InsaneJournal

Fic: Policy (BtVS)
So, this may be the dirtiest wrongest thing I've ever written (let's take a moment and marvel at that shall we kids). It lived in my head for like 10 months before turning into 600 or so words. I think it's hot. YMMV.


So.
Policy
Buffy/Giles, set early s1 btvs.
rated uber-adult, consent issues, age issues, the horrifying perversion of what grows to be a beautiful father/daughter-esque relationship
smut with no redeeming qualities



When he'd first heard of the practice he'd been disgusted. He'd argued with his professor, his father, the head of the council only to be told over and over that he had no choice.

“This is how it has always, and will always be done. Slayers have needs and they cannot be allowed to overcome the girls' lives. This is the only reliable way of ensuring there aren't...situations down the line.”

Before he'd left for Sunnydale Travers had pulled him aside to make sure he'd be able to go through with it.

”We need to know that you will do this Rupert. Her last watcher hadn't the stomach for it, had he not died, we would have replaced him. If you can't do this, you can't go to her.”

Agreeing in the abstract was different than actually going through with anything, and it wasn't until her third week with him that he decided it was time.

It started as a normal post-patrol massage. As he rubbed her shoulders he let his fingers occasionally stray to the swells of her breasts, ghost over her nipples. The contact was fleeting and slight, but frequent enough that her nipples tightened and she made a small questioning noise.

“Just adding on to our cool down routine. The council has strict policies about what Slayers need to do after patrol.”

She nodded and let her head drop as he worked a particularly tough knot in her neck.

He worked her neck and back and shoulders until she was limp and grinning. Then he moved to crouch in front of her.

“Buffy I need to rub down your legs. Can you take your pants off?”

She blushed, but did as he asked.

He rubbed and worked her thigh muscles until she was moaning, legs loose and open, eyes closed, head tilted back against the hard wood of the library chair.

He brought his hands to her knees and started to slide them gently towards the apex of her thighs. When his thumbs hit the cotton of her panties her head snapped up.

“Giles?”

“Council policy Buffy, just relax.” And then he was pushing the crotch of her panties to one side and stroking her outer lips and she started to squirm.

“Seriously Giles, what are you doing?”

“Buffy. Stop fighting. This is the way things have been done for centuries. Relax. I'll make you feel good.” His stomach turned, he was the dirty old man he'd always feared he'd be, sliding his dirty old man fingers into the untouched cunt of a beautiful young girl.

Her next protest morphed into a moan as his thumb found her clit and began to rub. Hard.

Soon she was bucking and moaning and trying to get closer as he worked her with fingers inside and outside. She was drenched and so were his hands. She smelled incredible and looked incredible and he had to dip his head in to taste her.

She wailed as he began to suck her clit and then all he was conscious of was warm and wet and delicious and beautiful and perfect and the noises she was making and the tension in her thighs and then she was coming in pulses and a flutter of muscles and great sobbing gasps of 'oh' and 'God' and 'Giles.'

And then it was over, and he realized he was hard and she was blushing and her face was anxious and he straightened her panties and handed her pants. And he watched her gather her things and told her he'd see her tomorrow.

She had barely left the room before he was fumbling with his zipper and grabbing at his cock and pulling and pulling and coming and coming.

Later, when he was straightening the library before leaving he found a permission slip to go on a field trip to the zoo and he bolted for the bathroom to be sick.