"An Intimate Conversation", B/G, FRAO
I gave this prompt to antennapedia and then stole it back: Buffy and Giles, in a sexual context, talking about Giles's relationship with Ethan Rayne. So this is B/G with G/E in the background.



"So what's it like being bi?"

Giles, who had been kissing her breast, raised his head and his eyebrows and looked at Buffy. She raised her eyebrows right back.

"Excuse me?"

Buffy stroked her Watcher's hair off his forehead. "I was thinking about you and Ethan the other day...."

"Were you then?" Giles flicked his tongue over a nipple and paused to
admire how it glistened.

"You loved him, didn't you?"

Giles raised his head again. No point in trying to lie to his Slayer, his lover, in a bed that smelled of the two of them, their juices, their sleep.

"I did." He kissed her collarbone. "And then I hated him, for what he
dragged me into. For not being brave enough--" He wouldn't finish that thought, not now. He hid his face between her breasts.

She stroked his hair and drew her fingernails lightly across the nape of his neck. That always made him shiver, and Giles shivered now and began kissing his way down his lover's belly, scraping her deliberately with his stubble.

"But it wasn't just sex," she went on, shifting underneath him. Giles did not answer, hoping it had not been a question. "And neither is this."

That, now, was a question, and evidently in need of an answer. He turned his face to the side, cheek against her thigh. "No. Not just sex."

Buffy spread her legs further, and Giles took the hint. Sweet quim, wet and hot and with a tang no other woman had. More than once Giles had come against the sheets while Buffy came against his face. He was good at giving head, no question about it. Ethan had thought so, too.

What he was doing with his lips, and tongue, and then one finger gliding while his tongue flicked, flicked, flicked, kept Buffy from asking any more questions for a while. And then what Buffy was doing with her lips, and tongue, and throat, and her fingertip circling the rim of his arsehole, kept him from worrying about any other questions she might ask.

Until she eased her fingertip up his arse, just a little, turned her head and asked, "Did he do this?"

Giles swayed, kneeling on the bed. "Who... what?"

Her fingertip pressed a little deeper and he shuddered. "Did Ethan fuck you? Or did you fuck him?"

Giles toppled onto his side and looked at Buffy helplessly. "Buffy...."

"I just don't understand it. Wanting men, wanting women. Loving--" She looked frustrated, as if she were trying to read something in Old
English instead of kneeling beside him, naked, one hand straying between her thighs.

He might have asked her why she found the undead attractive as well as the living, but he did not. He reached for her, pulled her close, so he could see her face, smoothed back her tangled hair.

"It's not about gender, love. It's not about... body parts." His hand found her breast again. "It isn't what's between the legs that makes a lover, but what's in the mind, and heart." He kissed her and she allowed it, pouting. "My heart is yours, Buffy. The Watcher belongs to the Slayer."

That declaration cured the pout, and she kissed him back with renewed
enthusiasm. Her lips wandered along his jaw, and he heard her inhale,
scenting herself on him. He cupped one firm buttock and squeezed, only to hear her say, "But are you going to be, like, unsatisfied if we don't do certain things, I mean, things you might have done with a man--"

He couldn't help himself: He sighed, and rolled away in exasperation.
If he'd been wearing his glasses, he would have taken them off to polish them. He did not, however, need the glasses to see that Buffy was pouting again.

He was tempted to just roll onto her and take her, hoping that would prove that *he* was thinking of *her* at the moment, and not some long-absent former lover. But if Buffy needed to talk, then talk they must.

"What do you want, Buffy?" He kept his tone under control, not wanting to escalate The Pout. "Why are you asking about something that's long over?"

She was silent, abashed. He touched her cheek. "Is there something you want to know about me? Or is there something you want to, to do?"

Her eyes met his. "Do you want. Did you like it. Did you like it when I was sucking you, and I--" She held out her hand, fingers curling upwards.

Ah. "When you touched my arse? Yes, I did."

Buffy smiled one of those little quirked smiles that meant "British people are so cute the way they talk."

"Arse," she murmured.

"Arse," he repeated, and laughed.

"Would you want to touch me there?"

"Yes. If you'd like to try it. It's a very sensitive area."

Buffy considered this, propped on her elbow now with her free hand roaming his torso. "I guess if it didn't feel good, people wouldn't do it."

"Precisely." He thought about touching her there, and his cock suddenly remembered it was interested in something besides talking.

So was Buffy, apparently, as she draped herself over him, covering his mouth with hers, covering his cock with her firm belly, her soft skin. Giles opened his lips to her kiss and wrapped his arms around her. He never tired of touching her, of the feel of sleek skin over Slayer muscle, of the feeling that she could pin him, bend him, break him, manhandle him, in fact, more efficiently than any man. He liked that feeling very much. But he was going to let her figure that out for herself.

Giles cupped Buffy's buttocks in his hands--soft, sleek, round, firm--and very gently teased one finger down the cleft.