( with a bout of energy that is potentially not suiting for just getting to stare at giles for awhile, buffy helps herself onto the countertop next to the sink, watching him intently. one leg kicks idly at the air — the other she bends up to her chest, unconsciously rubbing the length of her leg to test hairiness. hers comes in a lot softer, a lot fairer by comparison. interesting difference. )
Hm. No, not really. It's hard to know what I should be doing. ( as far as leads on getting out of here, she's coming up blank. of course, a plan that isn't punch it to death is generally out of buffy's wheelhouse. she sighs, dramatically. ) I was planning on tracking down a clothes store, or something. A lot of the stuff in the closet is ...
( she swivels her head back and forth, wishy washy thought. slutty? revealing? buffy's not a prude, but come on. she can't fight anyone in a mini skirt without giving them an eyefull. )
I guess — European? Not my taste, I mean. I'm a blue jeans wearing American, as you know. Yeehaw, and all that.
[ The way she sits does interesting things to the hemline of the shirt she's wearing, riding it up around her hips while she hugs her leg to her chest, baring the insides of her thighs and making Giles very aware that she's only wearing underwear beneath it. He makes a conscious effort to avert his gaze, casting a silent prayer that he's not giving himself away, and tries to concentrate on lathering soap onto his face.
Buffy's commentary filters through, somehow; Giles makes an appropriately amused noise, staring at himself in the mirror. Is he imagining it, or are there more lines around his eyes? God, but he looks tired. And old.
He picks up his razor. ]
I'm sure they'll be able to offer you something, um, more appropriate. There seems to be no end to it all. I still haven't managed to catch whomever it is cleaning our rooms. I'm starting to wonder if the staff even exist, corporally speaking.
[ Relaxing into the shop talk and the routine of shaving, he drags the razor down his cheek, along his jaw, then rinses it under the faucet. Movements he could do in his sleep at this point: scrape, rinse, scrape. He continues as he does it: ]
I've heard that someone has made a map of sorts, of the house and the grounds. As much as one can when it's changing so often. I'll see if I can make a copy, then we should start investigating. In the meantime, it may be a good idea to keep your patrols.. circumspect, as much as possible. If there is anything here that wishes us harm, it wouldn't do to draw its attention until we have as much information as we can get.
( it's cute — under the suds across his face, buffy can just make out the pink tips of his ears. probably embarrassed from being stared at so intently, not that it's enough of a reason to get buffy to stop. boy stuff is just an inherent fascination, from what he lounges around in his room in when buffy forgets to knock and comes searching for a misplaced item (always, inevitably, back in her own room), to soft music he likes to play while he reads, to quiet dad sounds he makes when he probably thinks buffy isn't listening. little, precious treasures.
then there's shaving. it's weirdly tense, watching him go through the motions — on the proverbial edge of her seat with every slice, the scratchy sound of the blade on his skin making her feel — weird. ish. not weird. just kind of warm, like her toes are tensing. like her lip is bitten, expression unguarded in watching him. watching. that is, watching and not paying attention. )
Wh — um. ( when did her throat get so dry? she blinks, trying to find her place in the conversations again. ) Uh, yeah. Sorry, still waking up.
( she wants to not be an idiot, honest. she would love to have a normal conversation with giles. except — it's like she has this unconquerable impulse, and her brain and mouth refuse to do anything but demand she get it. looking at him to get his attention, buffy extends a hand, making grabby fingers. )
[ It takes a moment to process what Buffy wants, then another moment to circle through the ramifications of what she wants, and why she might want it, and whether he ought to say no and be responsible, and then why it would be irresponsible in the first place, after all it's not as if they're --
Giles clears his throat, tentatively handing her the razor and turning a little so she can reach. ]
I suppose you never really.. had the opportunity. Vampires being rather clean shaven. And I imagine Riley was rather, um, regimental in his routines. Just -- just be careful.
( obviously, it's only with the razor in her hands that buffy realizes how weighty an ask this was — she's not exactly well regarded for her strength control, and too much pressure could literally, actually, slit giles' throat and kill him. not that he seemed too worried about it, barely pausing before handing it over. that kind of belief in her is better than any present he could wrap up and hand over, and it fills buffy with an undeniable resolve. not only will he not bleed — this is going to be the best shave of his life.
the bare skin of her thighs squeaks as she slides along the counter, legs falling to drape over the edge as she gets in close to him. ) Is that right? ( she asks, positioning the razor, turning to glance at their reflection over her shoulder.
it is interesting, to look at the pair of them from an observational standpoint. it looks intimate, almost. or maybe — it is, technically, isn't it? she turns back once she gets the confirmation from giles, and slides the razor up through the soap, body clenching at the raspy sound of cut hair. pulling back, she rubs her thumb against the freshly smooth skin, letting out a girlish squeal of delight. )
I did it! Hey, looking good. That was fun, actually.
( she washes off the razor under the faucet, then holds the razor in her fist, staring at him with big, hopeful eyes. she doesn't ask to keep going, just waits for him to give it to her. )
[ As Buffy scoots closer on the counter, Giles discovers he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He'd been resting one on the sink, but in order to be close enough for Buffy to reach he needs to stand in such a way that the ideal place to steady himself is currently occupied by one bare, carefully groomed, and lightly tanned leg. Impossible, of course, for all he and Buffy have touched each other over the years -- always pragmatic, contact required during training or in a fight, the occasional hug or reassuring clasp, nothing nearly so intimate as sharing space, half dressed, in their bathroom.
It's Giles' turn to deal with a dry throat as he meets his own gaze in the mirror, holding still to let Buffy get to work. There's no question in his mind that she'll be careful, gentle. That she's just as capable of tenderness as she is capable of punching a demon through a brick wall. Above and beyond everything else, he believes in that tenderness. He believes in her.
So he just tips his head back a bit, to give her more room to work, and settles his hands lightly on the counter either side of her. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Hm. No, not really. It's hard to know what I should be doing. ( as far as leads on getting out of here, she's coming up blank. of course, a plan that isn't punch it to death is generally out of buffy's wheelhouse. she sighs, dramatically. ) I was planning on tracking down a clothes store, or something. A lot of the stuff in the closet is ...
( she swivels her head back and forth, wishy washy thought. slutty? revealing? buffy's not a prude, but come on. she can't fight anyone in a mini skirt without giving them an eyefull. )
I guess — European? Not my taste, I mean. I'm a blue jeans wearing American, as you know. Yeehaw, and all that.
no subject
Buffy's commentary filters through, somehow; Giles makes an appropriately amused noise, staring at himself in the mirror. Is he imagining it, or are there more lines around his eyes? God, but he looks tired. And old.
He picks up his razor. ]
I'm sure they'll be able to offer you something, um, more appropriate. There seems to be no end to it all. I still haven't managed to catch whomever it is cleaning our rooms. I'm starting to wonder if the staff even exist, corporally speaking.
[ Relaxing into the shop talk and the routine of shaving, he drags the razor down his cheek, along his jaw, then rinses it under the faucet. Movements he could do in his sleep at this point: scrape, rinse, scrape. He continues as he does it: ]
I've heard that someone has made a map of sorts, of the house and the grounds. As much as one can when it's changing so often. I'll see if I can make a copy, then we should start investigating. In the meantime, it may be a good idea to keep your patrols.. circumspect, as much as possible. If there is anything here that wishes us harm, it wouldn't do to draw its attention until we have as much information as we can get.
no subject
then there's shaving. it's weirdly tense, watching him go through the motions — on the proverbial edge of her seat with every slice, the scratchy sound of the blade on his skin making her feel — weird. ish. not weird. just kind of warm, like her toes are tensing. like her lip is bitten, expression unguarded in watching him. watching. that is, watching and not paying attention. )
Wh — um. ( when did her throat get so dry? she blinks, trying to find her place in the conversations again. ) Uh, yeah. Sorry, still waking up.
( she wants to not be an idiot, honest. she would love to have a normal conversation with giles. except — it's like she has this unconquerable impulse, and her brain and mouth refuse to do anything but demand she get it. looking at him to get his attention, buffy extends a hand, making grabby fingers. )
Can I try it? Is it scary?
no subject
[ It takes a moment to process what Buffy wants, then another moment to circle through the ramifications of what she wants, and why she might want it, and whether he ought to say no and be responsible, and then why it would be irresponsible in the first place, after all it's not as if they're --
Giles clears his throat, tentatively handing her the razor and turning a little so she can reach. ]
I suppose you never really.. had the opportunity. Vampires being rather clean shaven. And I imagine Riley was rather, um, regimental in his routines. Just -- just be careful.
no subject
the bare skin of her thighs squeaks as she slides along the counter, legs falling to drape over the edge as she gets in close to him. ) Is that right? ( she asks, positioning the razor, turning to glance at their reflection over her shoulder.
it is interesting, to look at the pair of them from an observational standpoint. it looks intimate, almost. or maybe — it is, technically, isn't it? she turns back once she gets the confirmation from giles, and slides the razor up through the soap, body clenching at the raspy sound of cut hair. pulling back, she rubs her thumb against the freshly smooth skin, letting out a girlish squeal of delight. )
I did it! Hey, looking good. That was fun, actually.
( she washes off the razor under the faucet, then holds the razor in her fist, staring at him with big, hopeful eyes. she doesn't ask to keep going, just waits for him to give it to her. )
no subject
It's Giles' turn to deal with a dry throat as he meets his own gaze in the mirror, holding still to let Buffy get to work. There's no question in his mind that she'll be careful, gentle. That she's just as capable of tenderness as she is capable of punching a demon through a brick wall. Above and beyond everything else, he believes in that tenderness. He believes in her.
So he just tips his head back a bit, to give her more room to work, and settles his hands lightly on the counter either side of her. ]
Go on, then.