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Sunnydale High School Library The mirror had been behaving in a normal mirror like manner since Willow and Oz had headed off to Buffy's to find the stone. Wesley had set everyone else back to work. Although by this point that meant mainly himself and Angel as all the volumes in English had long since been exhausted. Xander was searching the cage for additional books in the hopes some more had time warped in. Cordelia had been dispatched for Chinese food. Buffy was staring at the mirror, chewing her thumbnail and wondering just how dire a risk it would be to dash off to the restroom.
Finally Willow and Oz came running back into the library. "Found it!" Willow held out the blue stone to Buffy.
"Not near the mirror!" Wesley's shout came too late.
The mirror had once again begun to vibrate and pulse. The golden light bathed Buffy. As it touched her, the stone, as Willow transferred it to her hand, had also started to glow. Then a light shot out of the stone. Bouncing off the mirror and spotlighting the floor to the side of the table. A loud boom erupted. Shaking the windows. The body of a man was expelled from the mirror. He hit the floor with a thud, but managed roll with the impact, ending up against Wesley's chair. Wesley jumped up to stand on the other side of the chair. Book clasped to his breast.
The man lowered his arms from their position of protecting his face and looked up blinking. "Wesley?" Sitting up the unknown man quickly scanned the room and the others. "Oh, Damn."
He was cute in a bewildered sort of way, Buffy decided. No spider senses kicked in, so despite his rather peculiar entry into the library Buffy was not too concerned. "Nice tuck and roll," she told him.
"Uhm, thank you. Practice and all that." The man pulled a pair of glasses out of his inside breast pocket and slipped them on. The suit was even more old fashioned than Giles's usual wear. Tweed though. He would fit in fine. "I don't suppose there is any chance that this is Mort Grange with rather peculiar decorating and the rest are you are here because of a major time displacement?" "Nope." The rest of the gang had not yet regained the powers of speech, but they shook their heads along with Buffy's statement.
Looking around some more the man commented. "Let me guess then. I'm in Sunnydale, in the old Library and this must be, when? about Spring of 1999?" His green eyes widened, "And I am sitting on top of the Hellmouth." He got hurriedly to his feet.
"It's actually about ten feet to your right." Xander told him helpfully.
The man shifted to the left slightly.
"This is all very well, sir, but would you care to explain yourself? And how you come by this knowledge? I certainly have never seen you before." Wesley pulled himself together enough to sputter.
The man nodded. He ran a hand through his hair, further disarranging dark blond curls. "No you're right you haven't. Yet. I won't be born, uh, for awhile yet."
"You're from the future?" Willow squeaked.
"Not necessarily your future. But this is my past." The man explained. "Time is complicated. It doesn't run in a neat line. It's more like a group of winding roads, periodically intersecting with each other. You may not experience the events that bring about my reality, but mine will still continue to exist, barring cataclysmic disturbance, regardless of that."
Willow nodded enthusiastically apparently understanding. Oz and Wesley took the remarks seriously. Buffy just felt baffled. "And you know Wesley from...?" "Well among other things Watcher training." The time man glanced over at Wesley. "This is a bit odd. In 1999, you'd have been only 32. You're a year younger than I am right now."
"You're a Watcher?" Buffy believed him. The suit was right and he sounded just as incomprehensible as Giles. Besides he had a Watchery feel to him now that she considered it.
"My date of birth would be easily obtainable." Wesley sounded distrustful. "I think I'd prefer something a little less publicly known to establish your bona fides."
"All right." The man thought a moment. "Buffy, of course, is the Slayer. You are officially her Watcher, although the de facto situation is rather different as she remains bonded to, uh, Mr. Giles."
He stumbled a little on the name. But Wesley was becoming more accepting, prompting the second Watcher, "And the rest of these young people?"
"Xander -- general dogsbody and would be knight errant, Willow -- netgirl and budding wiccan," The man rattled off easily. "Oz -- Willow's consort and three nights a month werewolf."
Frowning at Oz, he added, "You know I don't think I've ever seen your natural hair color before, Oz."
"Still haven't." Oz provided.
"Yes, well, last time I saw you it was a rather peculiar shade of green. This is an improvement." He glanced up taking in Angel and the frown deepened. "Angelus, or I suppose in this era, Angel, is your vampire... informant and... is he still chasing after Buffy?"
"No." Buffy said sharply. "We're just friends."
"Right. I don't see Cordelia about so I assume she's either cheerleading or getting donuts." He shrugged. "Is that good enough or do you want me to tell you what you sing when you get well and truly drunk?"
"Uhm, no that won't be necessary." Wesley quickly interrupted. "And you are here because?"
"I'm not suppose to be _here_." The man sighed and gestured toward the chair. "May I?"
"Of course." Wesley also sat.
"I'm... a descendent of Margaret Ferrguson." The man was clearly weighing his words.
"So we're cousins?" Buffy kind of liked the idea of that. Something about this guy was comforting in a familiar sort of way.
"Something like that," he answered obliquely. "According to the information left in Morag Ferrguson's diaries, while the daughters of her line controlled the mirror, the sons were to 'guard the highlands,'" that last phrase sounded rather British instead of the standard, if educated American, his accent had been prior to this. He caught himself and the accent switched back.
"The time anomalies are spreading outward due to Father Ramsey's attempts to use the mirror to save the life of his Slayer. It's playing hobs with Slayers all across the time lines. It was thought that, since I carry the appropriate lineage, I might be able to join Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers at Mort Grange and assist them in putting the time lines straight again. I was also," he took a pouch from his inside pocket opening it. Dropping a twin of the blue stone Buffy was holding, into the palm of his hand, "to deliver this to ... Mrs. Summers. With the stone her ability to control the mirror will be increased. Unfortunately I seem to have ended up here instead." He looked up at Wesley. "The stone may have drawn this later version of itself to it in some way."
"Or there is something you need to do in this time period in order to accomplish your goal of guarding the highlands." Wesley inspected the second stone carefully. "I think this needs more research. Mr. uhm..?"
"Call me Robert," the man suggested. "I don't think giving you my surname would be all that good an idea."
"I agree." Wesley said with certainty. "We haven't had a chance to research this stone or its connection to the mirror. If you are a Watcher, Robert, you can help Angel and me get through some of the older texts. Both Latin and Greek one trusts?"
"Also Sanskrit and Arabic, Wes." Robert grinned. "You usually stick me with the African works."
Wesley picked up a stack of books off the table and set them in front of their new associate. "Have at it."
Through the Looking Glass A hut on the moor
Joyce woke. And immediately regretted it. Her back really hurt. Her mouth tasted as if she had been on a two day drunk. (Not that she had ever been on a two day drunk, but she had been hangover on occasion and this was that squared.) And she felt fuzzy. Rather like coming out from under anesthesia.
The one plus was that she was being held, ever so gently by a strong arm, which had her pillowed, face down, against a very nice shoulder. Rupert was keeping her warm. She nuzzled him. Which earned her a kiss on the top of her head. "How do you feel?" He whispered to her.
"Uh, well, about the only thing I can think to compare it to is the morning after Buffy was born. What the hell happened to me?"
"You don't remember?" Giles shifted so he was somewhat more upright. His own wounded shoulder had stiffened in the course of the night as he had held Joyce. He had wanted to make certain she did not roll over onto her back in the night. Also he really did not trust that laudanum and so he kept watch to make sure there were no side effects. And if he was honest with himself, holding her eased his own fear that he had almost lost her yesterday.
Joyce tried to get her brain working through the haze. "Oh, right. Magic mirror. Kidnapped child. Mr. Giles rescued us. You got shot. And then, I was stabbed?"
"That's right." Giles gently touched her cheek. "You gave us quite a fright, luv. Let's not do that again shall we?"
"I was under the impression that this was sort of an average day at work for you."
"Oh, no. That is, well, I don't as a rule get stabbed. Knocked unconscious, true, but not stabbed. Do you remember what happened after that?" Giles was worried about this disorientation.
"Not really." Joyce frowned. "Weird dreams. Really weird. First I was wandering around in the cold. Then you and Mr. Giles were both in bed with me. Not in a kinky way you understand. Then I had this whole series of dreams where I was watching stuff happening to people I didn't know. Kind of like bad historical dramas on TV. Except nothing much happened and the perspective was really weird. Like somebody had hung a camera on a wall and just left it there."
"You don't remember the stone?" Giles sighed. "Or my asking you if you wanted to use it?"
"I think I missed that part." Joyce admitted. "What about it?"
"Well, it appears that because of your ancestry you have some control over the mirror." Giles began to explain.
"Oh, God. You mean this is going to turn into one of those awful 'Had I Buy Known?' stories." Joyce moaned. "I hate those. The heroine is always such a twit."
"Uh, well..."
"Never mind. Go on." Joyce nodded.
Giles decided to condense. "At any rate, the older version of me had that blue stone that Morag used to control her weakness. He thought it would strengthen you as well, but it would also increase your, uh, link to the mirror. I tried to ask you if you wanted to risk that and you seemed to understand what was going on, so we gave it to you." He picked up the stone from where it had fallen under the blankets and held it up.
Joyce mulled it over. "You think I was dreaming about the mirror?"
"It would appear that way."
"And the stone was suppose to make me feel better? I don't think it worked." Joyce shifted a little and winced.
"Actually I think it did. There is no fever and the bleeding has stopped. Let me check the dressing." Easing himself off the bed, he brought back their make shift medical kit. Older Giles had washed linens for bandages before he left. They had both agreed that he should best start tracking down the mirror. After washing up, Giles carefully changed the bandages. "Oh, yes, this is healing nicely. If I didn't know better I'd say this was at least a week old."
"It feels like someone stuck a burning torch into my back." Joyce tried to reach where it hurt, but Giles took her hand and stopped her.
"Don't touch it. We sterilized the wound as best we could, but under these conditions infection is a real danger." He set about rebandaging the wound.
"Great." Joyce sighed. "If I don't get wiped out of time by a grief maddened Watcher, I'm going to have to worry about blood poisoning. This is the part they always leave out of the romance novels.
"Is it supposed to burn like this? Somehow I always figured being stabbed would be like being cut. Only more so."
Giles helped her settle more comfortably, slipping some pillows under chest and shoulders. "Uhm, well not normally, but..."
"But?" Joyce eyed him suspiciously.
Sighing Giles sat and leaned back against the headboard. "We could not stop the bleeding. I'm sorry, Joyce. We did the best we could, but in the end, uhm, we had to cauterize the wound. I'm so sorry."
Joyce felt a little light headed. "You and Mr. Giles did this?"
"We had to Joyce. You were loosing much too much blood. I'm sorry we had to hurt you like that." Giles was dithering. He hoped she would understand.
"Don't apologize for saving my life, Rupert. No wonder I'm fuzzy this morning." Joyce shook her head a little. "Just like when Buffy was born. I hemorrhaged then, too. Thank heavens you're more level headed then Hank. He fainted in the delivery room. How bad is it?" Joyce peered over her shoulder trying to see her back. She could just make out the dressing.
"I don't think there will be any permanent damage. Although you'll probably have to do some therapy to strengthen the muscles as they heal." Giles spoke from experience. "Burns tend to scar though."
Joyce wondered how she should feel about that. Her bikini days were long past, so about the only time anyone was going to see her back was when she got naked with them. She had not been naked with anyone but Rupert since Hank left. "Is it going to be really ugly? Will you mind?"
"Oh, my dear," Giles slid down next to her so that he could kiss her. "You'll never be anything less than beautiful to me."
Smiling into his eyes, Joyce still had to comment, "For a stammery, repressed Brit you have a real knack for saying the right thing at the right time."
Giles found himself grinning back. "You bring out the poet in me. If you're not careful the next thing you know I'll be writing songs in your honor. And in that way lies madness." Giles shook his head.
"Nobody’s ever written verse for me," Joyce commented a touch wistfully.
"As soon as we get home I'll borrow Oz's guitar and write you a," Giles paused and thought about it, "A torch song, I think. A ballad somehow seems not quite your style."
He kissed her quickly. "For now you'll have to settle for my dedicating breakfast to you. I'll bring you some tea to start. You need plenty of liquids."
"I'd rather have coffee." Joyce propped her chin up on her hands, so she could more comfortably watch him as he puttered around the kitchen. "Since I assume juice is a lost cause."
"We're on the Scottish moors, Joyce. Even in our time any juice would be tinned. And I strongly doubt there is any coffee."
A search of the kitchen confirmed Giles's worst fears. He had stoked the stove before starting his search and the kettle was boiling by the time he assembled what little food there was. Making up a pot of tea, he took a cup in to Joyce. "Here you go. Now drink up while I make us a traditional English breakfast."
"How traditional?" Joyce asked suspiciously.
"Toast, real bacon, not your American kind, beans and if those chickens outside cooperate, eggs." Giles tried to sound upbeat.
"Beans? For breakfast?" Trying to drink tea while lying on one's stomach was tricky Joyce was discovering.
Giles came clean. "This is clearly a working man's cottage, Joyce. In this time period we're lucky to have anything besides bread and drippings. Beans are nutritious. And they are traditionally served at breakfast. Admittedly not in upper class homes like Mort Grange, but my mother would make them on occasion."
"Okay. After all part of the fun of traveling in foreign lands is sampling the native cuisine." Joyce told him.
She had finished her tea by the time he came back with breakfast. The hens had apparently cooperated as they each had two fried eggs, along with the beans, toast and bacon. Propping Joyce more securely on her stomach, they had breakfast picnic style on the bed. Joyce counted in her head. They were sneaking up on those twelve meals before the plot was revealed. He was a pretty good cook, Joyce decided nibbling on the bacon. Even the beans were tasty. Weird for breakfast, but tasty.
After she told him that, she asked, "Rupert? If you don't mind my asking?"
"What, Joyce?"
"Well, when we were under the influence of that candy your accent... changed. And you seem to have a fair idea how working people live. Were things... hard when you were growing up?"
"My family has been disgustingly middle class since before the Norman conquest, Joyce." Giles munched his toast. "We never had money, you understand. But we were clerks and clergymen and teachers. Just well enough off to be respectable and educate the children decently. My father is incredibly proud of his 'heritage', so for his son to take up with the local street gang and worse talk like they did, well it galled him quite effectively."
"Like those kids in Sunnydale pretending to be black?" Joyce got it.
"Precisely."
"Your father is still alive?" He had used the present tense when talking about him.
Giles nodded. "Still living in North London in the house I grew up in. He calls once a week. Our relationship has improved immensely since I moved to Sunnydale. I've yet to figure out whether because as Buffy's Watcher I've finally done something he can take pride in or whether it's because there is more than 10,000 kilometers between us." Giles paused. "Mum died while I was at Oxford."
"My parents are both gone." Joyce told him. "I've a sister in Illinois, but we're not close."
They chatted about incidentals then until they finished breakfast. Giles brought her more tea and did the dishes. He poured himself a cup of tea and came back to sit on the bed with her. "You should rest, Joyce. Build your strength back."
"After two cups of tea? Not a chance. Uhm," Joyce chewed on her lip. Well, they had slept together. It looked like they were about to get even better acquainted.
"What I really need is a bathroom."
"There isn't one."
"I figured there wouldn't be in the house." Joyce retorted. "I think I could walk if you helped me."
"There's a chamber pot." Giles offered.
"Those things are messy," Joyce wrinkled her nose. So they made an expedition out back to the privy. Giles solved the problem of Joyce's clothes, or lack thereof, by bundling her into his over coat. "This is another detail they leave out of the romance novels." Joyce remarked.
By the time he settled Joyce back on the bed and forced another cup of tea on her, Giles was beginning to feel less than energetic himself. He took a cup for himself and lay down beside her, slightly propped up on the headboard. "I must be getting old," he commented.
"What? Can't take a bullet anymore and then wrestle half a dozen villains in the next scene?" Joyce countered. "Those action movies Buffy rents are going to be even less believable to me now."
"Well, Buffy probably can." Giles sipped his tea. "No, here I am lying in bed with a beautiful, half naked woman and what I'm thinking is whether I should put the kettle on for another pot of tea. Middle age as definitely set in."
Joyce giggled, then reached out to rub his thigh. "You're just being gentlemanly. After all the woman isn't really up to anything right now."
They lay together in silence for several minutes. Joyce was beginning to think he had dozed off when he asked, "Joyce?"
"Yes?"
"You mentioned earlier that Buffy's birth was... difficult. Is that why she hasn't any siblings?"
"Indirectly," Joyce propped her hands under her chin again to look at Giles. He was preparing to be sympathetic she could tell. "Pregnancy and childbirth turned out to be a whole lot messier than Hank expected. Whenever we talked about another baby he always said he'd be too worried about me, but really it was more he didn't want to go through it again."
"Did he have cause? To be worried I mean." Giles reached out to stroke her hair.
"Nah. I'm healthy as a horse." Joyce smiled at him. "Checking out my potential as breeding stock? Cause if you are I should point out I'm forty. It's not all that easy to start a baby a my age."
"I was more concerned over just what sort of risk I may have put you in by not using nay protection these last two days." Giles continued to stroke her hair.
"No more than any other woman." Joyce shrugged and immediately regretted the motion. "How would you feel about it? If we got pregnant?"
"Uhm..." Giles blinked. He had been thinking purely in terms of medical complications. That he was supposed to have something to say or feel in the matter had never entered his head. He blurted out the first thing that came to him. "Buffy would kill me."
Joyce rubbed his thigh some more. "Assume you survived the wrath of Buffy. How would you feel about it?"
Looking down into Joyce's warm hazel eyes, a lyric from one of Buffy's more maudlin songs filtered through his mind. Something about seeing your unborn children in her eyes. He had almost lost her yesterday. He never wanted to face that again. "That would depend."
"On what?" Joyce asked.
"Well, I shouldn't want to be one of those weekend fathers, like Hank." Giles shifted so that Joyce's upper body rested on his chest. Suddenly he was feeling considerably less tired and was developing some designs on her lips. "But if the child were to live with me, along with you, and possibly Buffy as well, I think I should rather like having a child with you, Joyce."
"You want to move in together?" Joyce was flabbergasted.
"That would be a start." Giles allowed.
"Rupert, you're to good to be true. You know that don't you?" Joyce shifted along his body slightly so they were face to face. Giles slid down to meet her. This was what he had been planning after all.
"Most men go running for the hills at the very thought of commitment, and you not only bring it up but announce you're prepared to take on my teenage daughter in the bargain."
"Since I 'took on' Buffy some time ago, that would certainly be no hardship." Giles hands shifted her hips so she was straddling his thigh. Then one hand slipped between her legs. He began to gently stroke the inner edges of her thighs.
Joyce wiggled against his hand. "Nice."
Encouraged the other hand joined in. "Just what do you think you're doing?" Joyce asked archly.
"Having a bit of fun." Giles kissed her. "What a friend of mine used to call a kiss and a cuddle."
One of his hands had slipped in under her panties as was caressing up and down her folds, teasing and almost, but not quite, tickling her. "Jesus!" Joyce gasped. Her hands came up to grip his upper arms. The hand stopped. Giles looked at her questioningly.
"Rupert, I really don't think I can manage to make love right now." And damn sorry she was too.
"Wasn't planning on going that far, luv." Giles smiled at her. "All you have to do is lie there.
"And perhaps let me know if you're enjoying this."
"Oh, yeah!" Joyce kissed him and his hands went back to their own pursuits.
It was not long before she was moaning in delight. Rupert was exploring. Determining where and how she enjoyed being touched. Not to mention introducing some variations that proved wonderful. He seemed to prefer gentle to hard and the feather strokes of his fingers were sheer bliss. Suddenly Joyce discovered that she was starting to pulse in a lovely pre orgasmic glow. She rocked some against his thigh to heighten the feeling. Giles caught on at once and moved his hand to rub her somewhat harder. At the same time inserting a finger more deeply into her. The finger had barely begun its deeper exploration, when his caresses pushed her up like a shooting star. After her explosion of pleasure she found herself nestled against his chest. One hand still supported her rear, but the other had come up around her shoulder, carefully avoid her injury. He was murmuring soft things, not identifiable words, just affectionate sounds, into her hair.
If she twisted her neck she could see his face without moving. "Oh, Rupert."
Kissing his cheek and then down his neck, she added. "I love you."
"Oh, my dear," His arm tightened around her. "I love you, too."
Shifting a little it became apparent that he was very hard. Her hand snaked down to rub him through his trousers. "You're all excited."
His laugh came from deep in his chest. "Couldn't help but be after that."
Joyce was feeling wonderfully languid. But it would not do to leave him like this. "Do you want me to..."
Giles laughed again. Joyce decided she could really get to like that laugh. Especially under circumstances like these. "I'm fine, luv." Giles stroked her hair. "Things will relax on their own after a bit, you know."
"But isn't it... painful."
"I'm not sixteen any more, Joyce." Giles's eyes were twinkling. "Come to that it never was physically painful to nearly reach climax and then not come. Just frustrating as hell."
"That's not what Hank used to say." Joyce looked at him in surprise. And then kicked herself mentally for mentioning her ex-husband while in bed with Rupert. Bad, Joyce, bad. All the articles she had read said that was deadly to a relationship.
Giles shrugged. "I always assumed that was just a way to get the girl to, ahem, cooperate. Maybe some men do have problems, but I can enjoy playing around without, uh..." It occurred to him that the language he was using was not the most gentlemanly.
"Coming?" Joyce supplied.
"Yes." Giles kissed her again. "Does it bother you if we talk this... bluntly?"
"Heavens, no." Joyce's hand was still cupped around him. She started rubbing gently again. "No, this is good. Sexy even. And it makes things so much simpler if we just tell each other what we want instead of pussyfooting around the issue and having to guess what I should be doing."
Giles was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Hank had been something of a lout in bed. Either that or completely inept. From what he had observed American men, despite their famed machismo, seemed to have no idea how a lady should be treated. Nor any inclination to learn. Well, that was a bit unfair. Both Oz and Xander seemed willing to learn, if completely unprepared to believe that he had any knowledge from which to draw.
"Want to tell me what you're grinning about?" Joyce inquired.
"Other than the interesting things your hand is getting up to?" Giles smiled at her. "This conversation is something of a repeat of one I had with the boys recently."
Joyce pursed her lips. "Somehow I have trouble envisioning you engaged in locker room talk."
"It wasn't that sort of conversation." Giles shifted slightly to give her hand a little better access. "Or well, perhaps it was. Xander and Oz were discussing how best to obtaining a consenting partner. Or rather Xander was discussing it and Oz was shaking his head and looking unconvinced."
"Why do I have a feeling the phrasing on this more along the lines of 'Why can't I get any girls to put out'." Joyce had begun to carefully move her lower body off Giles and was inching crosswise of the bed.
"Xander is rather more articulate than that, but yes that's about what it came down to," Giles admitted. "The boy reached the stage of being so pathetic that against my better judgment, I joined in the conversation by suggesting that perhaps he was going about it the wrong way."
Joyce had by now gotten herself properly positioned. What the heck was with this fly? She wondered. Buttons? She hoped these were trousers he had borrowed from Gussie and not a fashion statement of his own.
Giles by now was watching her with interest. "Just what are you doing, Joyce?"
"Thought I might have a bit of fun as well." Joyce had more or less figured out the secret of the buttons and was undoing them.
"Should I be worried?" Giles's breathing was starting to catch.
"All you have to do is lie there." Joyce teased. "So what fatherly advise did you give Xander?"
"Fatherly? Not the sort of thing my father would discuss, but uhm, well, that the best way to obtain a lady's companionship was to ensure that she enjoyed herself and the only way to discover the secret of that was to ask the lady how this was to be accomplished." Giles was starting to deliberately control his breathing. Long steady calming breaths. Otherwise he was going to thoroughly embarrass himself before Joyce even got round to what she had planned. "I doubt Xander was impressed. The children seem to think that one ceases not only to be interested in sex after age thirty, but to completely forget it even exists. Uhm, do you need some assistance?"
"Yeah, I'm afraid I do." The trousers were undone but Joyce was totally baffled by the Victorian underwear. "How does this thing open?"
Giles quickly released himself from the confines of the antique clothing.
"Much better." Joyce ran a finger down the underside of his erect and quivering cock. "Wasn't that terribly uncomfortable?"
"Not really. At least not until just now." Giles was trying hard to follow instructions and just lie there. It was becoming a strain.
"Now in my long ago youth, I used to do a pretty mean blow job." Joyce daintily licked at his balls. "Or at least so I was told. But I'm more than a little out of practice, so if you don't like what I'm doing or just don't like this sort of thing, I won't be the least bothered if you want me to stop."
"Not. Bloody. Likely." Giles managed barely to get out.
"Okay." Joyce carefully took him in her mouth.
He was on the large side. Not too surprising given his height. This was very nice when they were doing straight lovemaking, but complicated sucking on him. So she started off just taking the upper half of his shaft into his mouth. She could swirl her tongue round him that way. Also gave her a chance to get used to him. He tasted salty and was already weeping slightly. This was not going to take long, she determined. Best give him a little buzz while she could. Letting loose, he moaned ever so softly when she did, she licked up from the base and nipped just at little at the now engorged head of his cock. Giles could not help himself. His hips bucked. Joyce decided he probably could not take anymore and carefully lowered her mouth over the length of his shaft. Apparently it was just like riding a bike, because she quickly remembered how to hold him and breath through her nose.
"Joyce, love, oh, God. I can't..." Giles lost it completely. As he shot his seed, Joyce swallowed easily. Sucking him until he was limp.
All over it appeared. Joyce wiped her mouth surreptitiously. He had closed his eyes and so hopefully would not see her.
Then he reached out to her, ever so carefully pulling back down on his chest. Kissing her forehead and nuzzling her hair, he murmured. "Oh, love. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Joyce grinned. "Glad you enjoyed yourself."
His eyes opened, rather sleepily. Running his hands through her hair, he whispered. "More than that, much more. But did you?"
"Yeah, I've always kind of enjoyed doing that." Joyce settled comfortably against him. Looked likely that he was going to fall asleep in a minute and she was tired enough that she might as well join him. "Seems I still have the knack."
That got her one of his chest deep laughs. "Oh my, yes."
Sleeping with Giles was going to be a lot of fun, Joyce decided as Giles's breathing dropped to a slow steady sleep rhythm. Hank had not been much for anything besides vanilla sex. That part of a Bible belt up bringing had never left him even though he had rebelled against the rest of it. Giles, despite a clearly Victorian upbringing, knew a whole lot of interesting tricks and was more than happy to experiment apparently.
As she dozed off she wondered fleetingly what else he might be prepared to show her. She had spent the last couple of decades reading Cosmo on the sly and wondering if the stuff in the articles was actually as interesting as it sounded. Maybe Rupert would be willing to give some of it a try. Remembering the handcuff she wiggled happily against him.
~~~~~~ It was sunset when Giles woke. Joyce was propped up on her hands smiling at him. "Finally decide to join me again, did you sleepyhead?" She asked.
"Hhm, I'm sorry. I seem to be rather more than unusually tired. Although blood loss will do that. Did you get some sleep?"
"Yeah, I did." Joyce shifted a little. "I'm begining to think that stone thing actually did some good. I don't hurt nearly as much as I did this morning."
"Excellent." Giles began stretching to try to get his own muscles working again. His shoulder was going to be stiff for some time yet. "Shall I put something together for dinner? There was some cheese I think. Perhaps sandwiches?"
"Whatever, I'm more thirsty than hungry. Is there anything besides tea?" Joyce asked.
"I'm afraid not. And I don't think we should be drinking the water without boiling it in any event. It's just piped in untreated from that stream out back and both the barn and the chickens are upstream." Giles went to stoke the stove and put the kettle on again."
"I thought people knew about germs and stuff in the 19th century." Joyce commented.
"It was scientifically established. But it took most of the century before that knowledge was actually implemented in terms of public health." Giles remarked from the kitchen. "Longer on the continent. Remember your history. Prince Albert died from typhoid which was contracted due to poor drains."
"Heavens, I hadn't thought of that. The Widow of Windsor is probably wandering around these moors somewhere." Joyce wondered aloud, "No chance of meeting her I suppose?"
"Slightly less than running across the Queen in our own time." Giles chuckled. "Actually a great deal less likely. As the active Watcher I could arrange for you and Buffy to be presented at Court if you're inclined that way."
"Well, I might enjoy it, but it would bore Buffy to tears I imagine. Unless you could arrange for Prince William to be there. She and Willow both think he's 'yummy'."
Then Joyce noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning she caught sight of a face in the window. "Rupert!" She screamed, skittering off the bed backward.
He was beside her in an instant. "What's wrong?"
"Vampire! At the window!"Sunnydale High School Library Cordelia had returned with the food. Empty cartons lain strewn around the library. Willow had jumped back on the net. Oz was watching her. Xander was keeping Buffy occupied with a game of anywhere but here on the floor next to the mirror. Cordelia was studying the two Watchers as they flipped through the books. Both men were in full research mode.
"It's weird." She commented.
"What is Cordelia?" Wesley asked without looking up. "Robert. He looks an awful lot like Giles. Except the mouth. But that looks familiar, too. I'll figure it out in a minute."
"Uh, the Watcher families are heavily interbred, Cordelia." Wesley quickly stammered out. "Perhaps there is some relation."
"That's the other thing. He's related to Buffy, right? But he's a Watcher. How'd that happen?" Cordelia mused. Xander suddenly looked up. "Serendipity Cor. These things happen. Right, Wes?"
"Oh, yes. All the time." Wesley glanced around panicked.
"Perhaps, Cordelia, you could lend a hand by checking the cage again for books?" Robert suggested. "It would be extremely useful if we could find some more volumes."
"Yes, why don't you, Cordelia?" Wesley latched on to the suggestion like a life line. "It would be ever so helpful."
"Okay." Cordelia smiled at him, nicely distracted. "I do so like being helpful. You know that, Wesley."
Xander coughed and covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
"And I very much appreciate it, Cordelia." Wesley assured her. "Uhm, Robert, if you would help me check some of the volumes in Mr. Giles's office?"
He practically dragged the other man out of the room.
"You know I think I'll see if they need a hand." Xander commented and followed them.
As he reached the office Wesley was saying, "...disastrous if they found out your actual identity."
"You think I don't know that?" Robert's accent was suddenly identical to Giles's and Wesley's. "I'm the one most likely to be affected by the slip. But what was I supposed to do? You were standing there questioning me in front of Buffy. If I'd edited the story any more the information would have been useless in finding a way to straighten this mess out. And you would not have believed me. As it was I was deathly afraid you were going to blurt out something that would give me away."
"And what would that have been, Bob?" Xander asked shutting the door behind him. "Or should I say, Mr. Giles?"
Both men turned to stare at him. "Why d-do you think...?" Wesley stammered.
"He's not stupid, Wes." Robert rolled his eyes. "How did you figure it out, Xander."
"It's a little hard to miss. You look just like Giles. Only blonder." Xander crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. "I'm kind of surprised the girls haven't picked up on it."
"My guess is they won't." Robert said thoughtfully. "Buffy inherited ... Mrs. Summers denial abilities and Willow has too innocent a mind to even consider it. As for the others, well, Oz won't say anything even if he suspects and Angelus is simply too dense to pick up on it." Robert went on. "So if we can keep Cordelia sidetracked and you two keep your mouths shut, we may get through this without upsetting the time lines even further."
"Fine by me." Xander commented. "Only, I really need to know, just how are you related to Buffy?"
Robert grinned. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Xander. She's my half sister."
"Thank God." Wesley slumped into the desk chair. "I've been having the most horrible thoughts."
"Really, Wesley, I can understand Xander wondering as to whether Buffy might be my mother, but you should know better." Robert said dryly.
"Mr. Giles is not the most... orthodox of Watchers." Wesley said haughtily. "Given the number of other rules he's broken over the years, well, it still seemed unlikely. Particularly since he and Mrs. Summers had to have been involved to have passed through the mirror together. But one wondered."
"Yeah, one did," Xander said sarcastically. "What were you afraid Wes was going to let slip?"
"There are only two ways to become a Watcher, Xander. One is either called directly by a Slayer, and then only by saving her life or one can inherit the position." Robert explained. "Needless to say, the Watcher families keep rather close tabs on all their offspring."
"And Buffy's ancestry does not cross any of the Watcher lines." Wesley explained. "So for Robert to be both a Watcher and related to Buffy, the most likely explanation was a, ahem, recent intermixing. Robert is actually the more common variant of the name Rupert. And frankly he was obviously trying to hide his resemblance to Mr. Giles. You need to watch your accent by the way. It's a fairly good American, but occasionally you slip."
Robert shrugged. "I've heard it from Mother and Buffy all my life. I just haven't used it in years."
Xander grinned wolfishly. "Lucky Giles. Mrs. Summers is mucho babesome."
Then a thought hit him and his eyes bugged out. "Wait a minute. Saving a Slayer's life can make you a Watcher? That doesn't mean that I'm gonna...? Oh, no. Hold everything. I can't even read French worth spit."
"Best start learning." Wesley commented dryly. "Latin as well if you know what's good for you."
"Think of all the fun you can have." Robert put an arm around Xander's shoulders in a companionable manner. "Late night research sessions without sleep. Midnight visits to cemeteries, complete with newly risen vampires. Becoming intimately acquainted with your local toxic waste site."
Wesley joined in the fun. "Traveling to new and interesting places like the mouth of Hell. Not to mention the ever likely chance of dying young. Why lad, how could you even think of turning down the chance?"
"Gawk!" Xander croaked.
"Guys!" Buffy's voice shouted. "Get back here. Something's happening with this stupid mirror again!"
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