*****

I'm sucking on his fingers. I'm in Rupert Giles' kitchen sucking on his fingers. Sucking on... makes it sounds like I just sort of attach my lips along the sides and... and kiss or something.

Like sucking the sugar-sweat off a popsicle or something... and I want that to be less obscene than it is, because what I was trying to say is that I'm not really sucking *on* his fingers so much as I've sucked them *in* to my mouth and I'm licking and tasting and there's no excuse for this.

It's tomorrow. I've been here since yesterday afternoon. Yesterday morning maybe. Just showed up on his doorstep and knocked. He tried to start a conversation but when we touched... when we touched it just *began* and I don't think it's stopped once.

I've got his right hand this time. I think I thought he'd stop me, but he doesn't even look uncomfortable. I'm sucking on his fingers, I'm close -- *perilously* close -- to the ones that aren't there but his hand is limp in mine. He lets me do anything I want. He hasn't said no to anything and I don't think it's really supposed to be that way.

I should've told him... something. Told him this was new to me. That I wasn't even sure... But there wasn't time. He just... *pounced* on me. Like I was dinner. I had about half a second to be terrified and then he was touching me, kissing me... He's good.

He's really, really good.

Right now he's just leaning back against his spotless countertop, what looks like frozen lamb chops sort of steaming in the heat. He doesn't keep the air conditioning on. It's OK, neither do we.

I haven't been home since I left to come here.

He moves and I jump a little, feel his fingertips rub my tongue a little and it's just... it's such a fucking *shock*. I've been sucking a long time and I just kind of forgot that I was sucking on something he could move by himself, perfect control.

He's wearing a shirt but it's open, sleeves rolled up. I watch the still muscle of his forearm and I'm so hard I close my eyes. Why won't he move?

He doesn't even taste like his own sweat anymore. He doesn't taste like anything but my own saliva. I should at the very least just *move* but this feels good. Two fingers in my mouth and I'm moving for both of us. I'm...

He fucked me yesterday afternoon or evening or whatever it was. I asked him to. I don't know what it is about that... I asked him but I was so... he'd felt so good and he'd just kept teasing my... he'd just kept teasing until I had to have something there. I knew he wanted to because nobody looks that hungry unless they want to live inside the meal...

I asked him to, knowing he wanted to, and then he did and I can feel it. Not as much as I expected to... I can't even really remember him preparing but I guess he did a good job. I... I must have dreamed of this.

There were no real conscious fantasies that I can remember (he feels so damned good in my mouth and I know what will feel better), but I was as ready for this... I was readier for this than I even was for Cordelia and if there was anyone who'd ever walked through my fantasies it was her.

So I must have dreamed about this. Giles touching me, wanting me. Giles making me need to touch him.

(And how did he do that?)

Drugs, officer. I was drugged and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

Some part of me *had* to know it would be like this and just didn't want to tell me. Something.

I've sucked his cock. I stayed after sucking his cock and... and practically cuddled him into the floor. Don't move or I'll... I'll get on my knees again.

At least I know where that came from. Larry told me all about it. Love across a crowded, steamy locker room. Larry is really, really good at ignoring my lack of need for detail. If I knew he'd just get hard at the thought of what I'm doing, what I've done, what I need to do... If I knew he'd just go home and beat off (or ask me to do it for him?), I'd at least have someone to talk to.

But it wouldn't be Larry if he didn't try to make me talk about my feelings. This... I can practically hear him congratulating me. Commiserating on how hard it must have been to spend that much time around Giles and not do what I'm doing right now, pushing my face into his hard belly. Using my cheek to nudge the elastic of his boxers aside.

Angry angry when did he have time to put on clothes? Why did he put on clothes? Was I supposed to leave?

Giles had said.... something like "I could make some dinner..." and then he'd trailed off or maybe I just hadn't waited for him to say anything else. I was dripping on his kitchen floor and he'd been leaned back a little and his hand was just... *sitting* there.

He said it was good that I was staying here... yesterday. Oh, God I don't want to go anywhere. He's so hard for me. I have a cock right in front of my face.

I've got Giles' cock right in front of my face again and I know exactly what I'm doing. I already know how hard he likes it, where he wants me to lick.

A part of my brain never stopped thinking about that time in the library. A part of me is still on my knees, right with the rest of me now. I'm gonna be on my knees for the rest of my life, remembering, wondering.

I'm gearing myself up to take him deep. I need the preparation. I don't want to gag or anything. I don't want to lose control more than I already have. I'm not sure there'd be anything left if I did. Just a body demanding to be used, fucked again and ohhh I'm so tempted to pull him down to the floor with me, down to these real stone tiles so he can do it. Do me.

Inside...

His hands are on my face. I used his shaving gear so I can feel every touch. My nipples, late to this party, spike up hard. It's like he's tracing my features... almost. I look up and he's got his eyes closed. He's sheened with sweat and his eyes are closed and his shirt is sticking to his skin in places.

And just like that I can smell him.

I groan around the head and he shudders. His whole body shudders and his head falls back a little and at the sight of his throat all stretched back I fuck my mouth a little further down on his cock.

I can't stop. I don't have time to say more to myself than (stop?) and I'm moving on him. Fucking my mouth on him and he shudders again. Suddenly the smell intensifies on the air and I can feel myself break out in a fresh sheath of sweat in sympathy.

He's like... Giles doesn't smell like books, or tweed, or anything like I must have wanted him to. I wasn't prepared for this, not in any way. He smells like he's been pinning back his cock for like eighteen years and he's ready to whip it out and shove it God right down my throat.

I've had my hands on his hips but I realize now they were just sitting there. Realize when he starts thrusting into me. Fucking me like he can't do a damned thing to stop himself. My mouth is starting to feel a little abused now, lips numbing where they aren't aching and I groan again, more than I have to and Giles does what I want.

Thrusts harder and those light fingers on my face are heavy and twisting in my hair now, like he can't decide whether to make me move faster or just hold me still.

I feel his scars pressing hard against my scalp and my eyelids flutter. I bring my own hands to my groin and I can't fucking believe the towel is there. Every time I try to rip it off the thick terry cloth chafes across my cock, making me jump and moan. I can feel spit slipping down my chin.

I'm still struggling with the damned towel when Giles comes. Shoots me. I jerk a little from surprise but it might as well be from the force of him. My cock pulses at the feel, the thought and when I groan this time it makes me cough, choke.

I pull off and just cough harder. Double up and I feel something hot as blood splash me on the shoulder and oh know exactly what it is and the coughing moves my diaphragm like I've got an engine in me, like I was drowning and I feel myself spurt into the towel. Not the orgasm I wanted but it practically knocks me the rest of the way to the floor anyway.

And then I feel him rubbing my back. Feel his fingers slip a little where he came on me. He's asking me if I'm OK, rubbing me more. All I do is wait until I can breathe and push back into his arms. Will them to tighten around me and they do. Right around my own arms.

Trapping me there.

My head falls back on his shoulder but I don't really relax until I get his shirt out of the way. Until I'm resting on his damp hot skin.

End.