Title: Praeludere
Author: Florrie
Posted: 00-07-2002
Email: florrie59@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13
Category:
Content: C/G
Summary: He couldn’t care less where Cordelia slept. The cockroaches and she should be extremely happy together at the Sunnydale Motel...
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes: The prelude to Aftermath
Feedback:
Thanks/Dedication: Praeludere is for Nickle because I remember her Giles/Cordelia fics with great fondness.Part 1
What on earth was she doing here? No, no he actually knew the answer to that one. She had driven up from Los Angeles to collect some important ingredients for a much needed spell. Fine. But what was she doing here? Why not Wesley? He could talk to Wesley; pick his brains about Glory; exchange lore and methodology ... Or Spike! Spike could have taken Angel’s magical order to Los Angeles. No dangerously huffy Cordelia and an opportunity to get rid of love-lorn Spike for a night. Marvellous!
“Not until tomorrow?”
“Possibly.”
“So is that a definite possibly or more of an I-don’t-have-a-clue-possibly?”
Giles sighed; a close-your-eyes, calming sigh. He let his shoulders relax with the quietly exhaled air and opened his eyes. Cordelia remained where he had last seen her, solidly planted before him, quizing him with that irritated expression darkly sparking in her eyes, curvaceous body tightly jean-clad. Somehow, the counter between them didn’t seem wide enough. He took a breath.
“The potash of Tanganyikan fruit-bat will be here tomorrow. More than likely. As for the eye-of-newt, common as it may be, with the recent full moon and the resurgence of interest in....”
“Giles! I’ve driven all this way and now you calmly tell me ‘tomorrow’?”
Calmly. If only. “Well, probably.”
“Probably? Possibly? Which one is Giles-speak for ‘yes’?”
Giles considered another tension releasing sigh. Unfortunately the effect never lasted. Instead, he took off his spectacles and slowly rubbed a lens against his flannel shirt. She so very obviously did not want to be here; here being a combination of the Magic Shop and the greater experience that was Sunnydale. With an apprehensive glance at her trainer-covered foot - he had an image of her standing, just so, tapping impatiently - Giles launched into a more detailed explanation.
“Assuming Prudence is able to locate another supplier within the next few hours... well, possibly and then, there are the additional requirements Angel called about, so probably....”
“He wants more of this stuff? Who’s Prudence? Where can I find her?”
“Seattle, but there is absolutely no point in haring off cross-country, Cordelia. Angel said there’s no hurry and...”
“What?”
“There were... developments... after you left... Angel said that they have another few days before...” Giles glanced at one fabulously arched eyebrow. He didn’t have to look down at her feet, he could clearly hear the soft-soled pattering. “Apparently. But I wouldn’t know...”
“He could have called me on my cell!”
“I have the box of other items ready packed and you do still need to be here ... sometime... to collect the newt’s eyes and bat potash.”
“If they ever arrive! Geesh, why do magicians have to rely on couriers? Poof!Post! or Magixpress! I needn’t have left L.A.!”
Poof Post? She could have no idea. A glint of a chuckle almost cracked Giles’ bleak expression. He swallowed. “Well, maybe one day.”
“So Mister-Safe-in-LA wants me to hang around the old birthplace? Revisit the joys of my youth? Trip down memory lane arm in arm with my gal pals and ex?” she asked incredulously.
“Ah... um, if you like. I’m sure we will cope... you, I mean you will cope!”
“I’m guessing Angel didn’t call ahead and reserve the best suite at Sunnydale Motor Inne?” Cordelia bent to the floor for her carry-all and grabbing the bag, slung it carelessly over her shoulder.
“I couldn’t say.”
The eyebrow was raised delicately, once more. Had it gone down at all? Giles skimmed over the conversation. What was he missing? Besides salvation. Accommodation? God, no.
“I’m picking up a faint ‘wish-you-weren’t-here’ vibe. Are your overall memories of me not of the good? No? What a surprise. Still wearing those Buffy-coloured glasses, Mister Giles?”
“Buffy-col...? Now that’s not fair, Cordelia! There were times when... times...”
Irritating. Tiresome. Stunningly attractive.
“... there were times when...”
Unwilling. Unwitting. Of her own accord.
“... times when you did ..."
Brash. Resilient. Dazzling.
"... help,” he conceded unexpectedly.
“Times? Huh, times. Wow, thanks! If you’ll excuse me I had better find a cosy roach infested box to sleep in, somewhere I can reflect on all my Sunnydale evil, you know in between the times I was helping.”
Giles felt a small wave of guilt rise in his throat. It was only small, but enough to make him open his mouth and allow an impulsive batch of words to escape. “No, wait... you mustn’t. I, we can find you a place. I have a spare room.”
“Pardon?”
“I have a spare... room.”
“And?”
“Cordelia, really.” Bloody hell, he thought, couldn’t she recognise an invitation when it was offered so willingly?
“No, you have a spare room! You have my congratulations!”
“You are welcome to stay with... at muh-muh-my place.”
“And I can just see the welcoming excitement ooze from every pore!”
“Then don’t,” Giles snapped tartly. He couldn’t care less where Cordelia slept. The cockroaches and she should be extremely happy together at the Sunnydale Motel. It would be a relief not to have to wake up to that face or rather, look at that face over the cereal and coffee, have her move in and take over his flat and his life, wonder what outrageous thing she was going to say next or....
“I’ll accept.”
Oh. So, she was going to stay. “Grudgingly,” he remarked.
“No, with grace,” she said and flashed him a brilliant smile. “Key, please.”
“Key? But.. Why?”
“To unlock the door!” offered Cordelia. Giles winced at the implied ‘duh’ in her voice.
“There’s no need. I’ll be going home in a few hours, you can wait here, or go shopping, or have a coffee.”
“Giles, I’d love to stay and chat and hope that all my buddies drop by, but...”
“Oh. Of course.” He had to agree, albeit from the other side of the fence. Giles doubted any of the group would be delighted with the return of Cordelia in their present frame of mind. “.... here.” Giles held the keys out but hurriedly snatched them back again. “I haven’t, um, tidied up for a few days. I’ve been busy here and with all the Glory...”
“Oh, please!” Cordelia leant forward, forcibly unfurled Giles’ fingers and plucked the keys from his grip.
“Right. Don’t touch any...” The front door slammed. “...thing. Right.”
Part 2
Giles opened the front door of his home. Walking into your own home when you know there is a stranger - an almost stranger - waiting there can be un-nerving. Had she checked out the refrigerator and given that mouldy cheese a disgusted nudge? Please, don’t let her have lifted the lid on the dirty laundry basket.
Alright, be fair - not an almost stranger - but it had been a long time since he and Cordelia had shared anything more companionable than a late night cemetery stake-out.
Giles had spent the remainder of his quiet hours in the Magic Shop trying to compile an inventory of Cordelia-type conversational topics. He had the scarily short list in his jacket pocket. The first topic header “Boys” had been quickly crossed off. How could Giles discuss Cordelia’s sex-life? By the way, are you getting any? Is there anyone important in your life, besides yourself? The list now comprised “Movies I Have Seen”, “Life in L.A.”, “Interesting Moments In the Life of A Secretary” and “Clothes”. Giles pinned great hopes on “Clothes”. Hopefully he could simply introduce the subject, sit back, switch off and day-dream of ascetic solitude while Cordelia rattled on.
The rooms were quiet and filled with sunlight. The sunbeams filtered over the stairway, light swirls of air-borne dust rupturing the stillness. The curtains, Cordelia must have opened the curtains. It had been so long since he had bothered to disturb their dreary closeness.
“Cordelia?”
The sun-filled silence was broken by a soft murmuring.
“Cordelia? Are you.....”
Cordelia was sitting on the lounge, her back to him, muttering into - he could see now - the telephone. She was clutching a hand to her forehead and rocking gently, back and forth. The phone was placed back in its cradle.
“Cordelia?”
She started slightly, suddenly ceased the rhythmic motion and clasped both hands tightly together in her lap.
“Giles, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Something’s happened?”
“Oh, no. I had to call Angel... nothing much... I hope you don’t mind - my cell wouldn’t work.”
“But you....”
“I’m fine!” she said brightly, with only the slightest trace of a wince.
Giles could not believe that either the strained expression or tense body were symptomatic of ‘fine’, but before he could launch into a more commanding, ‘now see here’ tone, the phone rang. Giles picked it up and listened to the speaker at the other end. He acknowledged the comments with an occasional “I see”, “of course” and “yes, yes” before a final “thank you for calling.”
Giles stood for a moment, hands thrust into his pockets, brow furrowed, assimilating the information.
“Angel says aspirin helps the pain,” he offered baldly.
Cordelia sighed, unclasped her hands, clutched at her forehead and resumed the soothing swaying.
“Damn vampires. Never trust them to keep a secret... blab to the whole world and then... Don’t you tell anyone...”
“Angel was worried about you trying to cope on your own. Understandably. I’ll go find those tablets.”
“I didn’t want a fuss,” she muttered as Giles disappeared into the kitchen.
“I won’t fuss,” he called back, “if you do as you are told!”
He came back and attempted to push two tablets and a glass of water into her hands. “Here, Cordelia.”
“They don’t work.”
“Angel said....”
“I only take them at home to make Angel feel better!”
“Then do me a favour and make me feel better!”
“Geeze, men! If I turn into an aspirin junkie I’ll know who to sue!”
“Do you want to talk about whatever it was you saw?” he asked with some concern before lowering himself onto the lounge next to Cordelia.
“No thanks. Pretty much an ‘Evil Dead’ remake. Low budget. Bad lip-sync. Don’t want to go there again.”
“Angel didn’t go into a lot of detail, but I gather these er, ...visions? have been happening for a while.”
“Oh, yes! We go way back!”
“It doesn’t seem fair... I mean you work for Angel, that I understand, but why did the Power’s choose you?”
“‘Fair’ isn’t a word to be found in the PTB’s scrabble dictionary, Giles. Look, the mind-throbbing visions happen. Somedays I feel sorry for myself and wish for a normal life but most of the time I’m good with it, you know? There are so many people that need help, Giles and hell, I get that already!” What’s with feeling their pain every damn time? And it’s getting worse... but I know I want to help and shit, was I so freaking evil? Was I Giles, was I really that bad? I saw your face back in the shop... you were thinking ‘nasty Queen C’ and for crying out loud, maybe I was mean... I was a spoilt kid but even then I still wanted to help but, oh no, everyone remembers me for the bad and do I really deserve to have my life ruined...,”
“Cordelia, calm down... please,” Giles captured the girl's hand as it agitatedly sliced through the air, “please, relax.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to embarrass you but I get a little, well, annoyed. Sometimes.”
“Naturally.”
“This is where you say I was never evil and then you tell me my favourite fairystory - the one about how the pain part of the visions will magically disappear.”
“I can’t do that... the visions, I can’t remove the pain. Did Wesley ever research any of this?”
“I... he never said. Giles, me and evil?”
“No, of course you weren’t evil, just... different. You were Cordelia Chase. You still are. Actually...” Giles hitched his spectacles onto his nose and pulled a large tooled leather book from a nearby shelf. “I might look into this while you are here. I doubt we can interfere with the gift as such, but there may be a remedy for the distress and headache... if there are indications that the...” Giles’ voice settled to a gentle mumble as he turned the pages.
Cordelia pushed her shoulders back into the cushions, closed her throbbing eyes and fell asleep to the soothing whisper of ancient paper.
***
Hunger finally roused Cordelia from her healing slumber and consequently forced Giles from his books.“Kinda on the empty side, Giles.”
Cordelia peered over his rolled-back shirt-sleeve into the sparsely occupied freezer. The refrigerator had slightly more items but their level of freshness was suspect.
“Yes, er, sorry.”
“Pizza?”
“I think so. Extra anchovy? Garlic bread?”
“Fine. Eddie’s Parlour still deliver?”
“Uh, huh. I’ll call. Thin crust?”
“Great.”
Cordelia propped herself against the kitchen benchtop and waited while Giles placed the brief order. So far, not too bad. Staying with Giles had been a daunting prospect, but one that was quickly shrouded in Cordelia Chase bravado. Far better than taking a room at the Sunnydale Motel where you might as well just leave the door open and become part of the human smorgasbord for vampires. Giles was okay. Shame he found out about the visions. If Angel hadn’t called back and spoken to Giles she was sure she would have been able to bluff her way out. On the other hand, if Giles could find a cure for the crushing pain? All good.
Giles wandered back into the kitchen, cradling a bottle of wine in the crook of his arm.
“Glass of red with your dinner?”
“Yes please. You know, there is someone in L.A. that I could ask about the visions but you know when you keep putting off doing something because you get scared you might hear bad news?” Cordelia scrunched up her nose at the thought.
“Mmm? Who’s that?” asked Giles as he uncorked the bottle.
“We call him ‘the Host’... he reads souls while you sing.”
“Oh? Singing souls? I don’t quite understand...”
“Long story,” she answered dismissively.
“I’m listening,” said Giles and handed Cordelia a glass of claret red wine.
Part 3
Who would have thought? A thoroughly pleasant evening with Cordelia for company! Giles didn’t have to refer to his conversational topics list once. Enjoyable, different, amusing, entertaining and enlightening. A touchingly fresh view of fighting evil, living and working alongside the un-dead and struggling to find normalcy, a la Cordelia Chase - all washed down with crusty pizza, a rough earthy red, ‘The Yardbirds’, ‘Cream’, disturbing glimpses of a generous cleavage... and he had to go and spoil it all.
Giles blamed it on the floor. In retrospect it had been an entirely ill-advised move to push the couch cushions onto the strip of carpet and for both he and Cordelia to lounge around the pizza box like a couple of stuffed seals. The floor, or was it ‘Shapes of Things’? Certainly around the time of ‘Shapes of Things’ he had begun to contemplate the shape of Cordelia. Inappropriate thoughts. Dirty-old-man perverted thoughts. Embarrassingly stirring thoughts. All wrong, wrong, wrong. Filthy old bastard. There she was, wringing out her soul, sharing confidences about various demonic pregnancies and here he was wondering exactly how much of one of her soft breasts he could cover with one hand. Lecherous. Unfit. Christ, but she was so sensuously sumptious and he was so pathetically common.
Giles, exhausted by his body’s insistent tension, eventually pleaded fatigue and dragged himself off for a humiliatingly lonely two-minute gratification in a scorching hot shower.
***
A man who actually listened! And contributed and didn’t look confused. She could forget about barriers and conversational danger areas like vampires and visions and simply talk and he would sit, or lie, there and nod and understand and you knew he understood because there was a soft, kind light in his eyes and he didn’t fidget or try to change the subject. He was so ... appealing!Cordelia popped a tea bag into each of the mugs sitting before her on the bench.
How come he was single - again? Well, of course, Giles did have lifestyle issues - she could certainly relate to those. And this Glory demon or god, whatever, must be time consuming and what had he said about that pesky brat Dawn? Trust Dawn to turn out to be a major worry, she always was a nuisance and Spike! Geesh, who would have guessed?
Cordelia peered at a slightly firm slice of bread in an effort to locate any budding mould.
Hopefully, she thought, all of Angel’s mojo would arrive this morning and she could leave Sunnydale once more. No regrets. Okay, one and that one was best left regretted. Hell, just because a guy inspired a couple of voluntary pelvic floor muscle contractions did not mean you would forever curse yourself because you didn’t jump into bed with him! Speaking of curses, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Giles waking up mean, hungry and bumpy. A bonus. Who’d have thought that normalcy would ever be a major turn-on.
Yeah, the body stretch and re-positioning of the cleavage angle had been naughty, but the look on his face! All blushy confusion. Giles, so much the stuffy gentleman. He’d never go for it anyway. She could hear him now, “It wouldn’t be right” or even an outraged, irritable “Grow up, Cordelia!”
***
“Cordelia?”Cordelia dropped the slice of bread onto the kitchen floor.
“Damn, Giles, that was the only piece of bread I could find without any extra nutritional fuzzy bits! Don’t you have any real food for breakfast?” Cordelia retrieved the bread and began blowing imaginery whirls of fluff from its surface.
“Um, not really. I like toast. There are a couple of oranges in that bowl.”
“I remember the days when you would keep a stockpile of tofu and all types of goodies.”
“Well, times change Cordelia.”
“Okay, you have this,” Cordelia thoughtfully handed over the well-fingered bread, “and I’ll eat one of these. I knew I should have left that last slice of pizza.”
Giles was fully dressed, even down to shoes and coat. He had found a comforting safety in multiple layers of clothes. Or there had been, when he was upstairs. Down here, back in the Cordelia zone, the comfort was fading.
“Did you er, suh-sleep well?” he began conversationally as Cordelia cut into a juicy orange.
“Uh-huh.”
“And the tee shirt? Comfortable?”
“Thanks,” she said and hitched the sliding neck-line of the capacious garment back up to cover her bare shoulder.
“Good, good,” muttered Giles. The tee shirt once again slipped down, exposing Cordelia’s shoulder as she launched eagerly into the quartered orange. “Good.”
“I’ve made tea,” she offered through a mouthful of fruit, juice dripping down over her chin.
“Oh, tea? I, um...” Giles might be wallowing in a sexual enthrall, but he’d be damned if that extended to drinking dishwater, Cordelia’s version of tea.
“It’s safe, Giles. I’ve been taught by Wes, the master tea-bag dunker.”
“Lovely, thank you.” Giles relented and accepted the proffered mug. “How is your head this morning?”
“Hey, I only drank one glass of wine - oh, vision-wise? Bearable. I’ve already called Angel. He and Wes should be wrapping it all up about now.”
“Excellent. Look, I have to go into the shop this morning - for a few hours - will you be alright here on your own? Or would you like to, um, come with me?”
“I don’t need to be vision-sat Giles.”
“I wasn’t... There isn’t a lot to do around here, maybe...”
“I’ll find something.”
“Oh. In that case it might be best to keep the front door locked - people tend to wander in and out as they please and Spike, well...if he can’t get inside quick enough he might spontaneously combust on the doorstep.” Giles put the not quite empty cup of tea down on the bench. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“But he can’t bite me, right?”
“Spike can’t hurt you, but the chip doesn’t stop the imbecile from talking.” Giles added a vague ‘pillock’ under his breath.
“Hmmm,” murmured Cordelia.
***
Cordelia hadn’t been in Giles’ bedroom for long when a loud rumpus began at the front door. Interspersed by frantic bangs on the wood Cordelia made out an assortment of ‘bloody ponce’, ‘bleeding door’ and ‘fucking moron’. Cordelia skipped down the stairs and took a peek through the door. A course mixture of steam and obscenities emanated from under a black leather coat.Cordelia was a compassionate girl. Besides, she had kept her Giles-elevated libido under control all morning by mentally imagining a reunion with Spike, if he happened to drop by.
Here he was. Cordelia unlatched the door. A smokey, stinking, seething leather mass tumbled into the room. Cordelia calmly closed the door and waited, hands on hips while Spike noisily disengaged himself from the coat.
“Cordelia! Love the hair! Love the denim! Where’s the arse-hole?” he asked in a conversational tone. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and yelled up the stairwell, “Get down here you almighty ponce!”
“Giles is at the Magic Shop.”
“I know where Rupert is. I want to know where the poof is.... Has he gone to see Buffy? Because if Angel upsets one hair on the slayer’s pretty head I’ll kick his sorry arse from here to breakfast...”
“Giles told me about love-sick Spike. I thought he was exaggerating. Ah-ah... I’m talking now... Giles also told me about bite-no-more Spike...”
“Great, story-time with Rupert. Lovely. Where is Angel?”
“Los Angeles.”
“His car, that black rust-bucket... it’s parked right out front...”
“That would be me.”
“No Angel?”
“Nope.”
“Right. Be seeing you.”
“Oh Spike, not so soon,” she crooned, “I thought, you know, we might have a chat, old times...”
“Uh, tempting but, no. Gotta go, pet.”
Cordelia blocked his path to the door. “I said, we should have a chat,” and she emphasised the chat with a sudden, sharp and painfully accurate knee to Spike’s groin.
***
Giles pulled his keys from his coat pocket as he walked up the path. He was frowning at the caterwauling coming, apparently, from inside his home. The strident noise increased dramatically as he opened the door. He stood for a moment, one foot on the step. Surely, yes, it must be ‘American Pie’.“Cordelia?” he bellowed into a second that was blessedly void of sound.
“Thank bloody christ!” an unexpected voice bellowed back.
“Cordelia?”
“Giles! Hi!” Cordelia appeared at the top of the stairs, her figure haloed in the dusty sunlight, arms full of scrunched up clothes. “Spike and I have been spring cleaning.”
The vampire's bleached blonde head bobbed indignantly over Cordelia’s shoulder. “No, we have not! Singing, by god, she called it singing! I’ve heard better tunes in a torture chamber. Rupert, please, get me out of this!” Spike, laden with a broom and mop, stumbled down the stairs after Cordelia, his loosely fettered arms and legs slowing his progress.
“Cordelia?” Giles asked for the third time, a grin spreading over his face. “What have you been doing?”
“Do you have any idea what I found under your bed? Apart from fur-ball city?”
Giles paled and the grin faded to a nervous smile. “Under my bed? But...”
“Yeah, fur-balls and stained copies of Playboy and unused out-of-date condoms - pathetic...”
“Do you want my help or not?” Giles hissed towards Spike.
“Oh, that’s right, sorry. The Playboy was in mint condition.”
“Ignore him, Giles. Seven - seven odd socks!”
Giles took a breath. “Cordelia, why do you have Spike tied up? I don’t object, mind you, bondage does become him, but I am curious.”
“Hey, are you two shagging?” asked Spike politely.
“Spike and a friend of his played hot poker tic tac toe with Angel last year. I have a long memory. They didn’t call me Dumbo in kindergarten for nothing!”
“I always did think you had an itch for Angel, pet...”
“So I treated Spike to a return match. Torture, Cordelia style. I’m glad you came home, I was running out of songs and getting a sore throat.”
“Not that you could tell one dirge from another...and, here’s an idea love, as you are into ancients...”
“Spike, shut up and come here.” Giles leant down to undo the ties around Spike’s ankles and hands.
“...maybe you and me could have a quick one before you go back to the old man in LA. No singing, mind, and you have to keep your mouth closed, well, most of the...”
Giles spun the newly freed Spike around, clipped him with a quick right hook and sent him crashing into the wall.
“Nothing like some mindless violence to release tension.” Giles flexed his fist. Now if he could just order a bout of passionate, gratuitous sex, it would top his day. “Did you have a nice morning, Cordelia?”
“Very rewarding, thank you.” Cordelia waved a hand towards the recumbant vampire. “Should we feel bad because he can’t get fighty with us?”
“No.”
“Oh, good. You know I was half way through ‘Ave Maria’ when I kind of saw Spike sink into himself, almost like... terror and there was this tiny part of me that felt sorry for him... but it didn’t last.”
“I’m glad you persevered.” Giles wriggled from his coat. “Some bad news, the um, newt’s eyes didn’t arrive, but we do have the bat potash and I fully expect to receive...”
“It’s okay.”
“It is?” he asked, surprised. “You don’t mind? You’ll have to spend another night?”
“Suits me!” she smiled. “Am I in the way?”
“Not at all.”
Giles silenced a groan from the corner with a well aimed toss of Spike’s leather coat.
***
Another pizza, another bottle of wine, another ancient record and another evening spent on the floor. This time the evening had begun as a late lunch.“...and now he is trying so hard to make up for everything.”
“You two are close? How odd. Angel doesn’t seem to be your type of... of friend.”
“You think Harmony and I have more in common?”
“Yes, well.”
“And I’m sitting here talking to you aren’t I?”
“Would you like another glass of wine?”
“Mmmm.”
“You’ve successfully avoided old friends... Buffy, Willow, Xander...”
“Friends? No.... you know, it wouldn’t have mattered how much I tried, they would still see the person they thought I was three years ago. I’d have to sprout wings and grow a halo before they’d see anything other than Queen C and I really can’t be bothered...”
“Oh, I don’t know...maybe...”
“No! I don’t want to talk about them.”
“That’s a relief, neither do I. Can we find something totally surreal to discuss? I’d like to avoid reality today.”
“Escapism, I can do. I’ve been doing it all day... between songs and sock retrieval... Giles, do you ever think what might have happened if it had been you I kissed back in high school... instead of Wesley?”
“The situation wouldn’t have arisen,” said ethically scrupulous Mr Giles.
“That is so not a romantic answer.”
“I didn’t think of you in a romantic sense then...”
“Not even a little, tiny...” she wrinkled all of her disappointment into a little nose shrug.
“...and now I think of you in a woefully inappropriate, highly-charged, wine-fed lusting sense. Bugger the scruples and...”
“If I were to kiss you now...?” Cordelia interrupted, her voice brightened. She sat up and shuffled closer to Giles. “You wouldn’t object?” Cordelia straddled Giles’ unprotesting body.
“Oh, no, as long as you don’t disturb me from this wonderful dream where this very boring middle-aged man lusts after a very beautiful, luscious young woman and she... you can do whatever you like... don’t bounce up and down Cordelia or you’ll wake me up...”
She wriggled gently and leant forward to place a light kiss on his closed lips.
“...And if I wake up I’ll have to deal with Glory and Ben and Dawn and Buffy and another end of the world and I don’t want to, not right now... I want to fall asleep in you...”
“Giles, denial is healthy... I want to be with an exceptionally good, normal, appealing man, just to see what it is like...”
“I’m not good but... are... are you sure?”
Cordelia pulled her shirt up over her head and shook out her hair and breasts.
Slip into her warm eyes, her smile and the biggest mother of them all, her welcoming, soothing body. A few minutes lost in that body and... fuck.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” whispered Giles.
End