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Buffy sits on the bench, watching her dad walk away from her seemingly for good. She tries desperately to fight back tears as the cruelty of his words replay in her mind. He wants nothing to do with her. She knows something magically hinky is going on—he would never say something like that to her if there wasn’t—but it still hurts to hear a confirmation of something she’s always secretly feared.
She’s not sure for how long she remains where she is, struggling to dry her eyes. Finally, she manages to blink back the urge to cry, gets up from the bench, and shuffles in the direction of the school library. Maybe talking to Giles will make her feel better.
When she arrives at the library, Giles is seated at the big table, a book on astral bodies open in front of him. He glances up from it when he hears her walk in, and at the look on her face, he closes it and stands.
“Buffy,” he says, “is—is everything alright? How was… talking to your father?”
Buffy shrugs. “Not so good.” She sits on the edge of the table, legs dangling. “He told me… he doesn’t wanna spend time with me anymore. And some other stuff… about why he and Mom got divorced.” She looks down at her hands in her lap, her throat closing up as the tears try to fight their way through again.
“Oh, Buffy… I’m so sorry.” Giles stands beside her, places a comforting hand on her shoulder. His thumb brushes the side of her neck, intimate and tender. He asks, “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
Buffy bites her lip and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I just… wanted to come back here.” She looks up at him. “Maybe I can keep you company while you look for answers about Billy.”
“Actually…” Giles perks up. “I have something we can do.” He hustles over to the counter and ducks behind it to rummage for a moment. “I think I’ve determined a way you can access the astral plane and speak with Billy. Are you feeling up to it?”
“Um… Okay…” She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands to clear them of unshed tears. A distraction sounds good right about now, and there’s nothing that pulls her away from her personal life quite like her slayer duties.
Giles reemerges from behind the counter with a strip of dark red cloth and a few long thin bits of string that sort of look like friendship bracelets.
“The first step is to bind your ankles together and your wrists behind your back. This is a tether to ensure that while your mind travels the astral plane, your body cannot be pulled with it.”
“You have to tie my hands behind my back?”
“It shouldn’t be too uncomfortable,” he assures her. “They’re quite flimsy strings, and it’s purely symbolic, keeping you physically grounded here in the material world. Stand here, beside the table.”
Obediently, she shrugs her jacket off and drapes it on the table, then crosses her wrists over each other behind her back and lets him tie them together with one of the two strings. As he’s kneeling to tie her ankles with the other, she asks, “If the strings are flimsy, is the magic safe? I mean, I’m not gonna get sucked into another dimension or something because we didn’t use strong enough string?”
“No, no. I assure you, your body isn’t leaving this library any time soon.” Satisfied that the little strings are fixed in place, Giles stands back up. “Now, the next thing to do is to blindfold you. This low-level sensory deprivation will allow you to enter a meditative state and access the astral plane.”
When Buffy makes no protest, he fastens the blindfold around her eyes. It’s almost relaxing, not having to look at the world around her. All she sees is a deep, dark red.
“What’s next? Do I have to do a chant or something?”
“No,” Giles’s disembodied voice says. “There’s no chant. Let’s just talk for a moment. In order to access other planes, you’ll need to be calm and focused. A meaningful conversation ought to do the trick.”
“Okay… What should we talk about?”
He places his large warm hands on her shoulders, standing behind her.
“First, I’d like to express my happiness that you returned to me when you were upset. I know I am not your parent, just your watcher, but I truly wish to be someone that you can feel safe around. We are meant to be a team, you and I.”
Buffy relaxes, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “Little awkward,” she giggles. “But… yeah, I do feel safe around you.”
“And I’m very glad to hear that. I think… any adult man such as myself would feel lucky to have the trust of such a wonderful young girl. Your father is a fool for choosing not to make the most of that trust.”
Buffy shrugs, the smile slipping away again. “I dunno. He was pretty clear that I was the problem.”
“Nonsense. You’re an extraordinary girl, Buffy. Even if you aren’t always entirely truthful with me.”
Buffy isn’t sure what to make of that. “Not always truthful?”
“I’d like to talk about what happened with you and Xander, if you don’t mind.”
Buffy pauses. “Me and Xander…?”
“That’s right. Try to center your breathing while we talk.” His thumbs caress the back of her neck, less tender and with more intent than when it had happened earlier. “You didn’t tell me everything about the ordeal with the hyenas. I know you didn’t.”
Buffy swallows hard. “I told you the—the important bits.”
“I think you skipped over something important.” Giles’s voice sounds… different, now. Lower, rougher. There’s something else, too, and she can’t put her finger on what. He waits for a moment, but when Buffy offers nothing but silence, Giles says, “He tried to force himself on you, didn’t he?”
Buffy’s breathing goes wonky for a second, but she remembers his instructions and tries to even it out. She asks, “How… How did you know that?”
“You just told me.”
“It… wasn’t really him,” she says meekly. “It was the magic.”
“Certain magics can certainly cause a person to act… rashly. They can force primal desires to the surface, and even cause a person to act on them.” His hands tighten briefly on her shoulder, a quick squeeze. “To the afflicted, it feels like a release, because it empowers them to do what they wouldn’t otherwise have the courage to do. In Xander’s case, the hyena spirit caused his primal desires to outweigh his care for you as a friend. His id took over.”
“It… He didn’t get to do it, though,” Buffy protests, not sure why she’s feeling defensive all of a sudden. “I fought him off.”
“Well, the hyena was rather stupid for thinking it could physically overpower a slayer. A gentler touch is sometimes necessary.”
Buffy shivers.
“Giles…?”
“Speaking of primal nature,” he continues, “I’d imagine that was rather frightening for you. He’s your friend—someone you trust—and so I’m sure you were afraid when you realized that trust had been broken.”
“It—It wasn’t… him,” she repeats again. “It was the hyena.”
“Nevertheless, were you afraid?”
“...Y-Yeah. A little.”
“Was that an unusual sort of fear for you?” His tone is conversational, but there’s a subtle texture to it that makes him sound kind of gleeful. “I’d guess not. We’ve never discussed it verbally before, but there is something sexual inherent to the violence of a vampire. After all, their primary drive is to penetrate their victims. They reproduce via an exchange of fluids during this forceful penetration. The possibility of rape is never far from your mind when you fight them, I’d imagine.”
He moves one of his hands to close over the back of her neck, his fingers wrapping around the side of it. She realizes she hasn’t heard him stutter a single time since he asked her if she was alright when she first walked in. Giles always stutters.
He asks, “Tell me, Buffy: are you afraid of being raped?”
Buffy’s heart pounds harder.
“W…Well…” she admits. “Some…times…”
“Right now?”
Buffy pulls her wrists apart, expecting the strings to snap easily. She doesn’t want to talk to Billy in the astral plane anymore. She wants to go back to class, or home to her mom. But the strings don’t break.
“G—Giles—”
“You won’t be able to get loose,” he tells her. “While the threads are physically flimsy, the enchantments that reinforce them are quite powerful. I’m afraid you’re helpless, Buffy.” With his hand on the back of her neck, he shoves her forward so she collapses onto her belly on the table, bent over the edge of it. “Your trust in me is really such a lovely thing.”
“Giles,” she pleads. “Giles, this isn’t you. This is—it’s whatever magic made me forget all the test answers. It’s what made my dad say that stuff to me. It’s—It’s not real. It’s not you.”
He reaches around to undo her fly, and each click of her zipper unzipping raises her panic higher. He grabs the waistband of her pants and tugs them down, letting them bunch up around her knees, then cups her butt in both hands over her underwear, and says, “Isn’t it?”
Buffy struggles against the magic bonds, wishing she could see anything other than the blood-red blindfold. She tries to part her legs enough to kick, but the string still does not give. She tries to push herself upright, off the table, but she can’t get enough leverage.
Giles touches her over her panties, running his fingers between her legs, and she squeaks at the foreignness of it. Nobody’s ever touched her there before.
“Stop,” she begs. “Please, Giles, just—just fight whatever the magic is. Don’t do this.”
Her inability to see is disorienting; even though she can feel his presence at her back, her body can’t tell where the touch is coming from, and it’s making her dizzy. She usually has such good spatial awareness, but her senses are failing her, her powers ineffective against the nightmare. He’s petting her carefully, fingers stroking over the contours of her through thin cotton fabric that’s slowly dampening. She lets all her weight rest on the table and tries to kick backwards, but with her ankles bound by magic and her knees trapped by her clothes, the contact she makes with his shins has almost no force behind it, and he continues without even flinching.
Giles says quietly, “It isn’t so bad, Buffy. It won’t last forever.”
“No,” is all that Buffy can think to say. “No, no, no, please.”
“You’ll be alright. Hush, now.”
He pets her flank like he’s trying to calm an animal, like that’s all she is to him. He pulls her panties to the side and the sudden cool air makes her clench; he hums appreciatively at whatever he sees. When his fingertips touch bare wet skin, she swallows down her pride and tries to scream as loud as she can—but no sound comes out.
“Buffy,” he chides her, “when has shouting for help during a bad dream ever worked?”
“Please,” she says, and starts to cry. “Just stop.”
He parts her, pressing just the pad of his finger around the edges of her opening, rubbing gently. She’s sensitive there, and her legs and hips twitch in response, her hands flexing uselessly against the ties and her knees turning inward on instinct.
“You’re so pretty, darling,” he tells her, using his free hand to pull flesh aside and expose more of her. “So eager. I’m barely touching you, and you’re already all wet for me.”
“Let go of me,” she says, voice cracking. She sniffles, trying to keep holding her head up.
The hand that’s playing with her disappears, and she hears the rustle of his clothing, her blood rushing in her ears with panic. There’s all manner of reasons why she doesn’t want to do this here, now, but the only thing that she can think at the moment is that she’s heard that it hurts the first time.
“Gi—Giles… Don’t…”
There’s firm, warm flesh being pressed against her now, and she’s never even seen one before except for the illustrations in her health textbook but he’s running the tip of it up and down along her, between her legs, smearing it with the wetness that she can’t help but drip. In spite of herself, the stimulation feels nice just as much as it feels icky and wrong and gross, and Buffy whimpers, her legs trembling, her palms sweating.
“It’s alright to be afraid,” Giles tells her, squeezing a handful of her butt. “That is the point of all this, after all.”
He spreads her open with his fingers again and places the tip of—of himself at her entrance, and this time she can feel him pushing. She goes up on her tippy-toes, trying to get away from it, but he just leans closer, tugs her back down to the floor. He’s gonna have sex with me is the thought that keeps running through her mind over and over, and she can’t think of a way to stop him.
“No,” she croaks, desperate, knowing it’s futile.
“That voice is lovely,” he tells her. “I could listen to you beg like that for hours.”
Buffy shuts her mouth and drops her forehead to the table beneath her, cushioned by the blindfold. Giles slips the head of his penis inside her and she bites down on a gasp. It burns, stings a little bit, and he’s not letting up, just keeps pressing more and more in while she tries not to let out an overwhelmed whine. There’s very little friction—she’s much too wet for that to be a problem—but the pressure is huge and inescapable and terrifying, and she can barely breathe, her chest tight with panic. She can feel every inch getting pushed in, her body aching from the intrusion and the stretch. Finally, his hips come to rest flush against her and he gives a content sigh, buried deep inside her.
“How’s that feel, Buffy?” Giles asks.
She lifts her head from the table to hiss through gritted teeth, “Whatever you are that’s making Giles do this, I’m gonna kill you so dead,” and hopes that the blindfold makes her look less like she’s been crying. At least he’s behind her, so he can’t see her face too well.
Gripping her hips, Giles pulls back gradually, the pressure inside her lessening until all that’s left of him in her is the tip. She sucks in lungfuls of air, her whole body shaking, squirming, knowing that he’s just going to push back in at any second. She squints her eyes shut behind red fabric and puts her head back down, trying to be ready for it, trying to tamp down fear and shame and disgust, trying to breathe through the feeling of her body being opened.
He presses back into her in a smooth motion, faster than before, and a humiliating little moan gets forced out of her. She doesn’t want to like it, the weight of him inside her, the fullness, but it feels good in spite of the ache, sending a warm and tingling feeling spreading outward from where her heartbeat throbs between her legs. Every hair on her body is standing on end, her nerves all lighting up like sparklers at these delicious new sensations that she feels sick for moaning for.
Almost like he’s read her mind, or maybe he’s just read the sound she made, Giles says, “Knew you’d like this. Randy teenager and all that. Hormones’ll get the better of you, even if you think you don’t want it. Isn’t that right?”
Buffy shakes her head, a denial lodged in her throat.
“That’s not all, though,” he murmurs. “Know what I think, Buffy?” He punctuates the question with another thrust, and Buffy tries to use the table under her to muffle a gasp. Giles continues, “I think it rather turns you on. I barely touched you and you soaked through your knickers. You like putting up a fight. It’s what a slayer is built for.” Another thrust, the tip of him sliding along a sensitive spot inside her and making her squeal, one leg jerking in reflex. He guesses, “But you didn’t fight very hard, because you wanted to lose, deep down. It does feel good, doesn’t it? Not just my cock, but getting to pretend you don’t want it when we both know that being in danger gets you going.”
Buffy’s ears burn; she’s never heard Giles be so vulgar before. Is the magic what’s making him say things like my cock, or is that just how he talks when he gets girls in bed? She can’t imagine her Giles using words like that. She shudders.
“Stop,” she whispers, and goes for another useless weak kick to any part of him she can reach. It’s just as ineffective as screaming was.
He ignores it and sets a rhythm, his hands planted on her back to hold her still while he fucks her—and maybe the vulgarity is catching, because she doesn’t normally use words like fuck, even in her own head. Breathy, girlish whines keep getting pushed out of her no matter how she tries to stifle them, and the sound of skin striking skin when his hips meet her ass on each thrust is so much louder and more lewd than she would’ve thought it would be. Worse, even, are the slick noises; being able to hear just how eagerly her body takes his has her face turning red-hot with embarrassment.
His hands come up to her shaking shoulders to rub at them in a mockery of a soothing gesture while he continues to shove himself into her. She’s crying steadily, quiet and sniffly. The blindfold is damp with tears, and she’s still trying half-heartedly to twist her wrists out of the bonds. Warm, slippery wetness leaks down her thighs, a sweet and torturous tension building in her sex. She’s aching for his touch even as she wants to cringe away from him, her body begging for more friction, more pressure, more pleasure. Her legs are trembling too violently to support her, so she rests all her weight on the table, which makes her feel even more full of him. Her insides flutter around him while she teeters on the precipice of something frightening. Whatever it is, she doesn’t want it, no matter how good it’s probably going to feel.
“Giles, please, please, stop—” The last word gets drawn out on a sob.
“I’d love for you to come for me, Buffy,” he says, voice low in her ear. “Can you do that for me, please?”
Buffy wants to shake her head no, but she’s too busy trying to fend off terror and arousal. Her hips jerk once, twice, three times, and then it’s not so much random twitching anymore as it is that she’s humping the table, seeking out external stimulation, and mortified by her own lack of control. She wants to go totally limp, play dead, but instead she’s rutting desperately against what’s in reach and she can’t make herself stop.
Giles notices the rocking of her hips and asks, “Is that what you need, dear? Here, let me help you.”
He tucks a hand beneath her hip, his fingers exploring through damp curly pubic hair to find the spot that feels so needy for touch, like he knows exactly where to go and what to do, like he knows her body better than she does. He slides along that spot lightly, his touch teasing, and Buffy groans, the craving for firmer contact turning nearly painful in its intensity. Her heartbeat is pounding and she can feel it right where his cock enters her, the sensation of his wet skin dragging against hers making her hot and tingly and utterly unable to think about anything else.
“More direct?” Giles wonders, and this time when his fingers find that spot it’s with such perfect unrelenting pressure that Buffy yelps and shudders and tries to spread her trapped legs wider. His voice is a pleased purr when he says, “Oh, that’s good, then, isn’t it? Let’s give you more of that, hm?”
“N…No…” She sounds reedy and tremulous, completely unconvincing.
But he knows now what’ll make her go pliant and whimpery underneath him and he keeps doing it, rubbing just right, making her thoughts turn fuzzy and difficult to hold onto. She keeps crying, but she can’t fight him anymore, too overwhelmed by the way he’s making her feel. His cock is so deep in her, stretching her open, and it hurts but the pain is outclassed by the pleasure that she doesn’t have the strength to wriggle away from.
There’s pressure mounting that feels concentrated right where he has his hand, swelling with every stroke, and Buffy feels pathetic in her helplessness to it; he’s going to make her come, just like he said he would, and she’s never had an orgasm before but she’s scared of what it’s going to be like, scared of being vulnerable in front of him, scared of how out-of-control she is. She tries to push it away, to simply power past the cresting wave without acknowledging it, hoping desperately that it’ll just recede and leave her be. It doesn’t work.
Her breath stutters as she climaxes, her hips pressing down and into his hand and her toes curling. The sound of Giles moaning comes through muted, her whole world narrowing to a focal point between her legs as the heat and pleasure of release eclipse everything else. She can’t stop coming, her thighs and abs tensing, her muscles clenching around his throbbing cock, wetness spilling from her and dripping warm and sticky down her thighs. She quivers as she feels him spurt inside her, and then the all-consumingness of it fades and she’s boneless and panting on the tabletop, her heart hammering, bliss spreading through her along with biting shame.
Giles leaves his cock in her as it softens, running his hands across her thighs, her ass, her back, like he’s petting her. He admits, “I hadn’t meant to finish quite yet. I rather wanted to put it in your mouth and have you swallow for me. But your pretty little cunt is so perfectly tight, Buffy, I couldn’t control myself.”
Buffy just makes a wordless wounded noise, keeping her face down against the table as tiny aftershocks ripple through her and make her shiver.
There’s a noticeable shift in the air, then. Giles goes very still against her and mutters, “Oh, God…” He pulls out of her with a humiliating wet noise and stumbles back a step. “Buffy, I…” He sounds horrified.
That’s Giles, then, back to himself, the nightmare over.
She hears the rustle of clothing and then the unsteady drawing-closed of a zipper, like he’s pulling on it with shaking hands. She can feel his come leaking out of her swollen pussy and the sudden absence of his body heat draped over her.
“Can you untie me?” she asks in a small voice.
He says nothing, but the strings get released from around her ankles and her wrists, and she pushes herself upright, fumbling to straighten out her underwear and pull up her pants. She zips and buttons and then stands there shaking, sniffling, unwilling to remove the blindfold just yet. She doesn’t want to see him.
The room is dead silent. In the distance, she can hear the laughter and clamoring of students in the halls, but their sound is far away.
It takes her a long time to finally pull the blindfold off. When she does, she finds herself alone in the library. The two thin strings are discarded on the table beside her jacket. They still look a little like friendship bracelets.
“G…Giles…?” she asks the empty room.
But it’s like he was never there.