Dear Lord (R...Giles/?)

["cocoachanel67" <cocoachanel67@xxxxxxxxx>]

Dear Lord
Red
Joss' folk.
G/? (R-extreme comedy&well, I think it's extreme)
Summary: After finding out that Buffy was in heaven, Giles decides to 
drown the knowledge, along with his guilt, in cheap liquor and wakes 
up in the morning with a blonde bedmate. 



Rupert Giles was hung over. So hung over was he that it hurt his head 
to even breathe. As he lie there in his bed, he made the attempt to 
recall the events of the previous evening. It wasn't easy. Everything 
was fairly cloudy.
He remembered Buffy's song. Life's a show, she had sung, and we all 
play our parts. It was during that song his slayer had confessed her 
whereabouts after her death. She had been in heaven. She had been in 
heaven and they had pulled her out.
His head ached even more as the ramification of the information 
reprocessed itself in his brain. He remembered the sadness in her 
eyes as the word heaven fell from her lips. He remembered the pain on 
Willow's face as the realization of what she had done hit her. He 
remembered Xander's _expression of pure helplessness as he watched 
both of them. 
It tore him apart to see them hurting. As long as he lived, he would 
carry those three faces with him. Never had he experienced a night as 
horrible. No matter what happened next, they would never be the same.
As much as it hurt, he forced his eyes open. His room was dark, the 
heavy brown curtains drawn. It was a tomb, his tomb and he wanted to 
stay there, hidden away from the seemingly hopeless world that waited 
just outside the front door. It was safe here. There were no spells 
of resurrection, no songs of sorrow and no tears of emptiness. Just 
darkness, quiet, a blonde in the bed&
His eyes grew wide as they fixed on the sleeping blonde mere inches 
from him.
"Dear Lord," he breathed, sure what he was seeing was a figment of 
his imagination. 
Closing his eyes, he counted to ten then opened them again.
"Dear Lord," he repeated, seeing she was still there.
With a shaky hand, he reached over and lightly touched her soft 
cheek. It had to be a dream&a horrible, horrible dream.
"Dear Lord."
It was no figment, no dream; the blonde sleeping in his bed was very 
real. Staring at here, he desperately tried to piece together how she 
had ended up there. 
After the musical finale, everyone had gone their own way. He had 
wound up at a little bar down by the theatre. It seemed only logical 
that a large quantity of cheap bourbon would flush the word heaven 
from his ears. He was halfway there when she sat down next to him.
A low groan escaped from his mouth as the memories began to come. He 
had bought her a drink. He knew it was wrong, that he should leave, 
but he stayed. He stayed and he bought and they drank. They drank 
until the barkeep ran them out.
Whose idea had it been to come back to his place for a nightcap? 
Another groan as he remembered it was his. How could he have done 
such a stupid, irresponsible thing? There was a list of a hundred 
plus reasons why she should not be in his bed. And yet here she was. 
So she had been crying, he wasn't having the best night himself. He 
had more than enough of his own to deal with. 
It was the alcohol, no doubt about it. He was more than a little 
upset and factor that with lots of booze and there was a dangerous 
combination. Still, even that didn't make it right. A drunken stupor 
certainly didn't excuse what he&they, had&
"Dear Lord."
Putting a hand to his head, he rolled his eyes, moaning softly at the 
pain it caused. This was without a doubt, the worst thing he had ever 
done. And that, was more than saying a lot. Toying with dark magic, 
rebelling against the system, all failed in comparison with lying in 
bed next to naked young&Wait a second! Yes, she was in his bed but 
perhaps nothing had actually happened. Perhaps under the black sheets 
she was perfectly clothed. There was quite the chance that they had 
merely passed out; after all, they were rather sloshed. With that 
sprig of hope, Giles reached out and eased the sheet back.
"Dear Lord," he gasped, sitting up as wide eyes fell upon pale skin. 
She was naked, save for several sets of teeth marks resting across 
her neckline that the Englishman painfully remembered as his. He 
stayed still for a moment, caught in that small space of shock and 
morbid curiosity. Then, unable to resist, he pulled the material back 
a bit further to reveal two small yet perky breasts. They, too, were 
graced with the mark of Giles and he couldn't help, despite the 
situation, to admire them for a moment. 
That moment, however, quickly gave way to a yet another panic and he 
covered her back up. Sliding out of the bed, he hurried to the 
bathroom to inspect his own damage. Looking in the mirror, he saw 
that she had done a little tasting of her own. Both his neck and 
chest were covered, as were his inner thighs.
"Dear Lord," he grumbled, running his hands through his tousled, 
graying hair.
The sight of himself too much to take, he returned to the bedroom, 
stopping at the bedside to examine the evidence of his drunken tryst. 
Clothes were everywhere, a very feminine blouse ripped in two pieces 
on the floor, his sweater hanging from the bookcase in the corner, a 
lacey pink bra dangling from the ceiling fan. On the headboard, hung 
a pair of leather restraints and at the foot of the bed, a riding 
crop. The bedside table was even more incriminating, with a wooden 
paddle, anal plug and metal nipple clamps resting neatly next to the 
Tums. The other table, the one on her side, held a large tube of body 
glitter, several pots of lip gloss and a bottle of nail polish. A 
swell of dread building up inside, he glanced down at his feet. His 
toenails were bright fuchsia. 
His mouth opened to `Dear Lord' but nothing came out. Instead, he 
felt his knees buckle and quickly sat down. He reached up to remove 
his glasses and realized that he wasn't wearing them. What was he 
going to do? How could he fix this? There had to be a way. There had 
to be a way to make the whole thing disappear&to erase it from life 
itself. 
No one could know. The thoughts of anyone finding out made him ill. 
If Willow, or Spike or, Dear Lord, Xander ever found out&..He 
shuddered at the mere thought. No, no it just couldn't happen. They 
would work something out, make a deal. Secrecy was key, for both 
their sakes. A shock such as this would surely upset the balance of 
the, Scooby gang, therefore endangering the very world! No, he may 
not be able to erase it, but it would remain their secret.
A low murmur from behind got his attention and he swallowed hard. A 
few seconds later, nails trailed gently down his shoulder then pulled 
him back into the bed. 
"Rupy," she purred, straddling him, a lusty smile on her face. "I 
still have that overdue fine to be punished for."
Giles stared up into the baby blue eyes of Harmony Kendall.
"Dear Lord."










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Willow: "It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in."
Buffy:  "I kinda love you."
                     'Choices'

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