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summer_of_giles2012-07-21 09:23 pm
peet4paint.livejournal.com) wrote in summer_of_giles2012-07-21 09:23 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: thirteenth (Giles/Veruca) FRM
Title: thirteenth
Author: peet4paint
Pairing: Giles/Veruca
Rating: FRM, R
Length: ~1700 words
Setting: somewhere in season four
A/N: completely unbeta'd, which I'm very sorry about. This is not the story I set out to write. Initially I noticed the similarity between Jenny and Veruca and wanted to write a Giles/Veruca love story. This is not that story. This is a dark story that may be too convoluted.
*
Giles likes to think he lost his faith a long time ago. After all, religion is complete nonsense. The idea of one Being creating the world… piffle.
But in reality, he still thought there was the possibility of a god, the chance of a greater being, a greater purpose to things, until two years ago. That was when he lost it. It. His belief in a meaning to all this, a greater good. That was when he lost his faith.
Something about an associate turning into a homicidal maniac and killing your romantic interest tends to do that to a person.
*
The first time he sees her it’s Friday the thirteenth. And although he hates to think he’s a superstitious man, he is, pretty much, a superstitious man. When a black cat crosses his path, he expects a witch to follow. When he spills salt he not only throws some over his shoulder, but in each of the four cardinal directions. He once carried a rabbit for a solid month in hopes that it would improve his luck. (It appreciably did in that it caused Anya to avoid him.) So it would be a blatant lie to say he was anything shy of painfully aware of the date.
But the reality is, contrary to popular belief, Friday the thirteenth is not an evil portent. It’s a day of change.
So Giles does go out to the Bronze that evening, perhaps giving fate a little push. And that’s when he sees her.
She’s standing up there on the stage, moving to the beat of her own blood, and Giles is… captivated.
She comes over after her set. Giles would like to blame that on the date as well, but her friendship with Oz seems the more likely option. When she gets to the table, Giles can’t help but stare. Then, suddenly, her head turns at an awkward angle and she’s staring right back.
“Do I know you?” she says, shaking her head a little.
And despite the fact that there’s something about her that’s achingly familiar, Giles says, “Not as far as I can recall. I am Giles. And you….?” He holds his hand out for a handshake.
She ignores his hand. Walks closer to him. Far too close for two people who have only just met. “Veruca,” she says, eyes wide, eaten up with pupil.
They stare at each other for some endless moment, until Xander spoils it, as he is so frequently doing. “So. Veruca. That’s gotta be the only name I’ve ever heard of that’s worse than Buff’s.”
“Hey!” Buffy says, hitting Xander on the shoulder. Xander winces and grabs his arm, Anya mother hens, and Buffy ignores him. “So. Veruca. It’s nice to meet you. I think.”
Giles gives her a disapproving look, only to find her glaring right back. “Right,” he says with a sigh, “well I guess I’ll be going then.”
He doesn’t make it very far, is just pulling his jacket into place when an arm links with his.
“Walk a girl home?” Veruca asks, although it barely comes out a question. “It gets too—“ she pauses, shivers—“lonely here at night. Makes a girl get all kinds of ideas.”
Giles says, “Of course,” and very carefully doesn’t think of what kinds of ideas Veruca might be having.
*
Giles is an intelligent man. A very intelligent—wise—man. And wisdom, well, he’s too intelligent to deny, wisdom comes with age.
Giles is—he hesitates to consider himself old, but he’s getting up there.
Because of this—well, he’s not stupid enough, he’s not senile enough, to think that this is anything other than him walking a very lovely girl to her rooms in order to protect her from what goes bump in the night.
Still, as he walks into the night, his heart starts going a bit faster.
And when she transfers her grip to his hand, he can’t deny that his palm is decidedly damp with perspiration.
*
It’s dark out, new moon barely a sliver in the sky. Veruca looks at it and shivers again. “It feels wrong when it’s that small. Like it’s diminished.”
“The moon?” Giles says and wants to bite his own tongue. Inanities are generally something he can avoid.
She doesn’t notice, or if she does, she doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah.” She turns to him. Her eyes are silver in the dark. “It’s so powerful. Pulls the tides. Pulls us. You feel it, don’t you? How it changes you, when the moon is full? How it makes us something different. Something more?”
Giles thinks about werewolves for a second, thinks about fur and fangs and pheromones. Then he shakes his head, shakes the thought away. She doesn’t know. She’s just as blind to things that go bump in the night as everyone else in this town.
“You’re referring to that crazed mania that seems to happen every time the moon is full. The way people seem to be worse versions of themselves.”
“Different,” she says, voice loud in the quiet of the evening. “Not worse. Different. More.”
Giles smiles at the ground. “Very well. More.” He quirks his eyebrow. “So, where are we going? You have a dormitory room?”
She snorts. Stares at him in a way that seems to cut right through him. “I’m not one of them. The little robots. Living the life their supposed to live. I’m not them. I’m something else.”
‘You’re young, so young,’ he doesn’t say. ‘You’ve so much to learn.’ He does say, “So an apartment then?”
She keeps staring at him for another minute or so, then her face cracks into a smile. She chuckles a little. “You’ve got a spine. I like that in a man.”
“So nice to know you approve.”
She turns to her left, hiding her smile from him. Tugs on his hand, and he follows. “This way.”
“Bit of a rough neighborhood,” Giles says, looking at the bars and pawn shops littering the street.
“Colorful. Everyone is so… unpredictable.”
Giles looks at the old man pissing on the side of a building. “I can see why that’s an advantage.”
She chuckles again. “It is.”
“A glaring one.”
“Unpredictability is undervalued.” She stops in front of a door that’s seen better days. The paint’s peeling and the six is hanging forlornly down into a nine. “And here we are. Home sweet home. I’d invite you in for coffee, but—“
Giles steps back, says, “Of course. Well, I’ll wish you a fair night.”
She uses the grip she still has on his hand to tug him in. “Like I was saying, I’d invite you in for coffee, but I’m not really much for coy and shy.”
She kisses him, all teeth and tongue.
His eyes slam closed. His heart starts racing, cock growing heavy in his trousers. His eyes fly back open. “What—are you…?”
“Inviting you in. Not for coffee.” She licks his chin.
Then the door’s swinging open and he’s being pulled in by his tie.
The door swings closed.
*
It strikes him then—not before for some reason—just why Veruca has him so fascinated. It’s not really a wonder that he didn’t notice it at first. She’s more than a decade younger, after all. Has completely different hair. Completely different eyes. But something—something about the way she talks or the way she moves or just all of it, all of her, reminds him…
Of Jenny.
*
After the door closes he doesn’t have time to get his bearings. It’s pitch black, not a light on in the whole place. He knows if he had a second to adjust he would be able to see something, but Veruca is everywhere, hands in his hair, and working his back, and grabbing his arse, and through it all, pulling him ever deeper into the building.
He feels a bit like a fly in a spider’s web.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” She contradicts herself by biting the lobe of his ear. “Actually that’s a lie.”
And then she’s tackling him onto a mattress. It squeaks, springs protesting their abuse. She laughs.
Giles grabs her. Gets a hand around her waist, another on her thigh.
She shakes his grip like it wasn’t even there. “Now, I think it’s time to check out the goods.” She unbuckles his belt, undoes his fly. She groans when she sees his cock.
And yes, Giles is more than a bit proud of his cock.
“Knew I picked right,” she says to herself. She tears a condom wrapper open, rolls it on him, then follows it a second later with herself.
“Let’s go,” she says on a laugh.
*
It’s not like how it would’ve been with Jenny. He doesn’t think.
It’s wild. Veruca’s wild, something animalistic in her movements.
But she looks at him through it all, holds his hands tight in hers when she orgasms. When he orgasms.
It’s nothing like how it would’ve been with Jenny.
Except for all the ways it is.
And suddenly, in the very pit of his soul, he finds it again. His faith.
*
He wakes up from a doze to the vision of a beautiful naked woman.
He blinks and she’s still there.
And then it comes back to him. The last hour. He remembers then. Friday the thirteenth. He laughs to himself a little.
Veruca’s at the window, staring out into the night. She’s lovely with the shadows painting lines over her body. She’s lovely period.
He gets up, goes to her. “What are you looking at?” he says, looking out at dirty buildings and a handful of stars and thin slice of moon.
She smiles, looking out. “Change.”
He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly nervous for no reason. Or maybe for all the reasons. “Ah. Well tonight was lovely. Er, rather…” he trails off. There’s no word for what tonight was.
“Wild.” She turns to him then. “You are wild. An animal.” She smiles, a beautiful wicked smile. “I think I’ll keep you.”
*
Giles may have been wrong about Friday the thirteenth.
*
Author: peet4paint
Pairing: Giles/Veruca
Rating: FRM, R
Length: ~1700 words
Setting: somewhere in season four
A/N: completely unbeta'd, which I'm very sorry about. This is not the story I set out to write. Initially I noticed the similarity between Jenny and Veruca and wanted to write a Giles/Veruca love story. This is not that story. This is a dark story that may be too convoluted.
*
Giles likes to think he lost his faith a long time ago. After all, religion is complete nonsense. The idea of one Being creating the world… piffle.
But in reality, he still thought there was the possibility of a god, the chance of a greater being, a greater purpose to things, until two years ago. That was when he lost it. It. His belief in a meaning to all this, a greater good. That was when he lost his faith.
Something about an associate turning into a homicidal maniac and killing your romantic interest tends to do that to a person.
*
The first time he sees her it’s Friday the thirteenth. And although he hates to think he’s a superstitious man, he is, pretty much, a superstitious man. When a black cat crosses his path, he expects a witch to follow. When he spills salt he not only throws some over his shoulder, but in each of the four cardinal directions. He once carried a rabbit for a solid month in hopes that it would improve his luck. (It appreciably did in that it caused Anya to avoid him.) So it would be a blatant lie to say he was anything shy of painfully aware of the date.
But the reality is, contrary to popular belief, Friday the thirteenth is not an evil portent. It’s a day of change.
So Giles does go out to the Bronze that evening, perhaps giving fate a little push. And that’s when he sees her.
She’s standing up there on the stage, moving to the beat of her own blood, and Giles is… captivated.
She comes over after her set. Giles would like to blame that on the date as well, but her friendship with Oz seems the more likely option. When she gets to the table, Giles can’t help but stare. Then, suddenly, her head turns at an awkward angle and she’s staring right back.
“Do I know you?” she says, shaking her head a little.
And despite the fact that there’s something about her that’s achingly familiar, Giles says, “Not as far as I can recall. I am Giles. And you….?” He holds his hand out for a handshake.
She ignores his hand. Walks closer to him. Far too close for two people who have only just met. “Veruca,” she says, eyes wide, eaten up with pupil.
They stare at each other for some endless moment, until Xander spoils it, as he is so frequently doing. “So. Veruca. That’s gotta be the only name I’ve ever heard of that’s worse than Buff’s.”
“Hey!” Buffy says, hitting Xander on the shoulder. Xander winces and grabs his arm, Anya mother hens, and Buffy ignores him. “So. Veruca. It’s nice to meet you. I think.”
Giles gives her a disapproving look, only to find her glaring right back. “Right,” he says with a sigh, “well I guess I’ll be going then.”
He doesn’t make it very far, is just pulling his jacket into place when an arm links with his.
“Walk a girl home?” Veruca asks, although it barely comes out a question. “It gets too—“ she pauses, shivers—“lonely here at night. Makes a girl get all kinds of ideas.”
Giles says, “Of course,” and very carefully doesn’t think of what kinds of ideas Veruca might be having.
*
Giles is an intelligent man. A very intelligent—wise—man. And wisdom, well, he’s too intelligent to deny, wisdom comes with age.
Giles is—he hesitates to consider himself old, but he’s getting up there.
Because of this—well, he’s not stupid enough, he’s not senile enough, to think that this is anything other than him walking a very lovely girl to her rooms in order to protect her from what goes bump in the night.
Still, as he walks into the night, his heart starts going a bit faster.
And when she transfers her grip to his hand, he can’t deny that his palm is decidedly damp with perspiration.
*
It’s dark out, new moon barely a sliver in the sky. Veruca looks at it and shivers again. “It feels wrong when it’s that small. Like it’s diminished.”
“The moon?” Giles says and wants to bite his own tongue. Inanities are generally something he can avoid.
She doesn’t notice, or if she does, she doesn’t comment on it. “Yeah.” She turns to him. Her eyes are silver in the dark. “It’s so powerful. Pulls the tides. Pulls us. You feel it, don’t you? How it changes you, when the moon is full? How it makes us something different. Something more?”
Giles thinks about werewolves for a second, thinks about fur and fangs and pheromones. Then he shakes his head, shakes the thought away. She doesn’t know. She’s just as blind to things that go bump in the night as everyone else in this town.
“You’re referring to that crazed mania that seems to happen every time the moon is full. The way people seem to be worse versions of themselves.”
“Different,” she says, voice loud in the quiet of the evening. “Not worse. Different. More.”
Giles smiles at the ground. “Very well. More.” He quirks his eyebrow. “So, where are we going? You have a dormitory room?”
She snorts. Stares at him in a way that seems to cut right through him. “I’m not one of them. The little robots. Living the life their supposed to live. I’m not them. I’m something else.”
‘You’re young, so young,’ he doesn’t say. ‘You’ve so much to learn.’ He does say, “So an apartment then?”
She keeps staring at him for another minute or so, then her face cracks into a smile. She chuckles a little. “You’ve got a spine. I like that in a man.”
“So nice to know you approve.”
She turns to her left, hiding her smile from him. Tugs on his hand, and he follows. “This way.”
“Bit of a rough neighborhood,” Giles says, looking at the bars and pawn shops littering the street.
“Colorful. Everyone is so… unpredictable.”
Giles looks at the old man pissing on the side of a building. “I can see why that’s an advantage.”
She chuckles again. “It is.”
“A glaring one.”
“Unpredictability is undervalued.” She stops in front of a door that’s seen better days. The paint’s peeling and the six is hanging forlornly down into a nine. “And here we are. Home sweet home. I’d invite you in for coffee, but—“
Giles steps back, says, “Of course. Well, I’ll wish you a fair night.”
She uses the grip she still has on his hand to tug him in. “Like I was saying, I’d invite you in for coffee, but I’m not really much for coy and shy.”
She kisses him, all teeth and tongue.
His eyes slam closed. His heart starts racing, cock growing heavy in his trousers. His eyes fly back open. “What—are you…?”
“Inviting you in. Not for coffee.” She licks his chin.
Then the door’s swinging open and he’s being pulled in by his tie.
The door swings closed.
*
It strikes him then—not before for some reason—just why Veruca has him so fascinated. It’s not really a wonder that he didn’t notice it at first. She’s more than a decade younger, after all. Has completely different hair. Completely different eyes. But something—something about the way she talks or the way she moves or just all of it, all of her, reminds him…
Of Jenny.
*
After the door closes he doesn’t have time to get his bearings. It’s pitch black, not a light on in the whole place. He knows if he had a second to adjust he would be able to see something, but Veruca is everywhere, hands in his hair, and working his back, and grabbing his arse, and through it all, pulling him ever deeper into the building.
He feels a bit like a fly in a spider’s web.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” She contradicts herself by biting the lobe of his ear. “Actually that’s a lie.”
And then she’s tackling him onto a mattress. It squeaks, springs protesting their abuse. She laughs.
Giles grabs her. Gets a hand around her waist, another on her thigh.
She shakes his grip like it wasn’t even there. “Now, I think it’s time to check out the goods.” She unbuckles his belt, undoes his fly. She groans when she sees his cock.
And yes, Giles is more than a bit proud of his cock.
“Knew I picked right,” she says to herself. She tears a condom wrapper open, rolls it on him, then follows it a second later with herself.
“Let’s go,” she says on a laugh.
*
It’s not like how it would’ve been with Jenny. He doesn’t think.
It’s wild. Veruca’s wild, something animalistic in her movements.
But she looks at him through it all, holds his hands tight in hers when she orgasms. When he orgasms.
It’s nothing like how it would’ve been with Jenny.
Except for all the ways it is.
And suddenly, in the very pit of his soul, he finds it again. His faith.
*
He wakes up from a doze to the vision of a beautiful naked woman.
He blinks and she’s still there.
And then it comes back to him. The last hour. He remembers then. Friday the thirteenth. He laughs to himself a little.
Veruca’s at the window, staring out into the night. She’s lovely with the shadows painting lines over her body. She’s lovely period.
He gets up, goes to her. “What are you looking at?” he says, looking out at dirty buildings and a handful of stars and thin slice of moon.
She smiles, looking out. “Change.”
He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly nervous for no reason. Or maybe for all the reasons. “Ah. Well tonight was lovely. Er, rather…” he trails off. There’s no word for what tonight was.
“Wild.” She turns to him then. “You are wild. An animal.” She smiles, a beautiful wicked smile. “I think I’ll keep you.”
*
Giles may have been wrong about Friday the thirteenth.
*