically to the table, where she picked up the knife that Quentin had been cleaning before. She could feel Giles’ energy still radiating from the knife. She gripped the handle tightly, blade pointed downwards as she walked towards her Watcher.

“That’s right, child. This ends now,” Quentin encouraged her, a satisfied smile on his face.

She nodded slightly, cheeks splashed with tears as she held up the knife. Demon or not, she knew her Watcher would never fight her.

Giles let out a sigh, head bent with acceptance. It had been an easier battle than he thought. He smiled sadly to himself, eyes closed as he focused on his breathing, feeling it in tandem with hers. Part of him wasn’t surprise that their bond, though weak, still whispered it’s connection.

She spun on her heel and threw the knife with desperate accuracy. The blade punctured the side of Quentin’s left shoulder, forcing him against his men, and finally on to the floor, as his cries of agony resounded in hushed room.

“Now!” She yelled, pushing him out the door.

Once outside the room, they found themselves in a dank hallway, the smell of sewers and grime permeating the air. Fixing the door back on it’s hinges, they moved two heavy barrels against it, hoping that it would buy them some time. They ran down the hall, two sets of feet pounding on concrete, coming to an intersection that led three different ways!

“I totally had you,” she panted, hands on her knees to catch her breath, before they began to run down the left-hand hall. “You looked as if you were going to pee in your pants!”

“You most certainly did not have me,” he replied, equally out of breath. “I can read you like a bloody book!”

“So you weren’t scared enough to wet your pants?” She asked, skidding to a halt before backtracking and following him as he took a sharp turn around the corner. “Not even a trickle?”

“No, I assure you my bladder is all but secure, though I appreciate your concern.” He pulled to a halt, stumbling a few steps as her body crashed into his. “They’ve got to be out of the room, by now. Looking for us.” He looked around, his calculating eyes scanning their environment. He glanced up, noting that the rafters were to high and would most probably put them at a disadvantage. His ears picked up the sound of running water, and he glanced to his Slayer, wondering if her senses had picked up on it as well.

They both glanced down simultaneously, one with a sly smile, and the other with a disapproving glare.

“You have got to be kidding! These are new boots!” She whined as she helped him unhook the heavy metal grate. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard footsteps echo down the empty halls.

“Your bloody fault you decide to come to an exorcism with a fashion statement,” he grunted as they finally managed to move the piece. He followed her in, letting out another grunt as he placed the metal grate back over the opening. They silently climbed down the ladder, two sets of contained splashes and one muffled ‘ew’ resounding through the empty sewers.

“Giles,” Buffy whined, glancing down at the dark brown, sometimes green sludge that waded ankle-deep against her suede boots.

“Do you have a flashlight?” He asked her, hand already out and waiting for the item. His eyes continued to scan the area, taking in the darkness on either side of them. Luckily the opening above them cast some light, however the rest of the journey was going to be made in the pitch-black of the unknown.

“Flashlight? Yeah, I can do that.” She lifted up her right leg and slipped two fingers inside, pulling out a slim, mini flashlight. “Fit perfectly…inside my boot,” she mourned, stroking the top of the brown suede.

“Thank you,” he whispered, taking it from her. Any other exchanges were interrupted by the sound of the metal grate moving up above. Placing one leg in front of him, he pulled his arm back and shot the flashlight down the narrow corridor, nodding to himself as it hit the corner and disappeared further down. However, the faint glow of the light could still be seen, even after he listened to it settle in the putrid water.

“My flashlight!” She hushed her shriek.

“Your jacket,” he spoke to her quickly, already pushing it off her shoulders.

“Hey hey hey! First my boots, then my pretty pink flashlight…now my jacket? What? In need of a thong too?” She whispered back, though not denying him his demand.

Before she could speak further, he pushed her against the wall, in a small indent, right behind the metal stairs. Draping her jacket over his back, he pressed his body flush against her’s, burying his face against her neck, praying that the darkness would cloak them.

Buffy held her breath, her hands gripping his hips, her body tense. The emotions were conflicting and her heart felt as though it would burst from the pain the situation was inflicting. Part of her understood that he was still a demon, now fed with even more power - energy that was hungrily devoured and the ramifications were instantaneous. But on the other hand, he was still her Watcher. Her friend. Her...her something more.

He still had a place, deep in her heart. One that nothing could ever remove him from. A place that had held his existence for so long, with more years in denial than acceptance. She let out a silent breath, feeling his skin goose bump beneath her exhalation. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she reveled in the warmth that transferred, skin to skin. His heartbeat. She felt a caress against her face, almost as if a hand cupped her cheek. She fought hard not to pull back, fought to swallow her sharp intake.

They both listened as orders were given and flashlights were turned on. Giles bit his lip, eyes closed as he prayed they would fall for the bait and head down towards the anemic light that shone.

He finally let out a silent breath of thanks as he heard them fall for their trickery. He handed back her jacket, waiting for her as she put it on before motioning her silently to follow him.

He clasped her hand in his as he led her towards the opposing direction, into a worried darkness. Gliding his hands across the rough wall, his fingers skimmed across rocks and mildew, filth and mold. They walked with calculated steps, hoping to keep the sloshing noise to a minimal as they ventured further into the blackness.

“Giles, it’s pitch black,” Buffy whispered. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he replied with sincerity, but still continued to creep into the stilled black. She didn’t respond for awhile, and he directed his murmur over his shoulder. “Scared then?”

Silence still answered until a tiny voice replied, laced with familiar humour. “Only a trickle.”

-TBC-

[ ff: within 2/? ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 01:02:44 GMT

Title: Within (2/?)
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Torture, violence, strong sexual themes
Tags: AU, Adventure
Spoilers: General knowledge
Summary: “Sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Written for the summer_of_giles event. I took a few liberties, mainly concerning when Giles came into Buffy and the Scoobies' lives. They are in their last year of Highschool, and Giles has been present in their lives for about four years or so.

chapter one

The heavy wooden door creaked open, loosened wood pieces splintering to the floor with the momentum. Three faces peered in, breaths held and hearts thumping in tandem.

Buffy wasn’t sure what she was more afraid of: finding Giles’ waiting for them, or finding him hurt. A quick glance to either side confirmed her friends shared the same sentiment.

She held up her hand, motioning them to wait at the entrance while she did a quick sweep. It couldn’t be vampires, as the Sun had barely crossed the horizon. Glass crinkled underneath her feet and papers crunched in the silence, as she took in the mayhem that was once her Watcher’s apartment. Books were strewn, bottles and glasses broken, tables upturned.

“There was a struggle,” she commented more to herself, though loud enough for her friends to hear. She closed her eyes, searching deep inside her, trying to ignite the bond they once shared. The one that she realized had seemed to fade, ever since that fateful day in the library, a week ago.

“Buffy?”

Willow’s voice broke her concentration, and the Slayer glanced over her shoulder, towards the doorway. “What’s up?” Her eyebrows rested high on her forehead as she walked over to her best-friend, eyes trained on the small card that was held between Willow’s index and thumb. “Calling card?”

“Maybe Ethan? Giles said that sometimes Ethan likes to play cat and mouse games. Maybe he took Giles. It’s a trap, Buffy. Ethan is trying to lure you, using Giles as bait.”

“Woah. Breathe, Will. Breathe,” Buffy comforted her friend, before observing the card. “Hmm.”

Xander glanced at the blonde Slayer. “That a good hmm or a bad hmm,” he asked curiously, hoping for the former. “Cos I really am hoping for a good hmm…we haven’t had a good hmm in a long time. We deserve some good hmms.”

“I’m being summoned,” she replied, with a distracted air, “by the Council.” Her eyes snapped to her friends, interest brewing. “To a private exorcism. Hosted right here in merry ol’ Sunnydale.”

Willow’s mouth opened and closed, little squeaks coming out but no coherent thoughts filtering through. Finally, the red-head took a breath, eyes crinkled with worry. “Buffy? You don’t think they…” She paused, searching for her words. “You don’t think that they’re going to kill him, do you?”

Buffy glanced out at the now setting Sun, worry bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Her insides felt knotted and her heart heavy. “Will, Xand…call your folks and say that you are sleeping over at each other’s houses. I don’t know how long this…this exorcism is gonna take, but I need you guys -”

“- in a heartbeat, Buffy!” Willow interrupted her, nodding with fearful excitement.

“We’re here, Buff, no matter what,” Xander added, one arm going around the Slayer, for a light hug.

She smiled, drawing hope and strength from them, realizing how lucky she was to have such fiercely loyal friends.

***

The ride to the industrial section was short in theory, but to Buffy, it felt like hours. The nausea still hadn’t left, and her heart and mind were constantly battling. Whatever had taken over Giles’ body had to be destroyed. Her mind knew and accepted, but her heart refused to give up the biggest constant in her life. She was his life’s purpose as he was her’s - of that she was certain.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she kept her hand on the door handle, staring up at the abandoned docking station. “Wait here for my signal. If things get rough…leave me behind.”

Xander avoided eye-contact, nodding quietly.

“Xander,” she leaned in, a warning on the tip of her tongue. “Don’t make me beat a promise out of you, because damnit, I’ll do it. Your lives are not more valuable than mine. I want you to promise me…please?”

The desperation in her voice caused him to look up, and he tilted his head to the side, arguing with her silently, and trying to fight the battle within.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Xand. I can’t guarantee that things’ll be alright - Hell I don’t even know what’s going on. I…” She looked out, staring at the small sliver of a moon looming overhead. “I just want Giles back…so bad.” Emotion laced her voice, and she felt wetness near spill. Blinking back subjectivity, she tapped the hood of the van as she walked by. “Promise,” she pointed to him, finally accepting his reluctant nod. “Be careful,” she whispered, pushing a crate near one of the boarded up windows.

***

Three minutes, five splinters and two broken nails later, she jumped into the building, the dust clearing from where her feet landed. Standing up tall, she glanced at the five men that now surrounded her. Fighting stance almost secondary nature, she observed them, trying to pinpoint weakness and plan a course of action.

Memories almost caused her to double over, as training sessions with Giles whipped through her mind. Words of encouragement and wisdom, harsh corrections laced with support offered her tools to fight not only better, but smarter. He would have been so proud, she thought solemnly, as she tightened her fist.

In a second, two men charged her from either directions, and she waited for an opportune moment. Raising her right leg slightly, she kicked her leg out, using the taller man’s speed to her advantage. Her foot connected with his knee, a crunching noise distinctly heard as she used it as leverage. Pushing herself up, she spun, her heel coming into contact with the shorter, slower man’s face. Her two feet were back on the ground before the dust even settled.

She snapped her hand back, fist ready and waiting, as she glanced at the three remaining men. She stood patiently, waiting for them to make the first move as she remembered Giles always warning her that defense was the best offense.

A rather stout man leaped forward, grabbing her by the legs. She toppled down, squirming against his strong hold, feeling her legs weaken due to his death grip. Reaching down, she ignored the throbbing and grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his body away from her. She kick-flipped back to a standing position, struggling for a moment as blood began to circulate in her lower extremities.

A quick punch to the nose, followed by a karate chop to the side and finally a kick to the outside of the knee brought the large man down. She ignored the aftermath of that fight, eyes already trained on the two other men who had now seemed to take a step back.

She advanced slowly, only to be stopped by a slow clap, echoing in the dank room.

“Miss Summers. I must say, it is quite a pleasure to see you in action.”

She glanced up, eyes narrowing before setting her jaw tightly. Something about this man caused her blood to boil. Whispers of images filtered through her mind again; pictures of sizzling blood drops and tearing skin. She swallowed hard, banishing those thoughts as she watched the man approach her.

He was dressed in an expensive suit, tailored-made by the looks of it. His thinning white hair was cut short, his eyes were warm, though forced, she suspected, to perhaps give the illusion of trust. “You know, you really ought to reconsider this whole cliché abandoned warehouse gig. Très passé.”

“Many apologies on the location, dear Slayer,” Quentin offered, voice as smooth as his movements towards her. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he began, holding out a hand which was not reciprocated. “Head of the Council, Quentin Travers.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “We only just found out of um, Rupert’s…well, condition. We had to find a secluded area in case…well in case the exorcism does not go according to plan.”

She stared him down, as he now stood face to face with her. “And you need me because…”

“You are the active Slayer on duty, Miss Summers. It is your job to annihilate the threat should the procedure fail.”

“And by that you mean…” In her heart, she knew the answer but she had vainly hoped her summon was to merely administer the antidote. She shook her head, lips pressed tightly. “But he’s my Watcher.” It was a desperate whisper that tumbled out of her mouth, not the controlled delivery that she had intended.

“You will kill him should the purging fail, Miss Summers.” His voice was sharp.

She stared at him with a controlled, neutral expression. “Let me see him.” It was a respectful demand, but the intensity in her voice cut off scolding that the older man had prepared.

“Very well.”

***

The door swung open silently, hinges unnaturally oiled for an abandoned building. The inside of the room offered a protective viewing area to the right, behind what she assumed to be several layers of bullet-proof glass. It was clean, tidy. Sterile. Her eyes searched each corner, noting cameras positioned and standing strong.

To the left stood a large table with an array of books, folders, surgical instruments and a small chest. She walked over to it, almost drawn to the box. Her fingers traced the heavy chain around it, and she took a step back, feeling the contents jump.

“What’s -” The words died on her lips as she turned, eyes resting on the bruised and battered figure, in the middle of the room. He was tied to a chair, rope having rubbed the skin raw from where she assumed he tried to fight his restraints. “Giles,” she whispered almost silently, walking towards him slowly.

“Slayer…”

She ignored Quentin’s motive to distract her as she continued her journey to her Watcher. Stopping in front of him, she knelt down, hands on his knees. She felt more than heard his sharp intake, wondering how many bones were broken, how many bruises coloured his body. Closing her eyes, she wondered what torture he had to endure. She reached up shakily, tracing his split lip, wiping away the blood that still trickled from it. Her other hand moved to his eye, lightly dusting the discolouration.

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and had she not felt his body jerk in pain at her gentle touches, she would have thought him to be unconscious.

“Was this absolutely necessary?” She asked, turning abruptly to face the Head Council. “I think a restraint would have been enough -”

Quentin chuckled, absently cleaning off a knife that still shimmered with his blood. The blade looked dull, almost eaten through. He placed it back on the table and picked up the small chest, holding it close to his body.

Buffy cocked her head to the side, watching as he approached her. She took the box offered to her, holding it as Quentin opened the heavy chain. She could feel the contents inside begin to move, to thrash around. “What’s going on?”

“The cure,” he said, motioning her to join him at the other end of the room. He turned her so that she was now facing her Watcher, box held tightly as the contents continued its tantrum.

“Buffy, let me introduce to you,” he spread his arm out, motioning Giles, who still sat motionless, “Ghar’mon.”

Buffy nodded. “A demon who can only survive by possession.”

“Unfortunately, your Watcher has fooled us all, including you.” The man leaned in, one arm around the Slayer’s shoulder. “Lied to us. Built trust until he could strike at our weakest moment.” Quentin walked up to the captive, grabbing the chair and spinning him around. He produced a jackknife from his pocket and snapped it open, cutting along the fabric of Giles’ white dress shirt. “When possessed, the demon burns his insignia on the victim.” He deliberately put emphasis on the term, wanting to build a level of sympathy. He hid his smile, knowing that the Slayer would follow her heart more than reason. To make Rupert Giles the victim instead of the offender would make for an easy puppet for him to command.

She held her breath, the image of seeing the fleeting tattoo from a few days ago, still burned in her mind. “Why did you lie, Giles?” She asked, softly.

“He had to, my dear Slayer. Well, Rupert Giles didn’t. Ghar’mon did. He’s taken over Rupert’s body.” He stripped Giles of his shirt, turning the chair back around, to face the slayer.

Bruises had already began to show, and she wondered how long he had been here. Fresh scars and cuts lay criss-crossed across his skin and she averted her eyes, tears lining them.

“Ghar’mon possessed a potential Watcher, about five hundred years ago,” Quentin began, hands once again clasped behind his back as he lectured the young Slayer. “He has the keen ability to manipulate a person’s mind, hiding and growing stronger for the past half millennium. What he told, we hungrily believed. Why, he could have told you that he was a talking horse, and we would have eagerly believed the cunning demon.”

“So why now? Why can I feel him? How did the Council find out?” Buffy interrupted Quentin.

“He’s at his peak. He no longer wants to hide, but to now wreak havoc.” He walked to a map, spreading it out on the table and motioning Buffy to join him. “You know, Rupert had asked to be relocated here. He had been researching for years as to the location of the next Hellmouth. And I had never ever once asked myself as to why Rupert had always been a Watcher every time a Hellmouth had opened.” He pointed to the map where several places had been circled. “At first, I thought it coincidental that he was on active duty, three times, at three different Hellmouths.” He shook his head, voice laced with forced regret. "Oh, how I was fooled."

Buffy closed her eyes, feeling his voice try to call out to her. She turned back, her eyes meeting the gentle greens she had grown to love. Before her sat strapped not a demon, but her Watcher. Her best-friend. Her life. She felt her resolve falter.

“It was only upon reviewing my Grandfather’s and Great-Grandfather’s journals that told tale of a respectful watcher by the name of Rupert Giles, that my mind began to un-cloud. I traced back his time served to five hundred years ago, to almost this day. And every Hellmouth since has been depleted - the energy fueling this soulless demon’s twisted desire.” Quentin stood in front of the Watcher, glaring down at him, with a hidden smile in his eyes. “This cloud has finally been lifted, and we can once and for all rid the world of the entity that his Ghar’mon.”

Buffy kept her eyes on Giles as she walked closer to him, feeling the box’s pull. As she neared, she watched as he convulsed, his back arching and his screams finally breaking his silence. She dropped the chest as she saw a two hands try to break free from his body, stretching the skin until a few drops broke, falling to the floor with a boil. “Giles!” She breathed, her prophetic dream coming to pass and causing a feeling of dread to well inside.

“Buffy,” he grit between clenched teeth. “It’s killing me!”

She bent down and picked it up, moving to the far end of the room, her back against the cold cement tile. She held the box behind her back, putting herself between them.

“Child,” Quentin walked up, his voice now stern and a certain twinkle in his eye. “It has to be done. Put your Watcher to rest.” He dropped his voice, “let him finally sleep in peace.” He turned, pointing vehemently at the man still bound, head thrown back and body exhausted. “Banish the demon!” He reached for the box. “Let me, Child. I’ll spare you the pain…”

“Buffy, no! NO!” Giles called out, fighting against the restraints. “Listen to me, Buffy. Quentin -”

“- is it true?!” She yelled, holding on tightly. “Is it true, Giles?”

He dropped his chin to his chest, nodding slightly. “Most of it…but I’m not evil.”

Quentin scoffed, leaning against the wall. “Right. What evil mastermind has not uttered those very words?” He turned to Buffy, mouth near her ear. “Listen, he’s trying to manipulate you. But you know better…end this now before it gets out of hand. Before he grows stronger -”

“Quentin wants Ghar’mon, Buffy. He wants to control him -”

“- don’t listen to that fool, Buffy! I want to destroy it. I am here to protect the world -”

“- he wants power, Buffy! And if you give him that chest, you will be giving him an unprecedented amount of power. He will kill you…” His voice broke at the last statement, his chest heaving from exhaustion and pain. “Buffy,” Giles pleaded with her.

His words whispered through her heart, sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally. She glanced towards Quentin, who stood with his hand still outstretched, coaxing her to give him the chest. Her eyes slid over to Giles, who sat there, body trembling. From where she stood, she could see the tears slide down his cheeks; she could see a man who was broken, lost in despair, hardships and lies. But how much was still the Giles she had grown to trust, to depend on...to love?

“I’m so sorry, Giles,” she whispered, opening up the chest and gazing inside. She reached for the crystal, feeling warmth buzz through her body as he fingers closed around the smooth, cool glass exterior. Inside the crystal, mist seemed to gather and roll, creating an inner vortex of vibrant reds and purples, mingling and mixing in hues. She glanced up at Quentin, holding out the crystal for him, catching the crestfallen look on the Watcher’s face, as she sealed his fate.

--TBC--

[ ff : within ]

sinistercircus — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 03:01:38 GMT

Title: Within (1/?)
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Torture, violence, strong sexual themes
Tags: AU Adventure
Spoilers: General knowledge
Summary: “Sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Written for the summer_of_giles event.

A beat.

A breath.

Air crystallized before her, wisps of wind exhaling icicles from parted lips. From lips that held a familiarity that burned her memory. Her eyes strained to see, to remember but soft words spoken deterred her concentration.

Shook her mind and paralyzed her body.

Stole her heart.

A naked back rested in her peripheral vision. When she turned, the darkness engulfed the body with no face, stealing sight until she shied her gaze away. She glanced at the strong muscles from the corner of her eye, seeing a hand push past, elasticizing the skin. A face followed, almost wanting to escape through the epidermal. Wanting to reach out from within.

A large talon, a jagged claw tore through, from the inside out, and blood trickled down in a meticulous path, burning the skin, layers upon layers.

Blood drops sizzled on the floor as the man turned, only his mouth in full view. “Blood is freedom.”

***

She stepped into the library, knowing in her gut that he would be there. He always came early in case there was patrolling discussions from the previous night, or research to be done.

There was always research to be done, and part of her felt a little guilty for burdening him with her dreams.

Nightmares.

Most often than not they were prophetic, and she wanted to discuss them with him as soon as possible, if anything to put her mind at ease that he wasn’t in any kind of danger. That perhaps her sharing her knowledge would protect him somehow, especially concerning the last flash she had, in the shower. When she had come to, the water had been running cold and the memories of the second semi-dream still rested heavily on her conscience. The image of her Watcher bound and beaten, frightened her. But it was the droplets of blood, that sizzled upon the floor, that shook her to the core.

She peaked through the window in his office, watching his profile as he began to dress. She held her breath as she watched him move. Her eyes took in the flex of each muscle in his abdomen and arms as he shook out his dress shirt and eyed it, searching for any wrinkles. Though his body wasn’t sculpted like Angel’s, it was well-defined. Having trained with her everyday definitely kept him in good health, she mused, as she spied the gentle dusting of tawny hair on his chest.

Rolling her eyes affectionately, she moved to chastise him for not going home when he turned abruptly, facing away from her.

Her eyes caught a quick glimpse of a tattoo on his back before he shrugged his crisp white shirt on, the material sliding over the circular image inked on his left shoulder blade, hiding it from her view.

She knitted her brows together as she approached his office, tossing her books and bag on the counter along the way. She leaned against the door frame, arms folded across her chest as she continued to stare as he buttoned up his chocolate-brown vest. She refused to let herself be persuaded by how the deep brown brought out the green in his eyes. Instead, she thrust her chin forward, nodding towards him.

“When did you get the new tatt?”

Giles pivoted, hands tying his tie with expert ease. “Oh, hullo Buffy. I uh, I didn’t hear you come in.” He folded his suit jacket across his arm, as he nodded towards the counter. “Putting on a fresh pot,” he smiled almost shyly, directing her towards the steeping tea.

She nodded, sitting atop the counter, legs swinging idly. “So, the tatt! Spill!”

“You’re here early this morning,” he spoke, not looking at her as he prepared the tea. “Is-is everything well?”

“Oh! That reminds me of this dream I have to tell you about - and before I forget, yes you’ve changed the subject and no I haven’t been distracted. After we get the oogie-boogie lo-down on my dream, we’re talking about that tattoo, mister!”

He threw her a long-suffering look before motioning her to continue, as he poured two cups of tea. “Enlighten me as to what pea is under your mattress, Princess.”

“It was really weird, Giles,” she began, jumping down from the counter and walking over to the table, where he now sat. She took a seat beside him, wrapping her hands around the mug and stealing its comfort. “I was in this room and it was really cold. I don’t know, just a plain ol’ darkened room. And there was this guy. Naked, I think. And he was like, tied up or something. And had been tortured. And then, I saw this…I don’t know, this hand coming out of his skin. From his back, you know? Like, all stretchy and wanting to tear through. And then it did! This claw thing tore through and blood fell and it was boiling.”

She glanced up, eyes crinkled with worry. “Give it to me straight, doc. How messed up am I?”

He opened his mouth to speak, lips shaping words but no sound was released. He finally sighed, eyes resting on the table as he reviewed her words. “Um, a-anything else out of the ordinary? Is this the first dream, then?”

“First dream? Of this sorts? Yeah.” She took a tentative sip of the tea, sucking on her tongue as the hot liquid burned as expected. “Oh! I uh…I lost time.”

“Pardon? You…misplaced your watch?” He chuckled softly at his own joke, before sobering up upon seeing her un-amused expression.

“No, you silly Watcher. I…got this flash. I was awake, but I could see pictures. Almost like a continuation of the dream. Except…except you were in it.” She dared to glance up, worry once again etched on her face.

He looked at her with surprise. “H-how do you know it was a continuation, Buffy? I mean, you yourself said you were awake, so perhaps it was a memory-triggered recollection of the manifestation.”

“No Giles. It was definitely…an awake dream. And it was a continuation because…well your blood had that same sizzling thing going on. Totally wigged me out! I came to in the shower.” She took a sip of the tea, staring at the liquid in contemplation.

Giles studied her expression, seeing that she was definitely affected by it. He grew concerned, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to promise comfort. “I’ll do some research while you’re in class. Perhaps after, instead of training, we can focus on finding out any symbolic meaning of the blood.”

“And the claw ripping through the skin. Oh,” she exclaimed loudly, “and and and a face. I saw this face like, trying to stretch out from the skin too. As if there was this person trapped inside the other person.” She shook her head, eyes glazed as she stared unseeing. “No…not a person. It didn’t look like a, a person.” She finally looked up to see her Watcher staring straight ahead, almost as if he was distracted. But she knew him, knew that this was his understanding face. This was where he put all of his knowledge together and churned an answer.

“So you know it,” she broke his concentration.

“Hmm?”

She noted that there was a certain fear in his eyes. A very faded twinkle of apprehension sat in his now worried greens. “You know the answer. You know what my dreams mean. And it’s bad.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, finishing his tea in a large gulp. “Truly, I wish the answer could come upon a simple reflection, but I assure you my talents at deciphering cryptic dreams aren’t as potent as they seem.”

“But you had that far away look on your face. That I’m so good because I solve things faster than you look. And then it turned into a worried and scared look.”

He swallowed hard, wondering for a brief moment if his expressions were that legible. “Uh…I,” he frowned into his empty cup. “I don’t like seeing you upset, Buffy.” He wondered if she would buy his excuse as easily as he hoped she would. Granted, it wasn’t a lie. His heart ached whenever she was hurt. His statement was the truth, he mused to himself. Just not the truth for this situation.

“You know what would make me un-upset, Giles?”

“Hmm?”

“You showing me your tattoo! I think that’s so cool! Can I get one?”

“I hate to be the bearer of um, un-hip news, Buffy, but there is no tattoo to speak. I only have the one, located on my upper arm.” He touched the area of which he spoke, and for a brief moment, memories he fought hard to bury, surfaced. “Right then, shall we perhaps start with some research?”

“Gi-les!”

He cringed not looking at her, knowing full-well that she was pouting. Knowing full-well that he had much difficulty resisting. “Buffy, I can assure you that I have no other tattoo.”

“But I saw it!”

“Surely you are mistaken. Perhaps it was a shadow or a piece of lint,” he continued, trying to reason with her. He wondered why she was so adamant about it, and why she hadn’t been convinced. He frowned, looking almost through her as he tried to come up with reasons for his failure; normally, they were always convinced.

“Giles, I don’t think a piece of lint can be the size of a dinner plate. C’mon, I’m the Slayer! Not the mistakes balls of lint for big tattoos on her Watcher’s back Slayer. So give! Show me.”

“Buffy, there really isn’t anything to -”

“Hey guys!”

They both turned, glancing towards the entrance where Willow walked through.

“Willow,” Giles breathed her name as he stood up, though his eyes never left Buffy. He began to loosen his tie and stripped of his vest. Placing it on the table in front of him, he began to unbutton his shirt, still keeping his gaze on his Slayer. With his back to Willow, he brought his shirt down, uncovering his left shoulder.

“Willow, do tell Buffy that there is absolutely no tattoo located on my left shoulder.”

Buffy frowned, looking at her Watcher who now had his eyes closed. She moved her eyes to her best-friend, taking in her surprised look - almost as if she had seen something. However, her eyes descended into a half-lidded state before she spoke.

“Buffy, there is absolutely no tattoo located on Giles’s left shoulder.”

Giles opened his eyes, staring defiantly into Buffy’s. “See. Proof enough?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Giles.”

He swallowed hard, and for a split second, he wondered if she’d rush him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Xander’s entrance interrupted any further discussion. He closed his eyes, voice soft once more. “Xander, just in time. Tell Doubting Thomas over there, that there is no tattoo on my left shoulder.”

“Who’s Thomas?”

“Never mind. Just tell Buffy,” he spoke through grit teeth, trying to rally his patience.

Buffy stood up at she took in Xander’s surprised look - a flash of the emotion - before he too followed Willow’s steps.

“Sorry Buffster. There is no tattoo on Giles’s left shoulder.”

“Okay guys, what is this, a trick? I know what I saw, Giles! Did you guys rehearse this? Screw with Buffy day!” She stood up, arms crossed and temper slightly elevated. “Let’s all join in the Slayer Screw’age
parade - ”

“- okay!”

All three looked at Xander, who now sported a sheepish look. “Heh, keep forgetting to use my inside head voice.”

Giles stood up, straightening his shirt and buttoning it. He put on his vest tie again, straightening it. “So, now can we move on? We can start with some light research before your classes.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“What apocalyptic hoe-down are we researching now?” Xander asked, glancing up at the mezzanine.

“Buffy’s been having some rather disturbing dreams,” Giles offered, hoping his Slayer would fill her friends in on the contents. Somehow, he didn’t feel comfortable offering those specific details. He leaned against one of the bookshelves with a sigh, books on dream interpretation and symbols held tightly against his chest. He listened idly as she explained her dreams, and listened as her friends offered her comfort.

He let out a breath, eyes searching the empty space in front of him, almost seeking an answer to be pulled from thin air. He wondered what could have triggered it. Why and why now. He pushed himself off the bookshelf and made his way to the mezzanine, stopping slightly out of view as he heard Buffy’s voice question her friends.

“So you guys really didn’t see anything?”

“Anything what?” Xander asked in return, taking out a juice box from his bag.

“Giles’s other tattoo.”

“Giles has another tattoo?” Willow asked, looking perplexed. “Are you feeling okay, Buffy? Maybe that dream wigged you out more than you thought.”

He took that moment to make his presence known, throwing a warning glance at his Slayer to cease the tattoo subject and focus on her dreams.

The gang worked for an hour straight, tossing ideas and writing down theories. Giles kept catching Buffy staring at him, and he would hold her gaze until she realized her actions and divert her attention. He smiled softly to himself at the pale blush that coloured her cheeks.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, finishing off his third cup of tea. “I do believe you lot have a class to go to. If you aren’t too busy, I’d like to continue researching some more tonight. I have an appointment at four o’clock, but I’ll be back by six. You can make yourselves at home here,” he told them, pointing towards his office. “There are a few snacks and drinks -”

“- sweet!”

“- which Willow and/or Buffy shall ration,” he look pointedly at Xander, who grinned cheekily at him. “Continue researching and I shall join you.”

“Cool!” Xander and Willow chorused as they grabbed their bags and headed for the door.

“So I’m thinking we should get some training in, Giles.”

His head shot up and he regarded her with caution. “…okay, what did you do?”

“What? A Slayer can’t want to train? It’s part of my calling and all that blah blah.”

“A Slayer can want to train,” he began, head cocked to the side with a curious grin. “However this Slayer has never shown any desire to, before.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to read her obviously forced innocence. “Just what are you planning?”

“Jeez, Giles! Seriously. Don’t have a hernia! I just don’t feel up to par at the moment.”

“Okay, we’ll leave Willow and Xander to research and you and I shall do a bit of sparing.”

“Perfect!” She clapped her hands together, throwing him a coquettish smile before heading to the door.

He watched her go, watched the gentle sway of her hips, a smile still on his face. It was only after she had left that his smile turned into a frown and worry settled deep in the pit of his belly. His appointment was one with himself, a mere two hours to meditate and find the answers he was seeking, from the one place he knew would never lie. From the one being he could always trust.

He piled up the books and notes left by the others, and put them in his office. As he reached for his cup of tea, a group of students and their teacher came in, chattering softly and taking over the library. He smiled as politely as he could, trying hard not to cringe each time a book was not replaced in its home.

Letting out a controlled breath, he sent a silent prayer to the Gods, hoping that he’d be able to survive the day.

***

Buffy peeked around the corner, watching as Giles locked up the library, briefcase in hand.

“Why are we spying on Giles?”

“Shh!” She turned, throwing her best-friend a glare.

“We’re spying on Giles? I was promised cookies.”

“Xander! Shh!”

Buffy glanced at the Watcher again, brows furrowed as she took in his odd behaviour. In fact, he’d been acting out of sorts all day. She watched as he stopped down the hall, idle and unmoving. His back was to her, and it was only thanks to her Slayer hearing that she caught the tail end of his softly whispered “I know.”

He continued towards the main exit and she had to put a hand to her mouth to cover her gasp. She had seen it. Her eyes hadn’t played tricks on her, but she had seen the distinct shape of a hand almost immerge from his back. Just like in her dreams.

“Buffy, what’s wrong?” Willow asked, a hand on her shoulder.

“Did you guys see that? Giles…his back. That hand thing!”

“Where?”

“When he was just near the exit…I saw it, Will!” Buffy stood up and walked towards the library, determination in her step. “We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

“W-what are we going to do? Ambush him! Make him take us to his leader?” Willow asked, following Buffy.

“We’re going to snoop.”

“Ooh!” Xander began, rubbing his hands together. “Snoop I can do!”

She locked the door behind her, heading straight for his office. Checking the filing cabinet there, she gave it a gentle tug, breaking the lock. She pulled out all of his old Watcher journals and handed them to Willow. “You get started on this and I’m going to search in the occult section for demonic symbols.”

“Demonic?”

“Something’s not right and I kept getting an extreme case of the Slayer wiggin’s today.” She looked to the door almost wistfully. “I didn’t want to say anything cos I’m not sure myself, but it was every time I was near Giles.” She looked back at her red-headed companion, worry in her eyes.

Willow nodded and took the journals, sitting down beside Xander who was already munching on his sixth cookie and a glass of Cream Soda. The two started leafing through them.

A few minutes later, Buffy came down with several books on demons and occult symbols. “It isn’t like Giles to be frivolous and get a random tattoo,” she began, as she opened up the book on occult symbols. “It has to mean something,” she trailed off, flipping the pages rapidly as her eyes scanned the book.

“Yeah, I mean, look at his Eyghon tattoo. That definitely meant something. Giles would probably get something like this one,” Xander said, holding up a journal from the 1490s. “This seems really familiar…” he trailed off, looking at it upside down.

“Yeah, it feels like I’ve seen that too. I just don’t remember where. I mean, it’s not from just now, because I wouldn’t have had that sense of déjà-vue, but from not so long ago, you know.”

Buffy’s eyes grew wide. “It was from this morning, Will.”

“Huh?”

“That. That’s his tattoo.”

Willow grabbed the occult symbol book from Buffy and leafed through until she got to the index. She traced her finger across the word and searched for it. “It can’t be.” She shook her head, looking up at Buffy before holding up the book. “The Shiv’gar mark is branded on those who have been possessed.”

“What’s going on?”

All three looked up, breaths held, as Giles stood there, arms folded across his chest. In perfect synchronicity, the three of them stood up and remained planted, uneasily. "Oh Holy of Holies, repel the evil!" On a whim, Xander took his glass and sprayed the contents on Giles.

He stood there, eyes closed as the sticky, sickly-sweet liquid clung to his face, droplets cascading down. “I am not a vampire, Xander,” he began, surprisingly calm. “Several manifestations attest to that, the first being the most important.” He pointed towards the window where all three looked at the sun streaming in. “You’ve seen me in daylight.”

“Second,” he interrupted the young man who had been about to speak, “for Holy Water to be affective in the fight against vampires, one must assure that it is in fact blessed, and it is in fact,” he paused, opening his eyes and glaring at him, “water.”

Xander took a step forward, hands thrust in his pockets. “Towel?”

“Yes please.” There was a slight pause as the young man left to fetch a towel for the Watcher. “So,” Giles continued, taking off his suit jacket and vest. “Any progress?”

“Um, no.” Buffy smiled, standing in front of the table and casually trying to close the Watcher journals. “We searched. We uh…we came up with nada. Right Will?”

“Uh yeah. None. No na, no da.” The young red-head paused. “Actually, that’s a double negative. That would mean there was na and da.”

“Okay, Willy no talky now.” Buffy turned back to face her Watcher, who was now drying his face with the towel that Xander brought. “So, Giles. Training?” She asked, cringing at how eagerly fake she sounded. “Got a lot of energy to burn and Willow and Xander have to be home cos Willow’s mom his making their famous um, pork chops!”

Giles stood, both eyebrows raised as he stared at his Slayer, obviously caught in a lie. “Willow’s parents are practicing Jews. I highly doubt that pork chops are on the menu for tonight, Buffy. Perhaps a substitute should be mentioned in haste, so as not to raise my suspicions,” he spoke calmly, an indescribable smile on his face.

“Training. Now.” She spoke, hands planted on her hips. “You two, go.”

The two nodded, and grabbed their bags, bidding the Watcher a farewell, but at a distance.

He turned and looked to his Slayer, advancing on her. He looked over her shoulder at the books strewn about. “You broke into my cabinet?” He asked, not looking at her. His eyes fell upon the journal closest to her, and he picked it up, leafing through. He kept his face neutral but his heart speed increased. He looked at the mark of Shiv’gar and felt his shoulder burn.

“Show me.”

“We’ve been over this, Buffy. There is nothing to show.”

“Then how come I recognized this?! It sure wasn’t from my pastime of looking up demonic markings!”

“You probably think you saw that, but I can assure you -”

“- then show me your back,” she interrupted, voice stern and stubborn.

“I refuse to cater to your every whim, Buffy. You have to learn to trust me.”

“You’re lying to me! How can I trust you?!”

“I am not lying to you!” He yelled back, anger and anxiety mixing a dangerous brew. “Why can’t you just accept my answer?!”

She grabbed him by the neck and slammed him hard against the table. “If you won’t show me, I’ll see for myself.” She mumbled with a stubborn drive.

He struggled against her for a moment, but realized that it was futile.

She frowned as his body went limp for a second. “Giles?” She leaned forward, straining to see his face which was pressed against the journals.

In a second, she was on her back and he was now standing on top of her. “Buffy, leave well enough alone. I’m begging you.”

She looked up into his eyes, hearing the desperation in his voice and seeing it echo in his deep greens. She almost faltered, but instead swiped at his feet, bringing him down to the floor beside her. She pounced on his, hands reaching for his shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

He grunted at her weight on him, his body responding but his mind too preoccupied to allow the pleasant feel of her against him. His fantasies knew of such pressure, of such pleasure. He grabbed her arms and held them away, as she continued to bat against him.

“You jerk! Why don’t you trust me!” She yelled, as she kneed him in the groin.

He dropped her arms and fisted his hands as he curled up, biting down hard on his lip to avoid the expletives that were dancing idle on the tip of his tongue.

In his currently vulnerable state, she took the opportunity to roll him on his stomach. Straddling his waist, she grabbed each side of his shirt and began to rip it from the bottom up, her drive to wanting to be proved wrong stronger than her logic.

It happened in a second and it felt like a sonic pulse that had slammed into her body. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on the floor, more than halfway across the room. Giles still lay on the ground as well, but he was now on his back, propped up on his elbows and staring at her aghast.

They both scrambled up, one with a look of regret while the other stared back with fear fuelled adrenaline.

“Buffy…I -”

“- no. Don’t touch me.” She interrupted him, taking a fighting stance.

His stomach clenched and he looked away, mortified by his behaviour. “Sometimes, the person you trust the least proves to be your destined ally.” He whispered, still keeping his gaze to the floor.

“So maybe one day, we’ll be allies,” she grit, cautiously grabbing her bag and skirting around him, her body always ready to retaliate. “But for now…I don’t even know who you are.” She backed up towards the door, one hand on the cool wood while the other remained as a fist. “You stay away from my friends. You come near them…you come near me…” She continued, her voice trembling as tears lined her eyes. “I’ll kill you.”

Giles watched her go, and stood there, body aching with sharp pains. He walked slowly towards the table and began to clean up, gathering all of his old Watcher journals. Moving towards his office, he placed them chronologically, frowning when the very first one was missing: the 1492 to 1501 edition. He got up and jogged toward the table, searching through note papers and books. He bent down, albeit with great effort, and searched under the table.

“Shit.”

***

Buffy closed the door to her room, looking sadly at her two friends who sported the same expression.

“So do you think it was magic?”

“I don’t know Will. It was almost like this force field. It sent me flying!”

“Did it hurt?”

“It was more like being really roughly pushed away. My butt still hurts from hitting the floor though.” Buffy responded, taking out a journal from her bag. “Managed to steal this. I think this holds a lot of our answers.”

“Stealing from Giles, Buffy? I don’t know…it doesn’t feel right.” Willow began, looking at the journal with a mixture of interest, excitement and guilt.

“He’s not our Giles anymore, Will.”

“Buffy’s right, Willow. That wasn’t Giles. Giles would never hurt Buffy. Would never put us in danger. You said it yourself, he’s possessed with the Shivy thing.”

Willow nodded and Buffy smiled, running a hand through her hair. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way to save Giles.”

***

It had been two days since he had seen them and he knew for certain that Buffy had told Willow and Xander of the events that had transpired. He leaned his head back against the couch, cursing himself for not trusting them. For not trusting her. His heart ached at the thought that she hated him. No, he shook his head. Not hate…he could live with hate. What pained him was the fear in her eyes.

He glanced down at the pot of tea, four cups and the array of cookies that sat on the coffee table. Every day, at six o’clock, he would put them out. More of a habit, but deep down, it was more of a hope. Hope that they would try to make contact.

That they wouldn’t be afraid anymore. That they would trust him enough to come to him.

That she would trust him again.

That she would come to him.

He glanced at the door, wondering if it was his mind that was playing tricks and the knocking was just his subconscious’s way of screwing with him. He stood up and took a few tentative steps, when suddenly the door burst open. He stared wide-eyed before everything went black.

***

“I don’t get it. There was another Watcher named Rupert Giles?” Xander asked, finishing off his glass of milk in a long gulp.

“That’s what it says. He writes that he was called when he was ten years old. And that after a period of rebelling, he finally gave in to his destiny.”

Buffy frowned. “That sounds like our Giles.” She paused, her frown slipping to a sad smile. “Well, our old Giles.”

“And this is the guy from 1490?”

Willow nodded, pointing to the book. “It’s Giles.”

“No! It can’t be! He wouldn’t lie to us for four years!”

“Buffy,” Willow held up the book which now held the insignia she had seen tattooed on Giles’ back. “It speaks of a demon called Ghar’mon. He can only survive through possession, jumping from one body to another. If he is without a body for more than a minute, he ignites.”

“Poof?” Xander asked.

“Poof. On fire.”

“Buffy, the history that this Giles wrote about…it matches. It matches with everything our Giles has told us.”

Buffy sat down, dropping her head in her hands. “So either our Giles is a five-hundred year old demon or this guy is an imposter, posing as someone who we’ve grown to care about.” She stared straight ahead, unable to curb the emotions in her heart. “Why would someone do something like that?” She asked, tears in her voice. “Why didn’t he tell us? What does he want?”

Willow held her friend tightly. “We need to talk to him, Buffy.”

“Willow’s right, Buff. If he’s a demon…if he’s dangerous…we’re going to have to…”

She nodded. “I know.” She let out a shaky breath, her heart breaking.

--TBC--

[ ff : shoot and bolt ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 14 Mar 2009 04:26:48 GMT

Title: Shoot and Bolt
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Jenny
Rating: R
Spoilers: Ted
Warnings: Some sexual themes.
Summary: “Look at you. Can't move. Can't defend yourself. You're helpless. At my mercy.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: After their trip to the hospital.

Jenny gripped the steering wheel tightly, guilt and concern festering in her gut as she subtly cast glances his way, every now and then. She frowned, not even wanting to think of how uncomfortable he must be, having to sit half on his side, to avoid any pressure on his back, where eighteen stitches would soon form a scar; just another reminder of the dangers his life harbored.

Pulling up, she parked in his designated space and killed the engine. “Rupert?” Unbuckling her belt, she leaned over and passed a hand through his hair, trying to rouse him from sleep.

His eyes fluttered open, and he twisted his neck, looking at her over his shoulder. “Home?”

She nodded, not being able to meet his gaze. She wanted to apologize, but her last fifteen apologies had fallen to deaf ears. She knew he was tired and in a lot of pain, not to mention that he would soon feel the effects of the strong pain relievers that were administered to him in the hospital; getting him to his room, safe and as comfortable as possible was the least she could do.

Walking around, she opened the car door for him, slipping a hand underneath his arm and helping him up. She helped him walk, bearing most of his weight and stopping to allow him to catch his breath when needed. They finally made it to his front door and she glanced at him, taking in the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes screwed tight, and the way his body seemed to shake slightly.

She reached around him, pressing a hand to his left thigh and then slowly dragging it up. Frowning, she repeated the motion with his right thigh, ignoring the strain in his voice as he questioned her. She dug her hand in his right pocket, fishing out his keys. Turning to face him, she cocked her head to the side, giving him a smile. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed. It looks like you’re going to pass out.”

Giles stepped in to his place, the need for tea an almost Pavlovian response.

“Nah-uh. No tea. Straight to bed.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, looking at her with lidded eyes. “You must know me too well.” He murmured softly, as he allowed her to guide him upstairs.

“Not well enough, Rupert.” It was whispered, unsure whether she wanted him to hear it.

He glanced at her, having heard her soft reply, looking at her with curious eyes. He wondered if she was still angry with him - as angry as he was with himself for putting her in harm’s way.

When they finally made it to his room, he sat on the edge of the bed, the side closest to the window. Sitting down, he gazed out into the blackened sky until she drew the blinds closes. “I-um,” he paused, unsure how to tackle the situation. “My dressing needs a change. I was wondering if…would you…” He sighed aloud, dropping his chin to his chest.

He raised his eyes, watching her through his lashes as she crouched down in front of him, fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. One by one, she undid them with eternal gentleness, eyes never leaving his. She grabbed both lapels, and slid them off his shoulders, fingers grazing the heated skin underneath.

“Lie down.”

He acquiesced, watching as she folded the shirt and tossed it in the laundry hamper that stood beside his bureau. Lowering himself slowly on to his stomach, he folded his arms underneath the pillow, resting his cheek against the cool material. He watched her descend the stairs, staring unblinking until she returned with gauze, anti-septic and some tape. He smiled softly to himself: she looked at home here.

He caught her eye, holding her gaze as if almost trying to transmit his thought to her: she belonged here.

“I-I think the meds are kicking in,” he began, a little cheerfully. “Doesn’t even hurt.” He smiled, before cringing slightly. “Much.”

He smiled when she did, both looking away with embarrassment seconds later. He held his breath as he felt her approach, felt her warm hand press down between his shoulder blades in a sign of comfort - a sign begging for trust.

She glanced down at him, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply as she felt his warmth almost wrap around her soul through their contact. “Oh God,” she replied, shakily, taking a step back. Their energy scared her, how affected she was by this simple touch. She ravished him with her eyes, letting her gaze travel the strength of his back, the muscles firm and developed. She wanted more and suddenly, she feared their trust. She trusted him with her life, despite the minor setback that was the embodiment of Eyghon, but she wondered the repercussions of his trust of her.

She wondered how long she could last, not being able to control her desires - the ones that pooled, seeping to her very core. Her heart, mind and soul finally spoke the same language, agreeing mutually of his existence in her life and hers in his. Hurdles would always be present, but her soul would forever be bound to his.

She opened her mouth to convey her thoughts, but his soft voice interrupted her.

He closed his eyes, a sad smile flitting across his lips before he curbed his emotions. He had heard her reaction after touching him, thinking that she had been repulsed by him, he decided to save them both the embarrassment. “Jenny, I…y-you don’t have to clean it. I’m sure I can manage with some, anti-septic and gauze,” he trailed off, pushing himself up. He winced, breathing in sharply, an expletive tripping off his tongue.

“Oh nonono,” she replied quickly, her hand touching his back once again. She rubbed his right shoulder softly, inciting him to lie back down. “Trust me, Rupert, it’s not what you think.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Lie still, let me clean your wound.” Putting one knee on the bed, she reached over and slowly peeled off the dressing, whispering an apology as he cursed under his breath. Opening the bottle of disinfectant, she wet a piece of gauze with the liquid. Placing a hand on his right shoulder, she gently swabbed the left side of his lower back, cringing every time she heard him hiss. Taking another piece of gauze, she pressed it over the wound, and carefully taped it up.

She sat back on her knee, the other foot still firmly planted on the floor, and stared at his back, memorizing the strong lines, the battle scars of victory and defeat. His back had a light sheen of sweat, over-exertion from getting into bed. “I uh…I should go.”

He let out a throaty laugh, closing his eyes, self-pitied and disgusted with himself. He cursed himself thinking that she would have forgiven him so easily. So quickly. He shook his head slightly, knowing that he could never forgive himself for putting her in danger. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Thanks for t-taking me to the hospital -”

“ - hey, it was the least I could do. I pretty much sent you there to begin with…not my best work, I’ll admit.” She retorted, though the smile in her voice did not reach her eyes.

“All forgotten, yes?” He waited for a reply, letting out a deep breath when her voice didn't emerge. “Right, well, please to lock the door on your way out. I don't think I can fend off...nor greet any visitors.”

“Sure. Yeah.” She took another step back, eyes unwilling to remove themselves from his form. “I'll see you later, England.”

“Night.” He listened to her descend the stairs, counted the steps to his door and heard it close and finally lock. His flat now lay in silence, and he listened to the random sounds that he often forgot still tinkered around him on a constant basis. The leaky faucet. The house settling. The tree's leaves that sometimes caressed the window.

He closed his eyes, trying to will the throbbing pain in his side to cease it's pulsating reminder. Slowly, his vision darkened as the meds began their gentle pull into slumber.

He woke, breath held, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. Perhaps the medication was creating some paranoia in the back of his mind, knowing that in his current state, weakness was more than present.

But silence remained constant. He swallowed hard, realizing that the medication was starting to wear off. He reached over and opened the bottle , popping two pills in his mouth and chasing them both with a large gulp of water. He groaned, as he felt the stitches pull as he put the glass back on the bedside table.

A quick glance at the clock showed that two hours had past since Jenny had left. He chuckled sadly to himself, realizing that two hours of constant sleep was the most he had gotten since Eyghon's return.

He let out a shaky breath as his body involuntarily spasmed, causing a sharp pain to shoot up his side. He twisted his body slightly, adding to the accumulating pain. He dug his nails into the skin around the wound, wanting to scratch it but still fighting with control. Suddenly, gentle fingers gripped his wrist, slowly removing his hand from his back and inciting him to relax with a soothing touch.

“You'll make it worse.”

He let out a breathy laugh, cringing as it sent another stabbing pain through his body. "Ah. Right, so no laughing.” He opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, cursing his stuttering ways. “You ehm...you came back?”

“Yeah, well I had to come back. You know, to take advantage of you in your weakened state.” She folded her arms across her chest, tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she stalked her prey.

“Ehm, uh, w-what?" He glanced at her over his shoulder, a perplexed look on his face. "I'm sorry, I thought I heard you -”

“You heard right, Rupert.” She walked around to the other side of the bed, kneeling down on the floor until she was face to face with him.

“Look at you. Can't move. Can't defend yourself. You're helpless. At my mercy.” Her eyes twinkled, a slow smile spreading on her face. “And I plan on taking full advantage.” She ran a hand down his back, leaning forward until her lips just barely brushed his. “I'm installing a computer in your living room, as we speak.”

She pulled back, a smug look on her face at the mixture of emotions that graced his features: worry, fear, confusion before finally dwindling to comprehension.

“It's very inhumane to tease the wounded, you know.” He stated, though a smile did creep up on his lips.

“Yeah well,” she began, running a hand through his hair, “when you're more ... mobile again, I'll really show you how well I tease.” She raised an eyebrow, a tight-lipped smile devilishly taunting him.

“As much as I am loving the ehm, lovely imagery you are providing, why did you come back?” He asked, closing his eyes as her fingers traced his cheek bone. He smiled a sigh.

“Had to get a change of clothes. You know, some of us do have work tomorrow.”

“Y-your staying?” He cleared his throat, trying to hide his surprise.

“What, you didn't think I'd shoot you and bolt, did you?” She paused, a pensive look on her face. “Pun intended.” She smiled, hers growing wider when his presented itself on his lips.

“You uh, you needn't stay out of guilt, Jenny. I sincerely believe it to be an accident -”

She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, it's not what I necessarily did that is making me feel guilty.” She stood up, taking off her shirt before him. “It's what I want to do to you, England.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, opening it again, only to mouth non-sensical words before his lips fell into a pursed position.

“God. How sick is it that I take so much pleasure in making you squirm?” She reached into her bag and pulled out a t-shirt.

“Come now, it’s not…” His brow furrowed as he paused, considering her statement. “Actually, it’s quite malevolent, yes.” He watched as she turned her back to him, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a coquettish smile dancing on her lips as she slipped on her t-shirt.

She caught him watching her, observed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, his attention solely focused on her. “Problem?” She asked, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head without missing a beat. “No-no. Please, by all means, do continue.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning as she sat down in the chair close to his window, crossing one leg over the other as she began to roll down her stockings. She smiled, watching him watching her legs. Definitely male, she mused to herself. She slipped off her skirt, folding it and putting it in a small pile on the chair beside her. She slipped on a pair of cotton shorts and stood in front of the bed. “You're gonna have to move a bit, England.”

“Um, right.” With her help, he managed to shift into the center of the bed.

Climbing in, she straightened the covers over them and settled on her back. She tilted her head to the side, giving him a sly smile. “First time in bed together. Is it how you imagined it?”

He scoffed, shifting slightly until his body was pressed up against hers. Lying half on his right side, half on his stomach, he rested his head against her chest, his forehead pressed against her neck. “Let's see. You. Me. My bed.” He closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “Exactly as I imagined it.”

She brought her hand up, allowing her fingers to tangle in his locks at the base of his head. “And there was no wild, passionate hot, wet sex in those daydreams, England?” She gave him a toothy grin, loving the blush that now coloured his cheeks and the better part of his neck.

He let out a small laugh, placing an arm over her and pressing himself closer. He reached up, hesitantly placing a kiss against her neck. “I'm ah...I'm really sorry about everything, Jenny. I just...I really never meant for any harm to come to you…”

She smiled, reaching a hand underneath his chin and forcing him to look at her. “I'm sorry. I...shouldn't have treated you the way I did. I just...it was a way for me to get -some- kind of control, y'know? I had my body taken and...and I needed some control. I shouldn't have taken it out on you, Rupert.” She paused, searching his eyes. “And then I go and shoot you in the back.” She let out a nervous laugh. “God, am I a lousy girlfriend or what?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Aren't I?”

“Are you?”

They paused, staring at each other.

“Well, this setting is too intimate for acquaintances and it can't be lover," she glanced at him, "yet, because we haven't....well, y'know.”

He paused, allowing the hand that was draped over her stomach to lightly skim over her bare arm, all the way up to her shoulder. His fingers delighted in the feel of her silky skin, and he allowed them to skirt across her collarbone, and up the center of her neck. “You know, Jenny…I um…” He took a deep breath. “Jenny. Look. I…I can’t stop thinking about you. And…right now, seeing your body…I just…I-I don’t think you’ll ever see me this forward when saying that I would very much like to experience this joining with you…”

“That was forward?” She asked, the corner of her lip curved upwards. “Look, maybe we should just wait, y’know? I…I don’t want you to over-exert yourself. To um, hurt anything that might…prevent us from doing the kinky stuff later.”

He leaned forward, placing a kiss on her shoulder. “I am on painkillers.”

She closed her eyes, tilting her head to rest against his. “Yeah, but later on, you’re gonna feel it.”

“Well, I heard that post-coital aches can be quite satisfying -”

“- that’s not the kind of pain I was talking about,” she laughed, placing a kiss on his forehead. She cocked her head to the side, replaying his last words. “Wait, you’ve heard. Oh God. Don’t tell me that you’ve never…”

“Oh. No! I mean, yes. I mean…no. I mean, yes I have engaged in acts of that kind of well, of sexual nature. In my younger years…”

Jenny stared blankly at him, blinking once.

“I’ve had sex.”

“Good. It’s just…”

“Been awhile,” he answered. “Yes. Probably too long.” They both sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. “Um…it is just like riding a bicycle, isn’t it?”

“Don’t think you’re gonna be doing much riding there, England.”

“Try me.” He challenged her, reaching forward and placing a kiss on her cheek. He tilted her head towards him, thumb gently brushing her lip before he captured them with his mouth. He kissed her hard, head tilted in order to gain a deeper access, as he slipped his tongue between her lips. He pulled back slightly, tilting his head the other way and attacking her mouth with the same fervor. He let his hand trail down, resting on her hip before sliding down to cup her inner thigh.

Both their breathing soon began to get ragged, as Jenny kissed him back with equal passion. She slid a hand down his left shoulder, pulling him closer as their tongues dueled. She squeezed him, wanting to feel his body closer to hers.

Giles let out a groan, pausing for a second as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder.

“That a good kind of groan or a bad kind?” She asked, breath ragged and voice laced with lust.

“Good. It’s um, it’s it’s good.” He replied, eyes closed tightly.

“You lying?” She brushed a hand through his hair, allowing it to rest against the nape of his neck.

“Very much so, actually.”

She laughed lightly, gazing down at him.

“You know, one normally doesn’t laugh during sex…or the moments leading up to. Well at least in my fantasies you don’t.”

“It’s funny because, God, this is so awkward…wait, you’ve had fantasies about me?”

“I’m still a man, Jenny.” He answered defensively, though his fingers began to trace shapes along the side of her neck. “Wait, you think this is awkward?”

“I shot you in the back with a crossbow, a week after a demon you conjured up in your youth, possessed me. We’re trying to attempt to have a soon to be slow, painful sex while you’re looped up on painkillers. You don’t find this awkward?”

“Well no, I mean…it’s different and um, a li-little -” He looked at her expression and sighed. “Bloody awkward.”

“Well next time, we’ll have a little more fun, shall we? Up against the door. Oh, the library! Delightfully kinky.”

“Yes I suppose that would be rather naughty - wait, did you say ‘next time’…?”

“Good. Glad you caught that.”

-finis-

Like what you see? Why don't you friend the comm.

(x.posted about)

[ ff: squirm ]

sinistercircus — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 23:21:31 GMT

Title: Squirm
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Giles/Jenny
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The Dark Age
Warning: Mild sexual themes
Summary: “See if I can make you squirm.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: For Annie. BFF extraordinaire.

It was her final words that made him snap - something about the idea of her wanting to stay in and ultimate meaning behind as well as her constant teasing, which was annoying and yet painfully arousing at the same time but something inside Giles exploded, forcing the often repressed Ripper tendencies to bubble through.

He braced himself against the wall, looking down at the floor as a myriad of images swam through his mind, the intensity and clarity of the lustful pictures causing him to blush.

“Rupert? You okay…you look a little flushed.”

He closed his eyes, almost painfully, hating that she had this much control over him. Swallowing hard, he made a decision, consequences be damned.

“Yes, well n-no, actually.” He let out a shaky breath, as he swayed slightly. “Little lightheaded,” he murmured, his self-conscious breathy laugh whispering its way out.

He felt her grip his bicep, her arm twined around his, her hand firmly on the muscle. “We have a few before classes start. Why don’t you come sit down.”

He nodded, allowing himself to be guided into her classroom.

He observed her from the corner of his eye as she turned her body slightly, her free hand grasping the door handle and pulling it shut behind them, all the while still supporting his weight.

Pressing his lips together, he counted to three and in one swift movement, he twisted his body and pressed her roughly against the now-closed classroom door.

He breathed a smile as he heard her startled moan, a dash of fear crossing her eyes before something more powerful overtook the warm browns. Those delightfully sinful eyes darkening as one hand crept up her body to grasp both wrists, keeping them pinned above her head.

His right hand trailed down her body, fingers skimming the side of her breast as he took in the soft material of her white sweater before finding enjoying comfort with the sheer texture of her skirt.

“Tonight,” he breathed, leaning closer until his lips barely grazed her own. He waited until she began to respond and quickly pulled away, placing wet kisses along her jaw and to the side of her neck.

“Rupert -”

“Ah,” his husked voice stopped her from speaking further as he brought his hand to cup her face. His thumb strayed, stroking her cheek before gliding it to her full lips. Full lips he was dying to kiss properly - with no bells or chatter to disturb him. He traced the contour of her lips before settling in the middle, applying just the right amount of pressure to part them. His lips quirked slightly as she responded on her own, opening up her mouth and taking the tip of his thumb between her lips. He breathed aloud as he felt her tongue swirl against the pad, knowing that his control over the situation was slowly ebbing away.

He dipped his head slightly, watching her through his lashes as he shifted his body, slipping his leg between hers, his knee pressing up against her core.

He grinned wicked, knowing that her attempt to control her gasp had failed, a reactionary mixture from both the boldness of his actions and the state of his arousal pressing up against her. He didn’t care: he wanted her to feel what she did to him, just as he wanted to feel her response.

His left hand continued to hold her lightly by the wrist, glad she hadn’t fought his unchallenging hold. His right hand rested on her waist before skimming down her thigh, all the way to the top of her knee. He pinched the fabric between his thumb and index, drawing it up until he bunched the material at her waist, slipping it into the elastic band of her skirt.

He brought his hand down again, cupping her firm thigh muscle before sliding back, gripping her leg and forcing her to lift it, until it rested against his hip. He leaned into her further, both suppressing a moan as they pressed further into each other.

“I’d take you now, if I could. When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk for a couple of days.” His lips were back against her neck, feeling her pulse beat wildly as he nipped the tender flesh. He trailed his lips up to the sensitive spot behind her ear, kissing her softly. “Tonight.” He reminded her.

“T-tonight.”

He grinned against her cheek, listening to the quiver of her voice. He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he brought his lips to hers, kissing her hard. He dropped her hands and they automatically came to rest on his shoulders as his left hand held her face, allowing him better access to her mouth. He tilted her head to the side, angling her as he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, sucking her lower lip before pulling away abruptly.

He kept is hands on her, both cupping her face as he stared into her eyes, which remained closed as she hummed softly. He brought his hands to her waist, slowly untucking her skirt and letting the material fall back as she slowly slid her leg down his.

“Rupert, I -”

Her voice was interrupted as the door handle turned, opening up to loud and distracted chatter. His years of training had granted him some form of proper reflex and he grabbed her before they tumbled out, pulling her into the classroom and stepping away from her with an almost rehearsed grace. He smoothly produced a diskette that he had casually swiped, seconds ago, from her desk.

“Well Miss Calendar, I take it you won’t be leaving your um, your…” He cringed slightly, not knowing what to call the blasted piece in his hand, instead opting to wave it in front of her.

“Um, diskette. Yes, my diskette. That I forgot.”

They both stared at each other, grimacing at the inanity of their discussion. They casually glanced at the students filing in, all of whom were steadily ignoring them.

“Right,” he cleared his throat. “Good day, Miss Calendar.”

“Mister Giles.”

He smiled, allowing her to walk him out the door.

“That was a dirty trick, Rupert.” But there was a smile in her voice.

He lowered his head, loving the way her skin still colored, happy that it was her turn to be flustered this time. “Revenge tastes quite delicious, actually,” he mused smugly. Licking his lips unconsciously, he glanced at her again, not being able to hide the love and excitement in his eyes. “I’m assuming you’re in the same category, yes?”

He smiled as he watched her walk back in her classroom, though with a slightly nervous and aroused air. He paused for a moment before taking a step back into the class, leaning against the door and interrupting her just as she was about to speak.

“Oh and Miss Calendar, I do believe the old adage goes something along the lines of ‘made you squirm’?”

[ ff: just another casualty ]

sinistercircus — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 04:41:55 GMT

Title: Just Another Casualty
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Jack Angst
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Chimera
Warnings: None
Summary: “Tired of holding on to something that I can never have…”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Episode manipulation of S7’s Chimera. Set right after the infamous elevator scene. AU.

“Bit uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

She chewed on her lip, words tumbling out of her mouth in quick succession. “Yeah, a bit.” She let out an audible sigh when the elevator doors slid open at a painfully slow speed, and watched her commanding officer move past her with a quick exit.

“Good luck.”

“Thank you Sir.” She paused, watching him retreat towards his quarters. She clicked the button to continue her journey upwards, still watching his form. She stuck her hand out, stopping the elevator doors from shutting completely, and pried them open. She couldn’t leave this unfinished. There had been too many emotions swimming around them that needed to breathe.

She began to follow his unintentional lead, stopping a good number of steps away as he disappeared into his quarters, closing the door behind him. Waiting a few seconds, she breathed deeply before knocking on his door. When no answer greeted her, she tested the doorknob, not surprised to find it unlocked.

Premature words danced across her tongue, but unsupported by the breath she was holding, no sound surfaced. She exhaled softly, heart hammering wild in her chest.

“We’re just seeing each other…it’s never been serious,” she began, closing the door lightly behind her, afraid to ignite the confrontation she knew was brewing.

“Yeah? And what about you and that cop fellow? That casual too?”

She flinched at his tone, dismissive and intentionally poisonous. It was human nature after all, hurt the ones who hurt you.

“So that’s it then? All this to tide you over until you found someone -”

“- how can you say that? I couldn’t make anymore excuses; why I’m single and not looking was beyond my brother’s comprehension. He kept pushing and pushing -”

“- and you couldn’t have told him to back off? That you’ve found someone already -”

“- he’d want to meet him -”

“- fine, that you don’t have time because of your job -”

“- because I’m tired of hiding!” Her outburst silenced him. “Tired of the secrecy.”

“Sam…”

“Tired of holding on to something that I can never have…”

The words instilled a thick tension in the room, the harshness and reality of the situation settling uneasily.

“You really believe that. That we could never…”

He had trailed off, his voice soft yet hurt, causing her to avert her eyes.

A knock sounded, interrupting any further conversation but adding to the discomfort that lay suspended.

“C’min.”

She glanced at him and then turned to the door, standing up immediately when the General stepped in.

“Colonel. Major.”

She nodded back a greeting, snapping a quick salute to him. She felt both sets of eyes on her as she began a hasty exit. “I was just leaving, Sirs.”

“Stay.”

His single-worded command stopped her still, hand on the door knob, body rigid. She wasn’t sure who had stopped her, Colonel O’Neill or Jack O’Neill. The man who she had sworn to obey, or the man she had grown to love, as they spent quiet intimate evenings together. It had never progressed to anything further than light kisses and close company, but the fraternization regulations still limped its way into their time together, sparking discussions and arguments.

“Colonel, is there a reason for this impromptu meeting, in the confines of your quarters?”

She knew that the General had glanced at her, could feel the suspicion in his tone, apprehension slightly coating each word.

“Of course, Sir.”

She turned, oddly comforted by the cool composure emanating from her commanding officer.

“I’m resigning.”

Her eyes went wide, surprised not only by the statement, but also by the General’s unmoved reaction to his finest quitting the team.

“Jack. We’ve talked about this, hell we talk about it once a week. I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you but your request is denied.”

She watched the Colonel hand the paper to the General none-the-less, ignoring the annoyed look that crossed the older man’s face.

“Gonna keep handing you one each week, Sir.”

“Yeah well, I already have a file cabinet reserved just for you…”

There was a twinkle of humour that she caught slipping out of the General and chewed on it curiously.

“Anything to sway your decision, Colonel?”

She watched his eyes slide over to her, saw him hesitate for just a beat.

The harmony of “Sir” and “Jack” didn’t seem to sway his intentions, and she allowed herself a seat, heavily leaning on the table as she awaited his response.

“I want the frat regs abolished.”

“That all?”

She narrowed her eyes, noting the twitch of humour returning to the General’s air.

“For me and Carter, anyway.”

She swallowed hard, dropping her eyes to the table, staring at her hands splayed out against the pale faux-wood surface.

“For you and Major Carter.”

“Yes Sir.”

She closed her eyes, letting out a breath.

“Of course nothing has happened yet Sir. We just…we just want the opportunity to…”

“Alright Jack.”

She inwardly thanked the General for interrupting anymore embarrassments that the Colonel could produce. He was a damn good soldier, the best leader she could ever hope for, a caring and honest friend and despite never being exposed to it, she knew he was a loving and passionate lover. But one thing Jack O’Neill was not, was a good politician. She was surprised words were still able to surface every time he put his foot in his mouth. Sometimes she was sure his foot was in so deep that he could probably lick his kneecap.

“That’s it? Alright. As in yes?”

Her eyes jerked to the General. Could it have been that easy? All this time, all they had to do was -

“- alright as in I’ll talk to my superiors.”

Oh.

“Oh. Okay. Well that’s a start, right Carter?”

She inched her eyes to meet his, opening her mouth but still unsure as to what to say. Luckily the General had chose that moment to take his leave, not before throwing the Colonel a meaningful look - one that she wasn’t able to decipher, but one she knew she was the subject of.

“Well that went well.”

She watched him sit down on his bed, knees bent and arms lazily dangling off them.

“I should go, Sir.”

“Yeah.”

She met his gaze, her sad one exchanging sorrow with his. “Goodnight Sir.” The last thing she heard was a soft sigh, followed by a whispered ‘night Carter’ as she closed the door.

***

She stopped by his quarters, knocking lightly and awaiting a response. Her brow furrowed when he didn’t answer his door, and she tested the knob as she had before the weekend had come and gone. Before the possibility of an opportunity was laid to rest in front of her, presented on a rarely-seen silver platter.

Once again, she found it unlocked, but something in her stomach was telling her not to open it. She felt ill, but went against her gut instinct and slowly inched the door open.

She took a step back, mouth slightly open and breath held. Walking inside, she took in the barren room, noting that everything that had held some memory of Jack O’Neill had been stripped. The room was just cold now, with a table, a single bed donned with fresh linens and a small bedside table with a lamp on it. She walked over, fingers tracing the table - the same one she had sat at two nights before.

“Hey.”

She turned abruptly, having felt him before actually hearing his voice. “Your stuff…” She left the observation hanging, hating to point out the obvious. She walked up to him, where he stood leaning against the door jam.

“I take it the frat regs weren’t overturned?” She asked, her voice soft and unemotional. She fingered the visitor clearance name tag that he had pinned to his t-shirt. “Must feel good to be in your civvies.”

She purposely kept her voice flat, almost as if trying to put a lid on the nausea that was bubbling inside of her.

“It’d feel better after I do this…”

She closed her eyes, neither moving in to his intent nor moving away, her heart and mind still in conflict. She parted her lips, barely feeling the surprisingly softness of his brush against, before a voice disturbed them.

“Sam. You’re right, this place is huge!”

Pulling back abruptly, she dropped her head to her chest, physically unable to see the pain that she knew was lingering in her former CO’s eyes. “Pete. This is Jack O’Neill. My Commanding Offi -”

“- former.”

She cringed, still not looking in his direction. “Colonel, this is Pete Shanahan -”

“ - not a Colonel anymore, Carter.”

“Right. Not anymore.” He was avoiding being introduced and she was avoiding him. She shivered slightly, feeling the nausea build. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt someone, let alone him.

“Hey, nice to meet you!”

Leave it to Pete to be completely unaware of the tension, she mused angrily. She knew the anger was misguided, knew that it should have been directed at herself for playing with not only their emotions, but hers as well. She watched from the corner of her eye as Jack shook Pete’s offered hand, feeling his gaze on her despite the younger man’s ramblings.

“Sir -”

“Not necessary, Carter.”

She took a step back as he slipped past between Pete and herself. Sticking her head out of his quarters, she watched his retreating form, watched as he ripped his nametag from his shirt and threw it against the wall.

“What’s up with him? It looks like he lost his best-friend.”

She swallowed hard, trying to regulate her breathing. “He might have.”

****

“Come on in, Jack.”

“Sir.” He saluted and moments later cringed. “Old habits, Sir.”

“Have a seat. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been expecting you, son.”

Jack smiled sadly. Leave it to George to cut to the chase and save him some humiliation. He sat down in front of the General, hands clasped together and resting in his lap.

“I take it didn’t go well?”

He paused for a moment, taking in the older man’s tone and searching his eyes. It was pure empathy - of understanding and support. “This…” he motioned around him, “this is all I have left, Sir.”

He dropped his eyes, staring at his hands and awaiting the General’s refusal. Perhaps fate was catching up with him, and would offer the second most hurtful rejection of his life - the first having just occurred moments before. He sighed aloud, swallowing the bitter taste that wallowed in his mouth.

“Jack…”

“I’m coming back Sir, with my tail between my legs.” He paused, elbows resting on his knees and voice lowering.

“You made quite a speech before, Jack. About not needing this place. About finally putting your happiness first. About how the SGC didn’t need you - how you weren’t needed to save the planet.”

Jack sat back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t have any happiness, Sir.” He brought his gaze down, finally meeting the older man. “This is my last chance at sanity. The only thing I know how to do. I’m a soldier, Sir. I’m done with being human.”

His eye twitched slightly, reviewing his words. Aside from the needless drama that his tone took, he was pretty content with his statement and hoped the General would be lenient.

“I’m just asking you to talk to the higher ups, Sir. As a favour to me. Tell them that I’ve changed my mind.”

“You…changed your mind?”

He frowned at the General’s obvious goading, hearing the teasing in his voice. “Fine. That I had my mind changed for me. That I’ll take a pay cut and you can raise my hours, Hell I’ll clean the mess hall and I can do kitchen duty, and doc Frasier can give me three needles a week - .”

“Jack.”

He stopped abruptly, George’s gentle tone surprising him.

“I haven’t even filed the paper work yet.”

Jack watched him pick the issued retirement form, and feed it into the shredder.

“Between us, Friday’s conversation never happened.”

Jack sat up a little straighter. “No Sir. It didn’t.”

“And neither did today’s conversation.”

“No Sir. They both didn’t.” He easily took the General’s bait, not wanting for the man to go back on his word. After all, he easily accomplished that feat. He stood up, waiting to be dismissed.

“Dismissed, Colonel O’Neill.”

He saluted the man, giving him a thankful. “Good to be back, Sir.” He pivoted on his right foot and turned, opening the door.

“Colonel?”

“Yes Sir?” He poked his head back into the room, hand still clutching the door knob.

“I expect objectivity will continue to remain present.”

He nodded. “Of course, Sir.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

***

He sighed deeply, lounging in his chair as he watched the Simpsons on a small television that he had brought in. He glanced around the room - his posters had been put back; his certificates and medals, his decorations were back in their rightful place. He stared at the floor, listening to Homer’s voice with a distraction that he couldn’t shake.

Fate had managed to catch up with him, putting him in his rightful place. Alone with an aching heart and a destiny to save the world. He slapped a hand to his face, scrubbing it harshly. God, when had he gotten so dramatic.

Back to the door, he didn’t even bother to turn when he heard a knocking. “C’min.” He tensed when he felt her enter, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck to appease the little hairs that stood up.

“I heard you were back, Sir.”

“Yeah.” He stared straight ahead, too hurt and angry to look at her. “Didn’t know it would hurt that much to leave.” He knew his voice was hard, knew that his choice of words could have been better. But no matter how hard he tried, on a personal level, he couldn’t forget. Couldn’t forgive and forget at how she had played with his emotions and just tossed him away.

He knew it had been a risk from the beginning - putting his heart on the line like that. But he had eagerly walked unarmed onto the battlefield and, as he morosely expected, had gotten massacred and left for dead. Just another casualty in the war of love.

He pressed his lips together, eyes closed. Yup. Quite the drama queen.

“I’m sorry…I never meant for you to have to choose -”

He let out a small laugh, pathetic and weak. “Right. I sold my colouring book to buy you a dress for your doll, and you sold your doll to buy me crayons for my colouring book…” His eyes remained glued to the television, staring but not watching.

He felt her approach, felt her bend down slightly so that they were eye level. Her face was so close that he could feel her breath on his cheek.

“But you didn’t really sell your doll, did you?” It hadn’t been a question for he knew the answer all too well. Not because of rumour mill, but just a gut instinct because luck had never been on his side when it came to happiness.

“No Sir.”

He heard her voice break, could feel the falter in it. His heart, their friendship - all victims.

“I’m sorry.”

He shivered slightly, her whispered words caressing his cheek as he felt her press her forehead against his right temple. He stared down at his hands, not knowing how to react. Not knowing what to say.

“Will we be okay?”

He shook his head. “In the field? Ya sure you betcha. Soldiers. Team mates. We look out for each other.” He swallowed hard, head still bowed. “But outside…”

“For how long?”

“Until it stops hurting.” He still hadn’t looked at her, denying himself to look into her eyes for he knew it would weaken his resolve. No, he had decided. He had to set these boundaries, had to push her away. At least this rejection would help him to inevitably move on. He paused, hoping that his heart didn’t hold the same stubborn gene as his mind.

“Anyway I can repair this, Jack?”

He liked how she sounded his name, liked the way it was a husked whisper. Forbidden almost. He almost smiled at her effort, realizing how it was just like her to want to repair. “I think it’s pretty much scrapped, wouldn’t you say, Major?”

“Jack.”

He finally turned, her pleading voice giving him some angered power. “I believe it’s Sir, Major.” He sadistically gained some satisfaction from the hurt in her eyes, but he knew that she was aware it wouldn’t reach the level of pain she had inflicted on him. “Dismissed, Major.” He returned his attention to the screen, ignoring her completely. His gaze didn’t falter when she inched her lips closer to his, capturing him in a non-responsive kiss. He kept his gaze leveled, not acknowledging the desperation in her light kisses, or the way her tongue had shyly skimmed his lips before pulling back. He continued to stew in his anger as she withdrew, listening to her exhale shakily before she took her leave.

He waited until he heard the door close before letting out a breath himself, refusing to acknowledge the quiver. His eyes slid closed as he gently traced his lips, filing that moment, that feeling to memory.

A body left out on the battlefield. Shot in the back. A victim of friendly fire.

--finis--

[ ff: doggo 6/? ]

sinistercircus — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 22:34:45 GMT

Title: Doggo
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: ...probably but nothing concrete.
Warnings: Major character death'ish, sexual themes
Summary: “Just take a breath. Now imagine it your last.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Thanks to everyone for their constant support and kind reviews. It really means a lot to me. ♥

Morning found him before the alarm’s wake and he gently reached over his sleeping companion, dotting her face with a kiss as he preempted the alerting ring. Cautiously sliding out of bed, he tiptoed to the bathroom across the hall, a quick shower being his intent.

Inhaling deeply, her eyes fluttered open before she gently turned on her side, glancing at the empty space beside her. Fingers gently traced the pillow before she glanced over her shoulder, staring in direction of the bathroom.

He stood under the shower’s powerful jet, allowing the water to cascade over him and soothe his muscles. Leaning his head against the cool tile, he thought of his upcoming day - actions that would affect the rest of his life. There were so many things he hadn’t thought about and despite the urgency of the situation, he was finding it hard to concentrate on anything except for her body. Her face. Her voice. He smiled softly to himself: her spirit.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and let the water run down his face and neck. It was going to be a long journey and he knew the results weren’t one-hundred percent. There was no way of even knowing if the effect was reversible. If there would be any long-term consequences. He swallowed hard, wondering if Sam would stick with him through and through.

His thoughts were interrupted by two cold hands, pressing against his shoulder blades until he was almost pressed up against the wall. He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “Careful Carter, we could’a had an accident down there.” He gave a grin at her chuckle, glancing down at the faucet between his legs.

He turned around, hands immediately finding her skin, bringing her closer under the shower’s warm spray. “I’m the one cursed with stealth,” he mentioned, referring to her entrance into the shower, undetected.

She took a step back, leaning against the other side of wall as she watched him.

His thoughts came back to haunt him. Had she figured out that should his invisible state be permanent, there would be more negative aspects than positives through her eyes? He pressed his lips together, dropping his chin to his chest. “Look Carter, I -”

“- I can see you.” She interrupted him, eyes watching him.

He just noticed her happiness, just heard it in her voice. “W-what?” He glanced down at his own body, still seeing nothing through his eyes.

“With the water,” she began, taking a step towards him. Her hand slid down his shoulder, reaching down to clasp his fingers. Her other hand remained active, tracing around his nipple before leaning and gently taking it between her teeth. She guided him further under the spray, watching as each drop left a whispered trace of his form.

Not taking her eyes off his somewhat visible form, she reached for the soap and gently lathered it. Pressing the bar against his skin, she began to paint him, watching as the suds revealed the body that had connected with hers last night. The body belonging to the man who she spent countless nights dreaming of.

He gave her the time she needed, standing patiently still and enjoying the feel of her hands as she massaged the soap into his skin. Watching her concentration and arousal was breathtaking, and he inhaled deeply as her hands began to move downwards, lathering soap over his awakening member.

“I miss seeing you…” She whispered, taking a step back from him.

He glanced at her when she stopped abruptly, holding his breath and waiting for her to declare that this wasn’t going to work out.
She brought her body back against his, hands feeling the skin she couldn’t see. “I still can’t believe you’re here…alive.” She paused, fingers reaching for his face until she found his lips. She traced them before leaning up and giving him a tender kiss. “…that you’re here with me.”

He brought his hands forward, cupping her cheeks and pulling her in for another kiss. “Scared me for a minute,” he whispered between kisses, “thought you were going to leave me…”

She took a step back, brow furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

He closed the distance, embracing her. “Because maybe you realized that if I’m stuck like this, we could never have a normal relationship.”

She scoffed, kissing him on the neck. “When has our relationship ever been normal?”

He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it wisely. “Good point.”

She laughed, turning slightly and leaning against the adjacent wall. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she pulled him towards her, lifting her leg and resting it on the outside of his thigh.

“I wouldn’t be able to take you to dinner. Ever. We could maybe pull off the movies,” he mumbled, leaning against her. He glanced down at her leg, which had started to gently rub up and down his calf before hooking itself around his thigh. He cleared his throat, feeling her heat against his arousal. “You can forget about a wedding ceremony, unless you want the National Inquirer to cover it.”

“Jack.”

His head shot up, not only at the intonation of her voice, but also at the use of his name.

“So what, you’ve been in here drowning in your pity?” She rolled her eyes, one hand sliding down his taut stomach before venturing down lower. “We’ll deal with those moments when they come. I just…I just want you.” She leaned forward and kissed him hard as her hand grasped his erection, fingers coaxing it to hardness. “I don’t care about those things. I care…a lot…about you.” She smoothed out her kisses along his jaw before reaching for his lips once more. “Love you.”

“That’s…” He paused, giving her a crooked grin. “Really cheesy.”

She laughed, leaning her head against the tile as she looked at him with lust filled eyes. “So you gonna do me before you go?”

He closed his eyes, letting out a small moan as his hands became animate, one gently pinching her nipple while the other trailed down her torso until he reached his destination. “Already wet, Captain?” He grinned, grabbing hold of her hand that still caressed his erection, and guided it closer to her, pressing the tip against her core.

She shivered, hands now gripping his shoulders as she prepared for him to enter her. She raised her leg higher, opening up for him. She moaned softly, her breath captured by his mouth as he entered her, finding that familiar rhythm that they had discovered last night.

***

They emerged out of the shower half an hour later, each sporting a reddish tint from the accumulation of steam, words whispered and caresses administered - though Sam’s was the only one who’s colouring was apparent. They dressed in relative silence, seldom interrupted by Jack’s lame comment and Sam’s giggled response.

Sitting at the table, he watched as she devoured the waffles that he had made with an amused smile.

She picked up on the silence, throwing a sheepish grin over to where he sat. “What? Sex makes me hungry, okay?”

“If the level of your hunger is in any relation to the quality of sex, I’m a very proud man.”

She laughed out loud, throwing him those kind of smiles that made him weak at the knees. “So,” she sobered up, wiping her mouth with a napkin, “you thought about how you’re going to get to the mountain? You can’t drive because an unmanned vehicle cruising down the highway will surely get some looks. Can’t hail a cab because no one is going to stop for, well…no one.”

After a long period of silence, Jack sighed aloud. “You know, I’m really glad you can’t see the dumbfounded look on my face.”

She breathed out a laugh. “Oh, I can imagine it, Sir.”

There was another pause, a little more tense this time. “I’m giving you such a dirty look right now, Captain.”

She smiled at the humour lacing his tone. “We can leave whenever you’re ready, Sir.”

“Carter…last time I checked, you were suspended -”

“- I know, Sir. I figure I can drop you off a little ways in, and then you can put your stealth to good use.”

He nodded at her teasing. “Yes well, it’s not going to be very hard this time.”

She cleared her plate and his, setting them in the dishwasher and turning the cycle on. “Ready? Do you need any provisions, Sir?”

“Don’t really have a place to put them, now do I?” He scoffed at her. “And here I thought I was sleeping with a scientist.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can think of a place to put ‘em…” She mumbled as she walked out the door.

“Care to repeat that, Captain? Your CO didn’t catch that last part.” Jack replied, following her out and locking the door behind him.

***

She dropped him about a click away, putting her car into park near an alley. She rested her hands in her lap, smiling sadly as she felt his hand on her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Carter. Stop worrying. That’s an order.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, giving him access to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Humming softly, she reached her hand, sliding it up to his jaw and leaning over to kiss him. “Be careful, Sir.”

“Me? I’m always careful.”

She raised her eyebrow, opening her mouth to retort but he cut her off.

“Okay. Bad example.” He shrugged, leaning back in the seat. “It’ll be a piece of cake. No one can see me, I’ll head out undetected, get the information on how to turn back to normal from the colourful - er, invisible locals, and I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He paused. “See? Piece of cake. Hm, maybe we can have some cake after.”

Sam remained silent, looking at the Cheyenne Mountain in the distance. “You do have an advantage…”

“See? It’ll be easy. I’ll give you a call once I’m back in.”

She nodded, reaching over for his hand and holding it tightly. “Come back to me.” It was a murmur but the intensity was not lost to his ears. She turned to face him, eyes pleading. “I can’t lose you again. Not after all this.”

He leaned over, catching her lips by surprise. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

***

He smiled, his ego needing no stroking as he managed to infiltrate one of the most heaviest guarded complexes in the U.S. He literally had to physically stop himself from whistling smugly as he walked casually through the busy halls of the SGC.

Stopping off at the infirmary, the revengeful thought of jamming an extra large needle into Janet’s backside did cross his mind, but he quickly dismissed that evil thought with a smile. He discreetly swiped a couple of sedatives and quickly retreated from the infirmary, careful to avoid any witnesses from seeing a few floating syringes.

Making his way to the command room, he quickly sedated Walter and the other officer on duty, dragging their bodies and leaning them up against the wall. He took a seat in Walter’s chair and was about to enter the code to seal off the room when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Jumping, he placed a hand to his chest, meeting the amused blue eyes of his lover.

“Damnit Carter. You have got to stop doing that!” His brow furrowed. “How did you get in? I thought you were suspended…” He whispered, looking over her shoulder, making sure the coast was clear.

“Snuck in through the back. It’s a long climb down, Sir.”

“That it is.” He turned toward the computer, as he finished typing up the code. “How did you know where I was?”

“Saw the chair moving.” She remarked casually, looking out into the deserted embarkation room. “Now’s our chance, Sir.” She moved beside him, entering the coordinates in the computer.

“Our chance?” He raised his eyebrow. “Carter…you’re in enough trouble as it is. I don’t want to drag you into this…”

She turned, voice intense. “Sir, you need me. You may not need me to go, but you do need me to get back. Without a GDO code, we won’t even open the iris. And even if you have one, what do you think will happen when you come in?”

“Well, I expected to be … back to normal by then.” He stated lamely, watching her finger hover over the execute command.

“And if you weren’t?”

He nodded. “If you’re sure…” He closed his eyes as he felt her hands on his chest, trailing up to his jaw as her thumbs rested on each corner of his mouth. He kissed her back with fervour, both knowing that this was a dangerous step they were taking. Going wasn’t as much his concern as their return, knowing that she could very well be shot for trespassing. He screwed his eyes shut, not even wanting to think of that situation. “Let’s go. We gotta go now.”

She nodded. “Door’s sealed? Hammond has the code but it’ll stop ‘em for awhile.”

“Yeah. You got the GDO?”

“Yes Sir.”

The two rushed out of the room as the klaxons started to ring, and the gate started to dial. Running into the embarkation room, they moved to either side and opened the electronic box, dismantling the doors.

The final chevron locked and they both watched as the gate blossomed into life.

“Captain Carter!”

She turned around, meeting the livid and shocked gaze of George Hammond.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice boomed from the microphone.

To the side, they both heard men trying to enter through the door.

“I am ordering you to cease this nonsense, Captain! You are trespassing. If you go through that gate, I can not protect you from any consequences that may arise.” His voice softened a touch, though she could see the change more in his eyes. “Samantha. I know Colonel O’Neill’s death has taken its toll, but you’re not thinking sensibly at the moment.” He paused. “We can get you some help, Sam.”

She looked at him with worried eyes, closing them when she felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “No going back now, Sir. Let’s go.” With one last look at the base’s General , she grabbed Jack’s hand and they quickly walked into the gate, officially sealing her fate as a fugitive.

--tbc--

Previous chapters
Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four || Chapter Five

[ fic master list ]

sinistercircus — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 05:46:54 GMT

buffy the vampire slayer

{squirm}

{shoot and bolt}

{some sort of revenge}

{chapter one}

{chapter one}
{chapter two}
{chapter three}
{chapter four}

stargate sg-1

[coming soon]

{broca reunited}
[complete]

{captive}
[complete]

{carter's jello}
[complete]

{the colonel's mistake}
[complete]

{chapter one}
{chapter two}
{chapter three}
{chapter four}
{chapter five}
{chapter six}
[work in progress]

{elevator antics}
[complete]

[coming soon]

{just another casualty}
[complete]

{chapter one}
{chapter two}
[work in progress]

{one every four hours}
[complete]

[coming soon]

house md
{all in the name of a stranger}
[complete]

backstabbing, conspiracies and eggnog
{chapter one}
{chapter two}
{chapter three}
{chapter four}
[incomplete]

{constant}
[complete]

{here for you}
[complete]

{his eyes}
[complete]

{my story}
[complete

{of candy canes and mistletoe}
[complete]

remedy
{chapter one}
{chapter two}
[incomplete]

{stuck}
[complete]

{take me home}
[complete]

{vulnerable}
[complete]

{we ourselves}
[complete]

{window of opportunity}
[complete]

...continuing effort

[ ff: one every four hours ]

sinistercircus — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 03:28:57 GMT

Title: One Every Four Hours
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Sexual themes
Summary: “What? I said I’d make it up to you.”
Notes: Humour & PWP written for my favourite Goa’uld, emosweet because she’s injured and wanted SJ porn and I, apparently, live to serve her. Heh.

It was quite a staggering feat, if he could say so himself. Amidst the myriad of staff blasts and bullets, he hopped, ducked, jumped and rolled with graceful precision; dodging and shooting right on target to a serene stretch of music in his head.

It was lyrical to a fault, how the moments extended to each other, presenting no falter, no miss-matched step. Calculation and improvisation tip-toed together as his orders sung out in a haunting melody before the gate burst to life, catching his breath with envy.

He watched his team, still under attack and no where as harmonized as he, cross through the liquid horizon in tumbled succession. Now only he remained, his back to his home and his gun poised to finish the final aria.

Two staff blasts flew past him in sync, striking against the gate with a reverberated clash as sparks burned behind him, adding to his dramatic finale. Rhythm beat out of his gun’s nozzle, each bullet a cymbal to the Jaffa’s chest, complimented by the cadence of bodies hitting the floor.

He walked backwards, gun almost conducting his exit as the blue curtain swallowed him whole, stroking his ego and giving honor to his grin.

The last thing he remembered, save for the blissful feeling that synchronicity had blessed him with, was seeing the ramp, the ceiling, the ramp, the floor and then the ceiling. “For crying out loud!” He gripped his ankle tightly as curses hissed through clenched teeth. “If I find the bastard who -”

“- sorry Sir.”

He cracked open an eye and glared at his second-in-command. “Carter.” He breathed, stretching out her name with a warning. To her credit, she did look sincerely apologetic. However, her doleful puppy-dog eyed expression did nothing to alleviate the throbbing that drummed in his right ankle; the echoes being felt all the way up to his knee.

He watched as she hopped off the side of the ramp, feet stomping just beside his head. “What the hell were you doing, crouched down right in front of the gate, Major?” He resorted to rank. Despite not meaning them, he did have a few choice words swimming around in his head, and opted for the politer route instead.

“We all came tumbling in, Sir. I dropped my pack and bent down to pick it up, and then you came in backwards -”

He screwed his eyes shut. Of course fate was a bitch. He paraded around on the battlefield, seemingly invincible, making Jaffa cower with fear and one step on home soil - bam! He lands flat on his ass after a series of not-too-graceful rolls, with his major and several techs to witness his moment of splendor.

“I was watching my six, Major,” he hissed, watching as the medic team arrived, all biting back grins. He narrowed his eyes, daring even a minute whispered giggle to surface, knowing that they knew the consequences all to well. He turned his attention back to her. “I was making sure none of the Jaffa shot me in the back while I stepped through the gate. Just didn’t think that I’d be falling for you -”

“- Sir?”

He held up a hand. “Over…you. You know what I mean.” He sighed, wincing as a cold compress was wrapped around his ankle.

“Um well, if it’s any consolation, Sir, you did manage to kick me in the back as you fell.”

He snorted softly. Her guilt was definitely useful. “A little.” He let his lips drop into a little pout, adding an extra painful moan for good pleasure. He peeked at her through his lashes, and noticed the tell-tale signs: the eyes crinkled with worry, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, fingers fidgeting with the material of fatigues. He pressed his lips together, biting back smugness. Extremely useful.

“Colonel, can you stand?”

“I used to be able to.” He shot his Major another look, feigning annoyance before looking back at the doctor. He allowed himself to be helped on to the gurney, sighing angrily at the feeling of being rendered incapable.

“A quick X-Ray and you’ll be good as new, Colonel.”

“Will I ever walk again, Doc?” He asked, voice straining with a dramatic flair which Janet pointedly ignored. Jack O'Neill. Drama Queen. Colonel Drama Queen. He lay back, staring up at the ceiling once more as he felt the gurney start it’s motion.

“Sir…if there’s anything I can do. Anything to make it up to you…”

“Relax Carter,” he cut her off, watching her as she fell into step with the gurney’s journey. “It was an accident.” He narrowed his eyes, feigning suspicion. “Or was it?” He gave her a lopsided smile as she rolled her eyes, before stopping and letting him continue the rest of the way with Janet.

“By the way, Carter,” he called out as he was wheeled away, leaving no room for argument, “don’t forget: you’re driving me home.”

***

“Just be glad I didn’t ask you to carry me over the threshold.” He grunted his words, purposely giving most of his weight to his second-in-command. He hobbled, she dragged. “My bag’s still in the car,” he tossed over his shoulder as he settled himself down on the couch. “Oh and I’d like a grilled cheese for lunch.”

“Yes Master.”

Eyes scrunched closed as he tried to contain his laughter. Oh this was gold! He cleared his throat, his game face fixed in place. “What was that, Major?” He asked her as she returned, dumping his bag near the front entrance.

“Yes Sir.”

He blew out a breath, feeling the venom in her voice. Swallowing hard, he reeled the tension back in. “Care to join me for lunch, Carter?”

“Is it an option?”

Her smile was contagious and he threw her a grin. “No.”

“Thought so. I’ll start on the sandwich.”

He watched her move through his kitchen, smiling as she discovered and explored her way around the small island kitchenette. Pans clanked, glasses clinked and cupboards slammed. He tried hard not to stare, knowing that she’d catch him. Retrieving his bottle of pills from his pocket, he rattled them a little before eyeing the pills through the orange plastic container, trying to guess how many were prescribed. “Take every four hours with or without a meal.” He glanced at his watch, his ankle throbbing as he felt it swell further.

“Janet said to take some when you get home, sleep a little…take some more.”

He smiled, giving her a nod as she placed a plate in front of him. “Apparently these suckers knock you out like a Jaffa staff blast,” he mumbled, words muffled with his sandwich. “Pff, all lies. Those things never work.”

She nodded, leaning back against the couch, folding her arms across her chest.

“So you gonna leave?” He asked, as he finished off his sandwich. He handed her the plate, and stretched out on the couch, hissing as he moved his ankle without thought.

“Well who knows what side-effects these pills cause…”

He tapped out two pills and swallowed them dry. “So you’re staying.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.” He held up his hand, waiting for her to help him up. “You can keep me company.”

“Please Sir, you’ll be out before your head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll have you know, Carter, that I have a very high tolerance level.” He stuck his nose in the air, indignantly. He allowed her to help him into bed, sighing aloud as he crossed his arms underneath his pillow.

“Maybe we can play twenty-questions…”

***

He moaned as soft lips gently sucked the tender spot right behind his ear. He shivered. He actually shivered as cool air was blown into his ear before teeth gently nibbled his ear lobe. “Carter,” he whispered softly, hands trailing down her sides to stop at her waist.

He dug his heels into the mattress, lifting her up and thrusting into her, feeling her core tighten around him as her name slid past her lips with excitement.

He whispered her name over and over, each time his hips met hers, each time he lifted her off the bed -

“ - Sir!”

He opened his eyes, concerned blue eyes staring back at him. “Sir, you were dreaming -”

“- well damn.” He stated plainly, inhaling deeply before glancing at the clock beside him. Four hours had passed. “Wait, what just happened?”

“You suggested we play twenty questions before you passed out.”

He eyed her suspiciously, knowing there had to be more.

“You did manage to make it through the whole sentence. We’re all proud of your tolerance -”

“- alright, alright Major.” He dismissed her words, wondering if she picked up her new-found sarcasm from somewhere else.

He thrust his head back against the pillow, trying to get his mind off the pain. “Distract me, Carter.”

“Um, so what were you dreaming about?”

The almost embarrassment in her voice caused him to jerk his head up, and he searched her eyes for reason. “Uh…nothing.” He cringed, dropping his head down on the pillow again. That was lame. That was very lame. He knew she wouldn’t buy it.

“You…you said my name, Sir.”

Nope, she didn’t buy it.

“Called out my name, actually.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. She totally knew. He raised his eyes carefully, his own darkening at the depth her blues had deepened to.

“Moaned it…”

He held his breath, feeling fingers tracing up his leg. His eyes grew wide, realizing that they were Carter’s fingers. He opened his mouth to say something, but his words were swallowed by her; lips sliding against his own, tongue immediately slipping against his.

Damn, that was hot.

Kissing Samantha Carter was hot. Just like in his dreams.

He pushed her back slightly, eyes traveling from the arousal in her eyes to her slightly kiss-swollen lips. “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

He swallowed as she hesitated, hips jerking slightly as he felt her hand slide against his erection. He couldn’t hide the disappointment, knowing that he would wake up to nothing but a hard-on and the embarrassment of another wet dream. “Might as well take advantage, then,” he whispered hoarsely, cupping her cheek and pulling her to another kiss. He nipped at her jaw line, tongue tasting and teasing has he kissed down to her neck. He sucked on her skin, wanting to bruise the skin until he branded her as his. Possession. Only in her dreams was she willingly his.

She moaned. He loved the sound of her moans. Idle hands began to move as he stripped her of her clothing, unhooking her bra and wasting to time as his mouth latched on to a pebbled nipple. He began working on her pants, hissing as she braced her hands on his shins - the movement sending a painful jolt to his ankle.

“Damnit. This is a dream! My ankle isn't supposed to hurt in my dreams!” He grumbled before lavishing attention on her other breast.

“Sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s worth it.” He paused, swallowing two more pills. “You’re worth it.” His eyes roamed her body before returning back to her face. “Definitely worth it.”

The smile she gave him was worth all the pain, and he felt himself harden even further. He lay back down as he understood the silent communication that passed between them. On and off the field, they always had that connection. Folding his arms underneath the pillow, he propped himself up slightly, watching as she gently pulled down his pants and underwear, allowing them to rest mid-thigh.

“God,” he breathed out quietly as fingers gently grazed his length, teasing the tip before trailing down. He bit down hard on his lip as he felt her warm mouth envelop him whole. Fingers gripped the sheets, crinkling them as he tried not to succumb to the pleasure too soon.

He reached forward, threading his fingers through her golden strands, cupping the back of her head as she tasted him, teased him and brought him to new levels of arousal.

“Carter…” He motioned her to climb on him, wanting to feel her surround him.

“This is about you, Sir. I promised…”

Her last words were muffled as she took him whole, gently sucking as her tongue swirled around his member. He knew he was close. He knew she knew he was close and knew that she was helping reach that pinnacle.

“Carter…I’m damn close.”

“Ready when you are, Sir.”

He chuckled, leaning his head back as he pictured her nude body, a soft smile on his face as he realized this was the best wet dream he’d ever had.

He grunted, feeling her hands replace her mouth as she pumped him, allowing him his much needed release. The throb in his ankle had dulled to an almost inexistent pulse as he emptied himself, collapsing back against the pillow.

He felt his eyes grow heavy, words on the tip of his tongue, lips on his own and hands gently caressing his chest.

***

He limped his way into her lab, leaning heavily on his crutches. The not-quite padded supports dug into his arm-pits and he winced slightly, before shifting them to a more comfortable position. He nodded towards her. “Thanks for leaving me unattended. I could have fallen down the stairs or drank some Pine Sol because I don’t know any better.” His bottle of pills rattled as he placed it on her desk, watching her with keen eyes; half memorizing her already memorized face, half trying to figure out what was slightly ‘off’ with her posture.

“Got called in, Sir. I left you a note and Poison Control is probably number 3 on your speed dial.” She continued to stare at her computer screen, elbow on the desk and hand half tucked under her jaw, half cupping the side of her neck. “How’d you get here anyway?”

He pressed his lips together, trying to give off an indignant look that failed miserably. “Took your bike.” It was annoyingly casual in its delivery, and he smirked when he saw her head jerk up with fear. Eyes then narrowed as her hand quickly returned to it’s previous position. “Relax. Took a cab.”

“Just couldn’t stay away from work, huh?” She asked, tilting her head downwards and giving him a small smile.

“Yeah…something like that.” It had a distracted air as he hobbled a little closer to her and gently grabbed hold of her wrist, firmly pulling away her supporting hand from her neck. “Carter?” He drew out her name, staring at the small blemish that graced her skin. One that suspiciously looked about the size of his mouth with puckered lips.

His breath hitched at the mischief in her eyes.

“I told you I’d make it up to you, Sir.”

He blinked rapidly. Had that been the unmistakable sound of husk lining her voice? He paused, considering his theory. He almost nodded to himself, Teal’c’s ‘indeed O’Neill’ echoing in his ears, almost making him laugh.

He cocked his head to the side, giving her a slow, accepting nod. “That you did.” Leaning in, he cringed slightly as he ran a finger delicately over the bruised skin. “Eugh…bet they could match that with my dental records.” He cleared his throat, straightening up and leaning back on his crutches. His thumb gently caressed the inside of her wrist, still held up, captive in his hand.

“So…we even, Sir?”

He let out a small chuckle, his eyes doing a predatory sweep of her body before meeting her eyes. “Oh yah.” He agreed willingly. “Though technically, I probably owe you now.”

He dropped her hand, averting his eyes as he realized that he took too much pleasure in making her blush. Turning around slowly, he began to lumber out of her lab. He smiled to himself as he moved toward the elevator, ignoring her call.

He knew she’d eventually give chase - eventually find him. Eventually come to him. After all, he had accidentally left his bottle of pills on her counter and he knew guilt still plagued her thoughts. He counted to three and nodded smugly to himself as her voice died down, just as he had predicted.

He knew she was smiling now, having pocketed the bottle, with a part of its label highlighted proudly.

Take one every four hours.

--fin--

[ ff: doggo 5/? ]

sinistercircus — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 03:47:10 GMT

Title: Doggo
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: ...probably but nothing concrete.
Warnings: Major character death, sexual themes
Summary: “Just take a breath. Now imagine it your last.”
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Notes: Thanks to everyone for their constant support and kind reviews. It really means a lot to me. ♥

Sam locked the door behind her, resting against the mahogany-coloured wood for a second before pushing off of it. She walked past him, blatantly ignoring his question. “Let me clean up, freshen up and then we can start doing a bit of research -”

“ - Carter.”

She turned around, eyes challenging despite not being focused on a particular spot. “Sir?” Her voice was harsh, her tone almost daring.

Jack put his hand up. “Sounds like a plan,” he sighed, watching her continue to clean. He walked to the kitchen, picking up the empty boxes of pizza and putting them in the recycling. He started washing up the few plates that lay isolated on the counter.

Sam walked, frowning at the flowing water from the tap. She reached to turn the tap off, her hand bumping into his. “Oh, sorry Sir. I didn’t…”

“See me?” He finished, keeping his tone light.

She stood behind him, watching as his ghostly figure washed each plate thoroughly. She smiled, observing the water’s bizarre pattern as it hit his hand and rolled off, almost seeing the outline of each finger as the water encased them. She closed her eyes and turned away, a small smile on her lips knowing that he had never been lost to her.

“You okay?”

She opened her eyes, still facing away from him. “Great.” Sam turned, offering him a genuine smile. “I’m just going to freshen up, Sir.”

“I’ll finish cleaning up,” he replied, watching her head to the bathroom. “As always!” He called out, smiling when he heard her giggle.

She quickly undressed, leaving her clothes in a puddle on floor of her bedroom. Standing , clad only her panties and bra in her bathroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror whilst contemplating the past few days and how her life had changed. The experience of a close-friend’s death had taken its toll, adding weariness to her features. Nausea had complemented the depressive state she had found herself spiraling to, when dealing with the loss. She smiled softly to herself, knowing that he had saved her by coming back.

She gently dabbed her face and neck with a cool towel, refreshing her body and mind from the heat of the stove. “Amongst other things…” She mumbled softly to herself. Opening the door, she stepped into her room and began rummaging through her drawers for some comfortable clothes to wear.

Jack stood still, mouth slightly agape. He closed his eyes, committing the image to memory before letting out a shaky breath. Mouth still open, he continued to unabashedly stare at her, as she bent over to retrieve a pair of jogging pants from the bottom drawer. He moved stealthily around the room, almost standing in front of her, eyes trained on the tops of her breasts as they peaked out from her bra.

Sure he had seen her in all her glory, felt her wet body against his when she had been in the shower, but his mind had been elsewhere, as had been his intentions; there in the dank lighting of the SGC showers, he had wanted nothing more than to comfort her. It hadn’t been about sensuality or even lust but about affection and guilt.

Now, as he stood in her room, his intent on retrieving the pair of jeans now lost, he couldn’t help but feel a forbidden desire rush through his body. It had taken all of his strength not to reach out and touch her. He held his breath, eyes screwed shut as his guilt caught up with him. He cursed himself aggressively for taking advantage of his second-in-command like that, for ogling her not once, but twice now.

He watched her grab the pair of jeans she had tossed in here when Daniel and Teal’c had arrived, open the door and make her way toward the living room.

Following her at a safe distance, he branched out into the kitchen, pretending to take out a bottle of water from the fridge. “That was fast.”

“Just a quick wash, sir. Slaving over the stove all day, to make those cookies that were mostly devoured by you…” She grinned, holding up the pair of jeans. “Lose your pants, Sir?”

Grunting, he grabbed them from her and made his way to the couch, sitting down and pulling them on.

Sam joined him in the living room, balancing her laptop and several books, papers and folders. “Maybe there’ll be something of use in these,” she commented, placing them on the table. She sat down beside him, crossing her legs and placing computer on her lap.

“Let’s start with Daniel’s notes.” She picked up the file and dropped it in his lap.

Jack opened up the folder and thumbed through the pages. “It’s all Egyptian to me.”

“I think the correct term is Greek, Sir.” She gave him a smile, not bothering to look up from her laptop.

He raised his eyebrow at her smile, and returned to the file in hand.

“Daniel had mentioned something about the Djebu, Sir.” She picked up a book of Egyptian Gods and began scanning the appendix. She sighed, crinkling her nose. “There’s Djedu…”

“Close enough,” Jack interrupted her, “what’s it say?”

“The Djed pillar was a symbol of stability. It was erected during the Festival of Renewal,” she began, her finger gently sliding over the words as her brain digested the information. She glanced up, her eyes finding the washed-blue of his pants before trailing up to where she assumed his face was. “It could make sense, Sir. I mean, renewal of Earth, with all that different plant-life coexisting together. Perhaps all were planted and then the strongest survives? And the ritual they undergo…maybe they leave their bodies just like you did with yours!”

He watched her with a half-smile on his face, taking in her excitement with much interest.

She paused, leaning over and taking a sip of water from his bottle. Brow furrowed, she glanced up, suddenly realizing that no vocal confirmation nor denial had been made. “Um…Sir?”

He shook his head. “Sorry…distracted.”

She slowly dragged her eyes upwards, looking towards him with an intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. “With what?”

He swallowed, pressing his lips together as he kept staring at her. “With…things…” He whispered. “Um…so this renewing festival is held in stables…”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the couch. “You know, not everyone is fooled by your feigned ignorance, Sir.” She said, typing randomly on her laptop.

“Oh? Well we gotta find these people. Quarantine them. Can’t let it get out that the dumb ol’ Colonel isn’t…”

“Dumb, Sir?”

“That too.”

She smiled, still not looking up. “Now normally, the Festival of Renewal was held for the Pharaoh and his continuing reign. Maybe this ritual is something one of the Goa’ulds forced upon these people?”

Jack clasped his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, Carter. I mean, Goa’ulds never really protect their people, y’know? Figure, if it was, they’d have been attacking us. Think about it, it’s the best defensive-offense. Being invisible gives you an amazing upper-hand. Walk through and fight undetected!”

“Sounds to me you’re getting used to this, Sir.” There was a small sadness in her voice that she couldn’t hide as her mind conjured up the possibility that she may never get to see him again. And while his face, his figure was burned into her brain, to deny her eyes the sight of him was a crime greater than she’d ever admit.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, beckoning her. “We’ll figure this out.” He nodded at her smile, opening up the folder again. “So maybe this is one of Thor’s buddies? Seems to me it’s more of a protection thing than an offense.”

Sam cocked her head to the side, considering the Colonel’s words. “True. Which would explain the abandoned food and fires.”

Jack sighed. “Well this is a start…”

She smiled, giving him a sad shrug. “Regretting that Daniel isn’t here?”

“What? Nah…” He reached over, grabbing a book on Egyptian Gods from the pile on the table. “Wouldn’t mind having his brain in a jar of formaldehyde though. It’s the constant yapping I can’t stand.”

She chuckled at the light tone in his voice, knowing that in the end, Daniel the Geek had won Jack’s respect a long time ago.

“Here we go. Osiris!” He exclaimed, holding up the well-worn book.

She glanced up at him and then conducted a search. “The Djed Pillar was often represented in the Raising of the Djed, which symbolized Osiris resurrection.”

“Yeah, says something about the death and renewal of the yearly cycle.” He closed the book, tossing it on the table. “Either our timing was really bad, or it’s a defense mechanism set up by the Asgard.” He mused.

“I don’t think all of the answers will be found in a book.” She closed her laptop and set it on the table, glancing up at the late hour displayed on the clock. “I think we both know what needs to be done, Sir.”

“Oh yeah.” He breathed out.

“And I can’t…”

His eyes slid to hers, taking in her profile. “I know.” After a moment, he took a deep breath. “I’ll manage, I’m sure.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Sam stood up and began to tidy up the place a little. “The guest room is set up for you, Sir.”

He stretched his legs, standing up and neatly piling the books on the table. “I just don’t understand something.”

“What’s that, Sir?”

“Why me?” He thrust his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “I mean, we were all there. I saw what you saw, touched what you touched…”

“The water, maybe? You did go for a swim if I remember correctly…”

He let out a light snort. “Yeah. I still stand by the suspicion that you pushed me in, Captain.”

Sam let out a smile before clearing her throat. “If I did, then why don’t I feel any smug satisfaction?” She turned off the light of the living room before checking the front door and back door.

Jack made himself useful and checked all the windows before he followed her to the guest bedroom. “Thanks again, Carter. For putting me up, for helping me. It really goes above and beyond the call -”

She nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “- tomorrow’s a big day for you, Sir.” She interrupted him, afraid of what discoveries he might make, should he ponder her role in the affair any more. It was way beyond the call of duty, way beyond her call as a scientist. It was friendship, family…and something more. And it was that exact something more that frightened her to secrecy. “These past few days have been trying for both of us, I can imagine. We should probably get some rest.”

He watched her take a small step toward him, and watched a shy hand reach out and give his shoulder a light squeeze. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to collect his bearings. When he opened his eyes, he saw her disappear into her room, leaving the door partially open. He remained for a few moments, listening to the rustling that came from her room. After everything had settled, he slipped in and stood at the end of her bed, watching her as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He stood there for almost ten minutes, his eyes taking in her features at their repose, before turning and silently making his way to his room. He pulled off the jeans and hung them over the back of the chair that sat in front of the vanity mirror. He watched as his empty reflection offered no acknowledgment to his image. Crawling into bed, he folded the covers down, allowing his torso to remain unhidden in the balmy night. It wasn’t long until exhaustion took it’s toll and he felt himself being pulled toward slumber’s domain.

Sam huffed, tossing back the covers and slapping a hand to her forehead. Her body was exhausted. Her mind had shut off. And yet, something was keeping her awake. She screwed her eyes shut, knowing very well what, nay who was plaguing not her thoughts, but her heart. Pushing herself up, she padded towards his room, stopping to gently push the door open.

The nightlight in the hall cast a muted light in his room. She could see the lower half of his form, encased in the bedding. Walking alongside the bed, she stopped right near the bedside table before dropping to her knees. Holding her breath, she placed a hand right above the folded covers, closing her eyes as her fingers gently teased his abdomen.

Jack inhaled sharply through his nose as he felt a slight pressure on his stomach. Opening his eyes, he dropped his head to the side, seeing her shadowed figure. “Carter?” He whispered, placing a hand over hers. He gently squeezed her fingers. “What’s up?”

She pressed her forehead against the side of the mattress, her voice muffled. “When we found out that you…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “When we found out that you left us, Sir, I thought it was dream.” She raised her head, now resting her chin on the mattress.

Even in the darkness, he could see the blue of her eyes. Even without light, he could see tears glistening. “A dream.” He repeated after her, his hand still holding hers as her fingers gently caressed the small hairs that dusted right below his bellybutton.

“A bad dream.” She swallowed.

“And now?”

“And now…” She followed his worded lead, her hand cupping his cheek. “And now, I’m so afraid I’ll wake up and find you gone.” She paused, giving him a slight shrug as her hand slipped from his cheek. “Again.”

“Hey…” He warned her amicably, reaching over and turning on the light. They both cringed, squinting as they eyes adjusted to the light. “I’m here. In the flesh and bone.” He gave her a lame smile. “You just can’t see it…yet.” He leaned his head back on the pillow. “Tomorrow, I’ll head back to P3-la-dee-da and this whole mess’ll be cleared up.” He gave her hand a friendly pat before withdrawing it. “It’ll be all back to normal in no time. I promise.” He smiled, watching her give him a teary nod before standing up. “Carter?”

“Yes Sir?” She stopped, turning around to face him.

“C’mere.”

She moved back to his side and stood expectantly. “Um Sir…I can’t see what you are…”

“A hug,” he chuckled, pulling her down so she was half lying on him, half kneeling on the floor. He sighed contently, breathing in her scent as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this.” He murmured, cupping the back of her head, fingers lightly gripping the strands of golden hair.

She shook her head, losing herself in the feel of his body against hers - of his skin beneath her touch. “I’m sorry I can’t be there with you tomorrow, Sir. I would it’s just -”

“- hey, it’s okay Carter. You’re on forced leave. Wouldn’t want to you to ruin your record.”

She pulled back slightly, giving him a sad smile.

He brought his hand up to her face, allowing the back of his fingers to gently graze her cheek before tracing the contour of her jaw line. He allowed his gaze to trail down her face, looking at the tops of her breasts as they lay flattened against his chest. He swallowed hard, dragging his eyes up, resting them on her lips. Without hesitation, perhaps to curb any second thoughts or to prevent her imminent escape, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, leaning closer for a more aggressive capture. He kissed her hungrily, selfishly uncaring whether it was reciprocated or not. He needed his fix, needed what he longed for in order to give him strength for tomorrow’s ordeal. He needed, for just this night, to forget the military, forget the missions, forget his rank, forget everything. Except for her.

He finally pulled back, breathing heavily as he felt her heart race alongside his. “Carter…” He whispered, out of breath.

“Hmm.”

“Say something.” He swallowed, his hands now holding her securely against his chest.

“My knees hurt a little, Sir.”

There was an awkward pause, filled only with their heavy breathing.

“Oh.” His hands slid down her waist, inviting her to join him on the bed. “On your feet, Captain. Don’t make me make it an order.”

“Oh, so you’re pulling rank?” She laughed, getting to her feet and standing before him.

He let his eyes wash over her frame. “Oh yeah. And I’m ordering you to get your ass into bed.” He grabbed hold of her hand, interrupting any devilish tricks. “My bed, Captain.”

She looked down at him, her eyes taking in his body placement by the sheets and covers that formed abnormal bumps. She reached down, gliding her hand up his stomach until she reached his chest. Pushing him down, she straddled his lower waist, feeling his arousal press against her. “I always knew you had a thing for scientists,” she breathed out, a wicked grin on her face.

“Yeah well, I always knew you had a fetish for the Invisible Man.” He countered, pulling her down for another kiss. He kissed down her chin and neck, kissing her breasts through the thin material of her tank top.

She let her head drop back as her hands cupped the back of his head, urging him to continue. “This is so weird,” she whispered, reaching to kiss him again. “To feel you but not to see you…”

“Feels good.” He thrust up against her, letting her know of his desire, of her affect on him.

“We really going to do this?” Her voice was breathy, the words disappearing into his mouth as her lips nipped at his, her tongue reaching out to taste him. “The military -”

“- doesn’t apply to me anymore. I’m dead according to them.” He pulled at he thin spaghetti-straps of her tank top, pulling the garment down. His eyes feasted on her pert breasts as his lips reached for a pebbled nipple.

She let her head dip back, enjoying the feel of his mouth on her skin. Fingers laced behind his head as she moved against him. “I was thinking…” She breathed, her breath hitching as he bit down gently.

“Hmm?”

“The ritual.”

“Ritual?” He repeated, voiced muffled as he nipped at her skin before moving to lavish attention on the other breast.

“To get back to normal,” she husked, “apparently Khnum was the one who reunited Osiris with his body.”

“Carter…” He warned, his hand snaking around her to rest on the small of her back.

“Sir, think about it…”

“…I don’t think now is the time for thinking.” He began, allowing both his hands to slip down to her bottom, cupping each cheek and giving her a squeeze. “Especially about that.”

“I just…think about it Sir,” she continued, though her breathing grew ragged as she felt herself being pressed against his arousal. “Osiris’s spirit, after death…was reunited with his body.”

He grunted as he slipped his hands underneath the thin cotton of her jogging pants and panties, feeling her flesh against his skin. “Great. Gotcha. Find Khum. Find release.”

“Sir…it’s pronounced Kn-oohm,” her voice lay flat, but he could see the mischief in her eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, hands stilled in their places, bodies still fused and chests still heaving. Moments of silence continued before they both broke out into laughter, Jack taking the opportunity to claim her mouth, forcing his tongue to dance with hers. Giggles still filtered through and he swallowed them, as his able hands began to slide her jogging pants down her shapely legs.

He pushed her back slightly, drinking in the contours and shadows the light splayed across her body. Reaching over, he grabbed her hand and guided her towards him. He let out a slow hiss as her fingers made contact with his arousal, letting his head drop back as she continued at the helm.

“So, tomorrow…I ask for Khum.”

She glanced up, wishing she could see his face, his eyes. Wishing she could see the effect she had on him. “Yes Sir.” She knelt down on either side of his thighs as her hand continued to move up and down his length. Bending down, she let her tongue slide against his skin before taking him in her mouth, humming slightly as she felt his buck his hips.

He let out a moan as his fingers tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head. “C’mere…” His mouth reached for hers and they were once again joined as he felt her body stretch out against his.

Skin slid against skin as she thrust her tongue into his mouth, fingers gently gripping his cheek as she kept him from withdrawing. She could feel his hardness between them, feel his need continue its build as he moved against her.

She sat back against her heels, her body still pressed against him. She could feel him against her core, and she moved enticingly, sliding herself against him. Smiling softly, she grabbed hold of his erection and positioned herself on top of him before she slid down, biting her lip as he filled her.

Jack groaned aloud, grabbing hold of her hips as he held her against him. He breathed hard, whispering her name as they just remained, enjoying their heightened sense of connection, a pact of both body and mind unifying as one.

He moaned softly, giving her knees a little nudge, enticing her to move. He closed his eyes, focusing on controlling himself all the while enjoying himself, which was proving to be harder than imaginable. Having his blonde companion move against him, feeling her walls grip him tightly was about ready to push him over the edge.

Hooking his legs under her, he flipped them over, bracing his weight on his forearms. He thrust inside of her slowly, keeping up a steady momentum that ensured a decent longevity. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are…” He murmured softly.

“Then again, cheese was never your thing,” she remarked sarcastically, giving him a devilish smile. She stared up, seeing her ceiling but feeling him: his weight, each thrust, each connection that jolted through her system. “Wish I could see you,” she mumbled, her words muffled as his mouth descended on hers.

“Carter…”

She nodded, sensing his need for release. “I’m close too.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, her body spasming with ecstasy as he thrust deeper in to her. “Oh God…” She moaned into his neck, her teeth nipping at his invisible skin. “I’m so close…”

He sped up his ministrations, thrusting hard. His finger found her small bundle of nerves, stroking her until her muscles tightened around him. He smiled, watching as she closed her eyes, her mouth opened slightly and her exhalation just barely a whisper as she crashed over the edge.

A few minutes later, with that image still in his mind, he too reached his pinnacle, grunting as he spilled into her. Her arms around his waist, he let himself be guided down, still distributing most of his weight on his arms. He placed a small kiss on her temple as he reached over, grabbing a couple of Kleenex from the bedside table. Gently cleaning her up and then himself, he balled the tissues in another one and tossed it on the nightstand.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she flicked off the table lamp and lay back down, her hands immediately finding his body. She ran them up his chest as he settled down on his side, one hand folded underneath the pillow, and the other tracing lazy circles on her tummy.

“Jack?”

They both knew that words weren’t needed to express their level of love. Their connection was just that strong.

He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips, “I know. Me too.” His words caressed her mouth as he deepened the kiss. “Me too.” He pulled back slightly and watched her settle against him, pressing her body against his. “Goodnight Carter.” He kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to rest a beat longer.

“Goodnight Sir.”

He shifted slightly, pressing his forehead against the crook of her neck, one arm protectively wrapped around her waist. He sighed with a smile. Carter and Sir. Sir and Carter. Despite the much longed for next-step in their relationship, it was still who they were. And in time, he knew he would come to know and very much love Samantha and perhaps she would grow to love and tolerate Jack, but Carter and Sir were all they had ever known. And for the moment, he was very much content with being in love with Carter. With his Carter.

--tbc--

Previous chapters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four

[ ff: my enemy my friend 2/? ]

sinistercircus — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 06:05:39 GMT

Title: My Enemy My Friend
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence, torture, strong sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: He had set her up.
Notes: You know me and my WIPs… O_o

chapter one

Her wrists rubbed raw as she pulled at her restraints, her mind knowing that her actions were futile yet her body unwilling to adhere to its confines. She let her head hang down as she cycled through the files of her mind, searching for familiarity in the name of her captor. Perhaps a weakness or a tidbit to give her the upper-hand. The cuffs jingled as she struggled once more, and she cast them a disapproving look. Perhaps then, to give her a fighting chance against death.

Her body was screaming as the cuts still stung from the lashes she took on her back. Her tattered BDUs did nothing to absorb the whip’s fury as her body had jerked against the post she had found herself tied to, in the aptly named torture chamber.

“Thoth.” She mouthed the word as she fought hard to remember the name. Thoth. God of Knowledge. Of Secrets. Of writing. Scribes. Words. Lies. Deceit. She banged her head back against the wall, trying to control her thoughts, trying to control her emotions. Breathing hard, she let her head fall to the side, resting against her shoulder. Messenger. Record keeper. Creator of magic. Her brow furrowed as she desperately tried to dig for something more concrete. Something that would help her.

“Samantha Carter of the Tau’ri.”

She jerked her head up, wondering if it she was being summoned or presented by the Jaffa’s deep voice. Tilting her head toward the entrance of her cell, she heard the a group of Jaffa fall into step. She cocked her head to the side, picking up a separate rhythm, one that walked to a different beat. All five sets of feet stopped in front of her, and she could feel the heat emanating from their bodies.

“Or do you prefer to go by just Carter, Carter?”

She snapped her head to the direction of his voice. Pulling at the restraints, she gritted her teeth as she only managed hurt herself more trying to break free. The blindfold was roughly pulled from her face, but she kept her head bowed, eyes screwed shut. Seeing was believing and she knew she wasn’t fit enough to handle seeing the man in front of her. She didn't want to believe that he was the man she had trusted with her life. The very same she had trusted with her heart.

She could feel her heartbeat drum in her ears as she clamped her mouth closed, trying to keep her erratic breathing in check, trying to keep her tears at bay - trying to keep any sort of reaction from being used against her.

“Aw c’mon Carter. It’s not so bad once your eyes’ll get used to the light. Even pulled some strings, got you a corner room with a window and a spec-tacular view!”

She cringed at his purposefully harsh tone and choice of words. Pulled some strings. She had been a puppet since…since when? The beginning? She felt sick to her stomach and gagged on the bile that rose, coating her throat and mouth with a bitter taste. What little amount of courage left in her bubbled in the pit of her stomach, willing her to look her captor in the eyes. She raised her head slowly, eyes taking in the familiar combat boots with the well-known desert-camo print tucked into them. She glanced at the unmistakable P90 that rested against his chest, giving his fidgety arms something to tinker with whenever nervous.

She almost smiled at the memory and she quickly jerked her eyes up to meet his, to see if he caught her weakness.

She closed her eyes painfully at his smile, understanding that he knew. She let out a bittersweet laugh. Who could be a more perfect choice to torture her than the one person who knew her better than anyone else.

She raised her eyes once more, hoping to perchance grasp a glimpse of the man she thought she knew. She glanced at his signature smirk and she felt her body warm against her will, at the familiar sight. She cringed, a sharp pain ripped through her body, leaving her gasping for air. She glanced at him, seeing him hold up a well-known, well-feared and well-used stick, already feeling the electricity zap at her skin as the tip neared her. “Sir! No…no, please…” She begged, the solider in her stepping aside, leaving a fearful and broken person in its place.

“You should learn to address our master by his proper name. Master Thoth deserves your respect.” A Jaffa guard spat out, backhanding her across the face.

She turned her head, watching him approach her with that same comforting grin. The one she could lose herself in and maybe escape from her battered body and hide in her conscience until death brought peace.

She closed her eyes, holding her breath as she felt the stick stab against her ribs, groaning loudly as she felt like her very soul was being ripped from her body. She slumped against the shackles as he withdrew the stick, handing it back to his guard.

His eyes flashed once. “Surprise.”

-tbc-

[ ff: my enemy my friend ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 04:33:48 GMT

Title: My Enemy My Friend
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Violence, torture, strong sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: He had set her up.
Notes: You know me and my WIPs… O_o

Bound and blinded, she struggled until a blow to the gut drew breath from her very soul. Blood trickled from her mouth, free-falling to the floor with a frightfully loud drop, signalling that much blood had since pooled around her.

She opened her eyes behind the rough cotton material that had robbed her sight. Shallow breaths, staccato in their delivery were only interrupted by gasps and coughs; her body was beginning to become too weak to regulate its breathing.

She slumped forward, the cuffs around her wrists and ankles rubbing the skin raw, preventing her from adhering to gravity’s sweet demand.

A wet sponge was forcefully thrust against her mouth and she drank thirstily, her body in too much need to reconsider the suspicious offering.

She knew that at least two days had past, for the Sun’s light had warmed her skin twice, and the Moon’s fingers had wrapped her in cold for three. She waited for the Sun, rays that gave her false hope behind hooded vision.

She crinkled her nose, feeling the caked blood crack, pinching her skin. Her tongue snaked out, moistening her dried and split lips, tasting more of her blood. There had been so much blood.

She heard the staff warm up, feeling it press against the bottom of her spine. She glanced up at Jack, her eyes meeting his emotionless stare.

‘No one gets left behind’, he had once said. Twice commanded. And three times returned.

Except this time, something lay different in the air. An understanding she did not understand as she was pushed to the ground, forced to watch her CO dial out. Forced to kneel motionless while the man whom she trusted with her every last breath, nodded to the Jaffa that held her captive.

Nodded to their agreement.

She had been punished, made to watch her betrayal walk through the gate and stay there until the wormhole had disengaged.

Sounds were deaf to her ears and her sight was soon taken prisoner by a blindfold. The last thing she remembered was her stomach’s somersault as the transporter rings beamed her aboard a ship of a fake-God who had a planned agenda for her.

She spat out a mixture of blood and saliva, as a cry of anger escaped with a ragged breath. She collapsed once more, her body spent from the last burst of energy she felt. It had been a set up.

He had set her up.

The fake mission, the wild goose chase that finally led to her capture. How could Hammond have been so easily fooled?

Anger fuelled another burst as she struggled against her restraints, thrashing about, uncaring towards the self-inflicted pain that arose from her actions.

“Enough!”

She jerked her head up, ear towards the sound of the deep guttural voice that she had grown accustomed to, these past two days. She felt the shackles be loosened before she crumpled to the floor - her body too weak to sustain its own weight. Routine greeted her as she heard the rhythmic march of the Jaffa guards stop right before her broken body. She allowed herself to be dragged to the communal baths, a place she had yet to see, but could easily discern of its purpose by the sense-numbing smell of chlorine that permeated the air.

She grunted as she hit the ground hard, after having been released by the guards. Feeling her way around the dirt and walls, she reached the small enclosure that bore a hole in the ground. Pulling down her tattered pants, she squatted and emptied her bladder, blindly reaching for some paper to wipe herself with.

After she had finished, she crawled back to the center of the room, moving towards the sound of running water. She reached the pool and slid in, allowing the water to take the weight off her weary bones. Hissing out loud, she cringed as the highly chlorinated water cleaned her wounds, the sharp stings reminding her of the beatings, of the torture she had to endure. She floated there for a few minutes before an arm grabbed her and yanked her out.

“Enough bathing. Thoth is getting bored and needs entertainment. He has a special surprise for you.”

She allowed herself to be guided back to her cell, groaning as she was slammed back against the wall and shackled once more. She hung there, too tired to fight. Her mind, though exhausted, fought to find memories of discussions past. Thoth. It was the first time her captor’s name had been mentioned.

-tbc-

[ ff: elevator antics ]

sinistercircus — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 06:28:07 GMT

Title: Elevator Antics
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: “With the Colonel, you never know…”
Notes: A quickie one-shot written with an elevator!sex prompt from the ~~Goa’uld~~ mod, emosweet who loves to ~~abuse her powers and force me into fic slavery~~ suggest inspirational prompts. ♥

“Sir.”

He threw her a side glance, eyes crinkling with remorse as he ceased banging his head against the wall of the stalled elevator. “Sorry.” The stalled ‘we’ll get you out in ten minutes even though it’s been over an hour and a half, sorry for any inconveniences’ elevator. Dropping his head to his chest, he drummed his fingers on his knees and hummed loudly, staring straight ahead at his reflection in the metallic surface that coated the doors.

“Sir. Please!”

He cringed at the annoyance in her voice and gave her a weak smile. “Bored out of my mind, Major.”

“I know, Sir.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye, ignoring the curt response and just observing her in her distractions. She was lucky - or unlucky, relatively speaking - to have smuggled a folder in her purse, complete with incomprehensible words, scientific calculations and astrophysical mumbo-jumbo thus keeping her mind, and hands, pre-occupied.

A wicked smile brewed dangerous on his lips as he stared at his own hands, reaping in power and productivity. He flipped them over, taking in the creases in his palms, the scars and cuts, the dirt and set broken bones. These were the hands of a warrior, a fighter. His eyes slyly slid over, watching her blonde strands fall as her head bowed over the multitudes of gibberish that polluted each page. They were the hands of a lover bound and imprisoned but still desperate and passionate.

He clenched his fists before straightening out his fingers again, staring at the long digits. Leaning over, he grabbed his second-in-command’s camo-BDU shirt, his fingers almost zipping down the front as buttons flew in all directions. He sat back, a haughty look on his face as he took in her shocked, angered and still presence. And yet, she made no move to cover her black lacey bra that peaked from her now open shirt, to hide the tops of creamy breasts as they moved with each breath she took.

“Off.” He commanded her, nodding toward the shirt, grinning smugly as her body defied the resistance in her eyes. “Come.” He stretched his legs out as she stood up, discarding her shirt behind. Back pressed against the wall, he sighed aloud as she straddled his lap, feeling her heat through her pants. His hands slid up her sides, feeling goose bumps emerge as his fingertips teased with a feather-light touch.

He wanted her to see the all facets of his hands; he wanted her to feel their aggression but their comfort as well, their sympathy and passion. He wanted her to acknowledge their need to touch her, to please her, to offer and draw ecstasy from her.

He tried to convey that message as his hands slid up her frame, fingertips exploring the intricate lace patterns that her bra boasted. He reached for each strap simultaneously, sliding them gently off her shoulders as his eyes hungrily took in the milky skin of her breasts. Little by little, more skin was revealed until he could just see the tops of her rosy nipples -

“ - Sir?”

His eyes focused, now seeing the concerned blues stare back at him. His eyes trailed down her chest of their own accord, disappointment most evident as he took in each and every button, standing proud and doing their duty in shielding her from his perverse stare.

“Sir, are you okay? You were clutching your shirt…I thought you were having a heart attack or something…”

He held up his right hand as he casually let go of his BDU shirt, straightening it out and dusting imaginary dirt off his pants.

“All good, Major. Just a little hot. Little warm.” He grabbed the lapel of his shirt, batting it and pretending to cool himself off. He looked away, embarrassed at being caught red-handed, literally, having a sex-fantasy - not only about his second-in-command, but in her presence and to have been roughly ripped from whimsy by the same subject in question. He let out a low whistle, counting himself lucky that she didn’t suspect a thing.

Sliding down until he lay on the floor, he folded his arms behind his head, letting out a more comfortable sigh. He dropped his head to the side, coming face to face with his the Major’s hips, who had returned to her residency in the corner of the elevator.

He reached out and stroked a hand from her waist down to the top of her knee and back up again. He didn’t bother to meet her gaze, knowing she was casting a disapproving glance towards him. His fingers stealthily made their way to the front, deftly unbuckling her belt and popping the button on her pants. Fingers walked the zipper down and his other hand soon joined in the revelation of his second-in-command’s most private parts and his most private thoughts. He didn’t register as she lifted her butt off the floor, allowing him to easily slide the pants down her shapely legs.

Fingers trailed upwards along silky smooth skin, as they led his carnal stare from the tips of her toes to the apex of the inside of her thighs. He gently nudged her legs apart, ignoring her remarks of improper actions and consequences calculated.

His fingers heard none of her words but instead sought out the matching lacey texture that they had experienced before. He cupped her center, feeling heat pulsate, feeling her denied desire.

He dragged his eyes to hers, seeing his want and need reflected in her own.

“Stand, Major.”

He licked his lips in anticipation, as she did as commanded, body and mind now willing.

“Turn.”

His eyes roamed her body hungrily, hands gripping at the muscles in her legs. He knelt, now behind her, hands on either side of her thighs. He met her eyes as she twisted around to see him before he glanced back in front of him.

There stood Samantha Carter, two pert globes of flesh separated by a thin piece of lace. He let out an aroused chuckle. Samantha Carter wore a lace thong. Underneath her tough as nails exterior, underneath the layers of camouflage cotton and flak jackets and bullet proof vests, underneath all the standard, issued clothing…lay something so incredibly feminine that he felt his own arousal twitch.

He leaned over, lips moistened with desire and mouth slightly parted, eager to sink his teeth in her pale flesh -

“Sir. I think we’re moving.”

He blinked a couple of times, looking around the small cabin that housed them. “Wha…?” He glanced down at his hands, noticing them clutching at his thighs, their knuckles a pasty white.

“Sir…are you okay? You’ve been acting eerily strange…”

“Fine, Major. Really. Just a little uh…claustrophobic.” He stood up, watching her do the same as the doors finally opened. He watched the Major greet the doctor and long-time friend, as the two stopped and chatted for a moment. He excused himself past them and deliberately slowed down, listening to their gabbling.

“So, what did you two do to pass time?”

He grinned unabashedly at Janet’s whispered question to his second-in-command, as he walked in front of the two ladies, eavesdropping without shame.

“Actually…we didn’t talk much. I had my notes and the Colonel…well the Colonel just sat there silently, with an odd look on his face. Almost like this smug, satisfied grin, y’know?”

He relived key moments of his day-dream though his ears still picked up their voices, their intents.

“Hmm. Wonder what he was thinking about…”

He breathed a chuckle, knowing the doctor’s intent curiosities were well past conversational.

“With the Colonel, you never know. Though they must have been some kind of good from that look he had…”

The voices began to mute as the two ladies turned, heading towards the mess hall while he continued his journey to the locker rooms, a cold shower on his mind.

--finis--

Like what you see? Why don't you friend the comm.

sinistercircus — Tue, 20 May 2008 07:45:54 GMT

Title: Constant
Author: Gomes
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cuddy friendship
Rating: G
Spoilers: Wilson's Heart
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: "Sneaky." He replied, his defensive snark falling shallow.
Notes: Just a small ficlet of thoughts dreamt concerning the last scene between House and Cuddy.

He ducked his head, letting out a small sigh as he watched his friend turn his back on him. He understood the pain. Understood the anger. Expected it too.

And somewhere, he wanted it. He needed Wilson to blame him, almost to justify the anger and hurt he was feeling toward himself.

Head still bowed, he chanced a glance to his left, where his boss lay curled, cat-like and compressed. "He was here."

He watched her lift her head and stretch her legs.

"Did he say anything?"

As his eyes strayed from her, he listened to the husked-sleep of her voice. He glanced at her again, observing how she folded her lithe body, almost in a protective ball. Her eyes were still closed but he knew she was listening. He knew that she was just there with him.

"No."

His reply was delayed, almost disconnected from the conversation that he started. He didn't offer any more words either, the need to speak no longer required as he stared at his hand now hidden under her grasp.

"Sneaky." He replied, his defensive snark falling shallow.

"Shut up."

He let out a breath, its intent caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah." He lay his head back, taking a denied comfort in the pressure that lay constant over his left hand.

Constant. He still had one constant left.

[ 39 Stargate Icons ]

sinistercircus — Mon, 19 May 2008 06:13:08 GMT

& thirty-nine 4x05 Divide and Conquer Stargate SG-1 icons.

Stargate SG-1 - Divide and Conquer

001. 002. 003. 004.

005. 006. 007. 008.

009. 010. 011. 012.

013. 014. 015. 016

017. 018. 019. 020.

021. 022. 023. 024.

025. 026. 027. 028.

029. 030. 031. 032.

033. 034. 035. 036.

037. 038. 039.

DO comment and credit // DO NOT edit and hotlink

Like what you see? Why don't you friend the comm.

(x.posted about)

[ ff: captive ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 19:41:38 GMT

Title: Captive
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: He blinked in his forced darkness, his lashes and lids sliding against the warm cotton of his beanie.
Notes: AU one-shot, mild “screw-the-regs” and non-apologetic smuff written for the lovely emosweet who ~~abused her modly powers~~ asked me politely to write some beanie!sex. And also gwenhwyfar1984 for having written fics following my ~~made up~~ rule. *evil grin*

He sat straddling the bench, his clothes piled behind him as he leisurely geared up for their upcoming mission. Briefing was not for another twenty minutes, though he already knew of the mission’s details. He had stolen a few moments to prepare in advance thus allowing him some calm before the storm.

Back towards the door, he heard it open and close behind him. Ignoring the other person, he folded his long johns, windbreaker and placed on top of his gloves, extra underwear and extra pair of socks. Leaning over, he grabbed his beanie from his open locker, and topped off the pile. He heard a locker open and glanced over his shoulder, only seeing a smidgen of another officer’s back, hidden by the metal door. He turned back and reached for his bag when all of a sudden his vision darkened.

Pitch black.

He blinked in his forced darkness, his lashes and lids sliding against the warm cotton of his beanie. He huffed with annoyance and reached for the hat, prepared to give a tongue lashing to the lame joker who assumed that assaulting a colonel was the epitome of humour.

Soft lips on his mouth ceased his movements as his hands rested, suspended midway to his face. He didn’t kiss back but didn’t fight it either, passivity on the heels of shock and butterflies.

He straightened up, feeling hands guide his arms down, fingers skimming over his skin as they traveled the length of his bare arm, all the way to his cotton-clad shoulder. They backtracked, sliding down, where they grasped his wrists and twisted them back.

He jerked forward, momentarily taken by surprise and feeling too vulnerable for comfort. Confusion calmed him as he felt his socks wrap around his wrists, ideally keeping them out of commission. He knew that his offender figured that a pair of worn socks couldn’t hold him captive but he was curious as to the captor’s intents.

A distant smell of honey tickled his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply, trying hard to taste the smell. He glanced over his shoulder, more intent on listening that seeing as he heard the door to the locker rooms latch close. Direct and controlled steps infiltrated his senses as he felt the figure approach him and a soft noise of cardboard sliding back and forth on glass, before settling, barely registered in his mind.

A hand returned to his shoulder, fingers kneading the constant tension that lay there. A second hand joined on his right shoulder and he dropped his head forward, reveling in the strength of the hands. His breathing had deepened considerably, ever since he tasted honey.

He felt a body rest against his, smiling as he felt breasts press against his back. At least it was a woman who was seducing him, holding him captive. However, he considered, a very large man could boast breasts even larger than Dolly Parton. Wriggling his hands, his body jerked involuntarily as he heard a distinct feminine gasp as his hand cupped the inside of her leg, sliding along the material of her BDUs to the apex of her thighs. Feet firmly planted on the ground, he pushed back, sliding against her as his hand cupped her sex. Her mouth fell on his shoulder, teeth sinking into his t-shirt as her muffled moans still filtered through. Fingers continued to tease her and he felt her pushing back against his hand.

Her hands slid down his chest, stopping right below his abdomen, fingers toying with the button of his own BDUs. She teased the skin right above the waist of his pants before letting her hand plunge in, letting her fingers caress his bulge through his boxer shorts.

He lifted his hips off the bench, legs flexing as he let out a silent breath. He in turn rubbed her harder which spawned her teasing to roughen as well. Two bodies writhing in pleasure on a lone bench in the locker rooms of the Cheyenne Mountain, as either fought to keep control.

In a second, he felt her body withdraw and he was not only encased in darkness but silence as well. Even with his black OPS training, his ears could not pick up her movements.

The shuffling of clothing caught him off-guard and he snapped his head to the right, realizing that she had managed to move around without him hearing. The piece of clothing fell to the floor, brushing his leg as it landed near his foot.

She straddled the bench in front of him, standing achingly close to him. The smell of honey returned, and he lifted his head up, chin sticking out proudly. At any moment, he could have ended this situation; hands loosely tied with a pair of socks wasn’t exactly a mastermind restraint. But he was having fun. He had decided to play this little game.

Fingers caressed his beanie-clad head before sliding down to the base of his neck, grabbing tufts of hair and bringing his head forward. He felt softness press gently against his face, feeling the cottony fabric of the tank-top as it swept across his face. He allowed his head to be guided, feeling the firm mounds of her breasts beckon him. His mouth opened, tasting cotton. He gently suckled her nipple, now erect and begging for attention. He trailed kisses between her breasts, trailed them downwards and smiling inwardly upon finding bare skin midway. His mouth found her smooth skin hungrily as his tongue snaked out, licking and tasting her.

He felt her pull away, felt her weaken momentarily under the whispers of his breath against her skin. He heard her remove her tank-top, almost feeling it hit the ground. Hands brought his face forward again, and honey infiltrated his senses once more; senses that were heightened due to his disabling yet not unwelcome darkness. His mouth automatically opened and he felt the swell of her breast eagerly await the connection. He pulled back, feeling something sticky on his lips. His tongue darted out, hesitantly tasting the substance.

It was honey. Of his own accord, he tilted his head forward, hungrily searching for skin, for honey…for her. He felt her body shudder as his tongue traced the contour of her breast before flicking her nipple, tasting her honey skin.

Once he was sure every ounce of honey had been stripped from her breasts, tasted by his lips and tongue, he tilted his head up, lips slightly parted in desperate demand of her lips. Their kiss was rough and needing, mouths trying to control the other, taste all of the other.

He leaned forward, pressing into the pressure of her hand on his chest. Arching his back as it slid down achingly slow, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her fiercely. He pulled back upon feeling her hand rest against his arousal, rubbing lightly with the heel of her palm. He panted loudly, letting his head drop back as he was overcome with the sensations.

He didn’t move when she stopped.

He didn’t move when she slowly unzipped his BDUs nor when her hand gently freed him from the unbuttoned slit of his boxer shorts.

He couldn’t move when he the inside of her legs slide against the outside of his as she straddled him.

He couldn’t breathe when he felt her naked chest press against his, her nipples still erect slide down his t-shirt as she lowered herself on him.

He couldn’t even begin to describe the sense of completion upon feeling her moisture coat his member as he buried himself in her. As her tightness surrounded him. As her breathy moan caressed his ears.

She wrapped her arms around him, hands trailing down to his captive ones, grasping them as she continued to move against him.

He tilted his head to the side as she kissed him roughly, sucking the flesh of his neck while her rhythm began to speed up. He felt her body jerk against his several times before she stilled, forehead pressed against his shoulder. He turned his head, dropping a small kiss against her temple as he felt her heart’s race begin to slow.

Moments later, she began to move again and his release began to pick up speed. Body pressed flush against his, she twisted her hips as she slammed down hard, bringing him to new levels of excitement.

She kissed him softly and he moaned into her mouth as his climax peaked. He thrust his hips upwards as he emptied himself into her. His heart was beating rapidly and sweat lay dusted on his skin. He lifted his head slightly as she peppered his face with small kisses, fingers gently smoothing over his covered eyes.

He sat obediently as he listened to her clean up, listen to her put her clothes back on. His body jerked involuntarily as he felt a cool cloth clean his still sensitive member, washing away any evidence of their encounter. He sighed softly as she tucked him back in, zipping him up and leaving him with a soft kiss.

He waited for a moment, reliving the experience as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. Easily shaking off the useless restraints, he folded his socks and put them back on top of the pile of clothing. He rolled his beanie up, squinting slightly as he began to once more get used to the dim lighting that lay suspended over the now deserted locker rooms.

He finished packing his backpack with a sense of serenity and a smile. He knew his body would be sore in the morning but it had been worth the bliss. The sense of completion. He still had five minutes left until the briefing so he stopped by the mess hall and picked up a cup of coffee.

He walked into the briefing room beanie still on head and eyes downcast, already feeling his team’s presence without visual confirmation. Teal’c was sitting in a shallow meditation and Daniel was most probably nose-deep in another one of his archeology manuscripts. He glanced up at his blonde companion, eyes automatically falling to her hands in mid-execution of their task: she was currently stirring her tea. One hand was wrapped around the cup, stealing its warmth while the other, having just put the spoon down on the table, had grabbed a bottle of…

“Honey.”

He watched her eyes jump to his and the two shared a secret smile.

[ ff: the colonel's mistake ]

sinistercircus — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 20:45:36 GMT

Title: The Colonel’s Mistake
Author: Gomes
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: M
Spoilers: Nemesis
Warnings: Sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: He had crossed one line and not many remained to protect her.
Notes: Episode manipulation of Nemesis. What if Sam had accepted Jack’s fishing invitation.

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. Even he didn’t buy into his lame and exaggerated convictions concerning the fish in his pond. Or absence of, in reality. But he wanted to share the experience, to bond, to get closer.

And that’s why it was a mistake the moment the invitation swept through the air and landed in her lap. The words of desire withheld from public ears for so long had some how managed to slip by the defences of his teeth and lips, and careened into his unsuspecting second-in-command. He let out a breath knowing that his truth was under the clever guise of friendship and he prayed that his cheesy enthusiasm had turned her off from the idea.

Relief was found when an excuse stumbled out of her mouth, not before she swallowed the surprise that came from the invitation. Pointing at the contraption that lay on the table, she complimented her reasons for staying with a string of scientific mumbo-jumbo that he had neither the patience nor the desire to listen to.

Her rejection still stung, despite knowing that it was wrong to approach her with such an offer and he couldn’t mask the slight aggression in his voice as he hastily retreated from her lab. He walked briskly, deciding it had been a dangerous proposal to flirt with. He was better off alone with his thoughts and invisible fish; better off with the images and daydreams and night dreams of his second-in-command instead of the real flesh and bone.

He clenched his teeth, knowing it was wrong of her to follow but even more of him to turn and broach the subject once more. A lapse in judgement forced more words of incentive, and he knew it was a mistake to continue to push inviting thoughts in her mind.

He knew it was a mistake the moment she smiled.

He knew it was a mistake the moment she blushed.

Now, as he sat in his truck with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel, he knew it was a mistake to be waiting for her to finish packing.

As soon as they hit the road, still against his better judgement, she chattered amicably, oblivious to his hidden reason for the invitation.

Even though the reason was forbidden and he would never act upon it, he still was terrified at his gutsy move - one seemingly done without conscious control. He had crossed one line and not many remained to protect her. Those lines were there to prevent errors of judgement, to protect victims like her from predators like himself.

It was a mistake to give chase to a goal that he could never have, even if mutual feelings were in the mix. The risk was high and the consequences were critical. He rolled his eyes, his train of thought on the matter always ahead of him; he always thought of the consequences before even considering the chance that a manifestation was possible. Unrequited love was always desired because the problem wouldn’t progress to a point where it would harm the other party. He took comfort in that thought, knowing that he would rather live in painful solitude than damage her.

He knew it was an error in judgement when he took her bag from her grasp, allowing his fingers to brush hers ever so lightly. He cursed himself for his weakness, the two of them sharing a moment as their skin touched.

The rest of the evening was spent battling with himself, berating himself over his lack of better judgement. He yelled at himself internally, cussing and swearing at his lack of respect for the regulations, for himself and especially for her. After all the inner battles, he realised his streak continued as he offered to build a fire with cozy intents.

He didn’t consider it a fault that the subject of companionable booze was brought up. No, that was much tolerable and desired. However, he knew it to be a mistake the moment said loosening liquid touched his lips, wet his palette and smoothed down his throat, burning his oesophagus.

The whole weekend had been a mistake; one disaster of a decision after the other. All in the name of indulgence. Bittersweet, sadistic, painful indulgence.

He thought back on all the mistakes he had ever made in his life. Mistakes that made him cringe. Mistakes that educated him. Mistakes he cherished and mistakes he wanted nothing more to forget.

He thought about the mistakes that she had made. From accepting his ridiculous offer to allowing her body to radiate a warmth he easily fell victim to, he noted with interest as her lack of judgement seemed to rival his own.

So perhaps it hadn’t been his mistake inviting her to the cabin. No, it was her's in accepting. And it hadn’t been his mistake in starting the fire and cozying it up by the hypnotic flames. No, it was her's in leaning against him, stealing his body heat and sharing hers. And it hadn’t been his mistake when his lips gently pressed against hers. No, it was her's in responding instead of decking him out and threatening a sexual harassment suit.

Yes. This had all been her mistake.

...okay, and maybe partly his, he smiled quietly to himself.

And as Jack O’Neill lay in his bed, hands clasped behind and his head, breath ragged, his second-in-command’s mouth keeping his arousal warm and loved, he couldn’t help but agree with a wicked grin on his lipstick-stained lips: some mistakes were inevitable.

-finis-

[ the enemy within ]

sinistercircus — Sun, 30 Dec 2007 04:10:30 GMT

& fourteen 1x02 The Enemy Within Stargate SG-1 icons.
& four random Stargate SG-1 icons.

Stargate SG-1 - The Enemy Within

001. 002. 003.

004. 005. 006.

007. 008. 009.

010. 011. 012.

013.

Stargate SG-1 - Randomnies

014. 015. 016.

017.

DO comment and credit // DO NOT edit and hotlink

Like what you see? Why don't you friend the comm.

[ ff: Of Candy Canes and Mistletoe ]

sinistercircus — Thu, 27 Dec 2007 06:07:49 GMT

Title: Of Candy Canes and Mistletoe
Author: Gomes
Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cuddy established
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Kind of.
Warnings: Mild sexual themes
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: “Damn House. Why don’t you piss around her and mark her for your own?”
Notes: Written for the ss_huddy Secret Santa gift exchange.

December 24th brought forth a party that put the age-old dressing-to-the-nines into much practice. Scrubs were replaced by tuxedoes and gowns and stress relinquished itself to pleasantries and merriment. It was a time of celebration and family - one that Princeton-Plainsboro prided themselves on.

Family.

Sure there were disagreements and arguments, tantrums and resignations. But there was also teamwork and friendship, laughter and celebrations.

And every once in awhile, a miracle was born.

Headed by a group of nurses with Cuddy at the helm, this year’s Formal Hospital Christmas party was graciously held in the Make a Wish Foundation’s honour.

“Funny.” He groused as he lumbered down the path, leaning heavily on his cane which was painted a holiday theme.

“What? The candycane or the ‘We Love You Dr. House’ banner?” She asked innocently, pointing to the banner that dressed the entrance. “The Foundation were very thankful for your generous donation, Dr. House.”

He glared at Cuddy, holding the door open for her despite the threatening look in his eyes. “They conned me into it.”

“Serves you right for calling them and making that stupid request about getting into my pants -”

“- they had a good laugh. Thought I was joking. Asked me how much I was willing to donate.”

“Too bad your delightful sarcasm falls flat over the phone.” She retorted, helping him with his jacket as they stopped at the coat check. She pinned a red rose to his lapel before smoothing out his suit jacket. “Aside from the ridiculous belt buckle, you actually managed to look decent tonight.”

He glanced down at his buckle. “What’s wrong with it? I like the mistletoe buckle. And correct me if I’m wrong, you easily succumbed to the buckle’s charm just before we left.” He paused, eyes crinkled with an unseen smile. “It’s kind of a pun when you think about it,” he began, watching her remove her dark blue jacket and scarf. “Succumbed. First you sucked and then I cu -”

“ - House!”

He paused abruptly, lips pressed together and eyes wide with his trademark boyish innocence.

She smiled an apology to the nurse at the coat check and gently smoothed her hands over her dress.

He watched her hungrily, unabashedly taking in her curves that were tantalizingly incased in a form-fitting red dress which screamed Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. “Aside from the Hitler personality, you actually managed to look quite hot tonight.”

She ignored him, instead walking towards the reception desk which held an array of drinks and finger foods. Greetings crowded them both, where one warmly accepted and reciprocated while the other fended them off with cold stares and unhidden snarls.

“I see you managed to drag Scrooge out.”

Cuddy turned, smiling at the familiar voice. She gave him a hug, giving his arm a friendly squeeze.

“Tiny Tim.” House grumbled, glaring at his best friend.

Wilson cocked his head to the side. “Actually, I think I’m more likely to be cast as Cratchett.”

“True, Wilson does always end up getting screwed while you bank in…” Cuddy agreed as the three moved towards a table in the corner.

“Yeah. I guess Cameron would end up playing Tiny Tina.” House commented, giving Cuddy a thankful nod for the drink placed in front of him. “So pitiful, staring at you with those wide-innocent ‘Oh why don’t you like me’ eyes.”

“Didn’t Tiny Tim end up croaking in one of the sequences?” Cuddy interjected, taking a casual sip from her glass.

“Me-ow!” He turned to his friend. “Feisty. You should see her in bed. One mention of Cameron and -”

“ - House!”

He smiled ruefully though both Cuddy and Wilson knew that he regretted nothing.

“You mention other women’s names when you two are…” Wilson trailed off, making some a weird gesture with his hands.

He grimaced. “When we’re what, making pottery?”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Having sex.”

“Wilson! I’m offended that you dare inquire about Cuddy’s and my sex life!” He watched a couple of nurses walk by and leaned towards them, voice louder. “Our sex life. Together.”

He jerked, letting out a small yelp as he rubbed his shin. “And of course, you had to wear the pointy witch shoes…”

The three of them glanced up, staring at the speakers over head as a soft, slow ballad kicked in. In succession, they all glanced at a small area that had seemed to be vacated, issuing a self-proclaimed dance area.

Wilson glanced back at the two, and gave them a half smile before standing up and walking over to a devastatingly-cute blonde nurse.

“Figures. I always pegged Cratchett as a pedophile.”

Cuddy threw him an annoyed look. “Right. And your fiasco with that incredibly young patient who obviously had some screws loose in her ongoing obsession with you, would be considered what? Child’s play?”

He snorted. “Bitch.”

She threw him a murderous stare. “Jerk.”

“Love you.” He snarled, eyes narrowed.

“Love you too.” She shrugged, rolling her eyes.

They sat in silence, each of them smirking affectionately at the other.

A more upbeat tune slowly transitioned and a few more people made their way to the dance floor. Christmas music seemed to have that affect on all of them guests, infiltrating the mind and heart of all people young and old.

He watched her through his lashes, observing her stare at those dancing and laughing together. He picked up on the minute sway of her body, and how her feet gently tapped to the beat. He tapped his cane on the ground, immediately gaining her attention.

Curious eyes stared at surprisingly affectionate ones. “You want to dance.” It wasn’t an offer but a statement.

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m fine.”

It was like this for all of their outings, fuelling the are-they-or-aren’t-they talk that always seemed to lay suspended around them. While they hadn’t gone public with their relationship, they weren’t bent on hiding it either.

While he acknowledged it as a relationship, deep down he knew it to be simply the next natural step in their friendship. All he had been searching for was someone who’d tolerate him but instead had always attracted those who wanted to help which involved fixing and meddling and changing.

And yet, along came a beautiful, stubborn, opinionated, bossy bitch of a woman who accepted him and who wanted him. As he was. And he found himself falling. She knocked his cane right out from under him. He glanced at said cane and grimaced, grunting loudly which caused her to flash a brilliant smile. He smiled back.

She went back to bobbing her head to the music, her upper body moving gently to the beat.

House pushed his chair out and held out his hand.

She glanced at him. Closing the distance between them, she took his hand and smiled, immediately picking up on his intent, laced with chivalry and a weird sense of humour. Holding on to his hand, she danced beside him, laughing softly at his failed attempt to twirl her while he remained seated.

“Letting you know…prepare to fall on your ass if you want to be dipped.”

She giggled, dancing freely as she was filled with the holiday spirit.

The song ended and sat back down, scooting her chair closer to his. Wilson joined them and the three of them chatted, laugh and drank. Time passed by and soon enough, the reception area began to clear, leaving only the volunteer clean-up crew to take care of business.

“Nurse Brenda was telling me that we raised over four thousand dollars this year.” Cuddy exclaimed, allowing House to awkwardly help her with her coat. She in turn helped him with his as Wilson waited for them by the door.

“You guys driving?” He asked, slightly worried as he waved to his cab-driver.

“Nah. Cabbing it too. Cabbie’s got to eat too, y’know.” House remarked, limping towards his friend.

Wilson smiled, holding out his hands and waiting for a hug.

“Yeah. Keep dreaming.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, holding out his hand which House shook with uncharacteristic warmth. “Merry Chanukah Jewy.”

“House!” Both Wilson and Cuddy yelled at him, causing him to cringe.

Cuddy dropped her chin to her chest, suppressing a laugh. “Why is it so hard to stay mad at that jackass?” She asked, rhetorically.

Wilson shrugged, giving her a quick hug. Normally he would have remained, but the feeling of House’s jealous stare was enough to force him three steps back from her. “Damn House. Why don’t you piss around her and mark her for your own?” He commented, giving Cuddy a wink.

“What do you think we do on Saturday nights though his aim does need practice.” Cuddy retorted, the wine having loosened her tongue.

Both Wilson and House stared at her with wide eyes, before a satisfied smile crept up on Diagnostician’s face. “Niiiice.” He drawled, eyeing her with a lusty and appreciative stare.

Wilson cringed. “Thanks for the mental picture.” He walked out the door, throwing them a smile on the way out.

They watched him get in the cab and waved until the car drove off. “Well that was nice.” Cuddy remarked, staring at the white fluffs of snow that began to fall.

He shifted, standing right behind her. Leaning against her, he pressed his chest against her back, placing a small kiss against the back of her head. Such intimacies were usually kept at bay, neither of them wanting to be on display for prying eyes and ears. One arm snaked around her, holding her close as they both stared at the hypnotic play of snowflakes floating in the sky.

The cab’s horn drew them both out of their reverie. Cuddy wrapped her scarf around her neck and stepped outside, waving to the cleaning-crew who remained at work. She held the door open for him, and fell into step with him as they walked down the path.

“So rumour mill has it that you skipped the Brazilian this season and shaved a mistletoe likeness down south.” He quipped, watching her climb into the cab.

She snorted. “Heh. Yeah well, too bad you’ll never find out.”

He rolled his eyes, staring straight ahead. “Right. By the end of the night, you’ll be begging Santa to come down your chimney.”

--finis--