( she hasn't fully gotten used to the whole dual entry thing to the bathroom — as evidenced by buffy, sleepy headed and sandy eyed, walking into the bathroom in a bra and shorts to do her business and brush her teeth. part of her is still mostly asleep and going through the motions — although she watches that part of her shift into dawning, waking horror to the sound of the door at the other end of the bathroom rattling open. there are, maybe, a handful of seconds before giles sees her. in a bra. in the bathroom. luckily, one of his button up shirts has been left hanging off the handle of the shower, and buffy dives towards it, pulling it on, buttoning one or two before very casually leaning herself against the shower, a hand pressed against the door. she turns towards him with a sleepy smile. )
Morning! ( to any look that he might retreat, ) No, come on, it's your bathroom too. I'm just about done. ( and wearing his shirt, which is just happenstance. she looks down, pinching the fabric from her chest, before doing the rest of the buttons up to cover her stomach. ) Aha. Hopefully you weren't going to wear this. ( awkwardly, ) Finders keepers.
( she stays rocking on her heels, watching him, planning her escape. only — there's a little meticulousness to his set up that is clearly lacking on buffy's end of things, with more of a spread and scatter approach to organization. she watches him set little bottles and brushes and tools for things out, her head tilted in interest. she hasn't lived with a man since her parents were still married — it's like seeing a whole other planet. )
What's that?
( she tiptoes behind him, curious, peering over his shoulder. everything looks so nice, so fancy. she reaches for a bottle at random to sniff at. )
[ It's been an adjustment. Even if this isn't technically the first time they've lived together -- if camping out on Buffy's couch could be called living together -- it's still far closer quarters than either of them are used to. Giles has discovered a number of small things about Buffy he never knew, or never anticipated knowing. The little songs she sings when she brushes her teeth, provided she's in a good mood. The way she makes a little bow with her floss when she's done with it, but forgets to throw it away. How, if given the chance, she scatters her belongings over every surface, careless in the way children are careless when they have grown up used to doting mothers to pick up after them. The way she arranges her soap and shampoo bottles in the shower. Little, intimate things, each utterly human and precious.
And now, what she looks like in just a bra and shorts and his shirt, a sight which makes him realise that he hasn't really appreciated that shirt before, the colour of the fabric, the way the hem skims across her --
With an effort, he focuses on what she's saying. ]
What? Oh. If you're -- if you're sure -- go ahead, I have plenty of, um. Yes.
[ He doesn't quite finish his thought, busying himself at the sink. He turns on the faucet to splash cold water on his face. He's no more dressed than she is, in a t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms. Not exactly Watcher material, Rupert.
Ignoring his chiding thoughts -- which sound rather worryingly like Wesley Wyndham-Pryce -- he hunts around for his razor. When Buffy appears behind him, he becomes all too aware that he hasn't had a shower yet. ]
That? Oh. Um. Aftershave. Rather nicer than I'm used to, actually. I suppose I'll have to get used to smelling like my father.
( aftershave? buffy takes the top off and sniffs, humming to herself. it's definitely what you expect a fancy old british guy to smell like — her dad was more the irish springs sort, which begs the question now thanks to the proximity of ireland (west of here? she thinks?), do irish people find it offensive to have their namesake be one of the worst boy-coded soaps in the continental us? or do they maybe not care, not even a little bit? she's about to ask, but she bites her tongue, instead stepping to the side to blink up at giles.
early morning giles. not so rare as one might expect from someone who was initially just her school librarian in the early days of their slayer/watcher dynamic. still. he doesn't look stubbly, which is something she would be interested in seeing, if only for the novelty. )
Do you shave every morning?
( fascinating. without thinking, she lifts her hand to bump knuckles against his jaw, grinning with a very unparalleled bit of delight at the feeling of rough hair under her fingers, biting into her skin. that is novel, giles is almost always well kept. huffing at herself, she asks like she knows it's silly of her, but can't exactly mask her interest, )
Can I watch? I'll leave after.
Edited (editing forever later because icon ) Date: 2025-05-20 08:45 pm (UTC)
[ He starts, before he's interrupted by the playful touch of Buffy's hand against his jaw, not exactly an unpleasant surprise. It makes him startle a little, but he doesn't move, watching her in the mirror with an expression somewhere between fondness and curiosity, as if waiting to see what will happen.
Tentatively, he reaches for the can of shaving foam and sprays some into his palm. ]
I.. of course, as long as I'm not -- not keeping you from anything. You don't, um. Have plans?
( 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. ]
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inventory 🔮
Date: 2025-05-17 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-05-17 04:50 pm (UTC)Morning! ( to any look that he might retreat, ) No, come on, it's your bathroom too. I'm just about done. ( and wearing his shirt, which is just happenstance. she looks down, pinching the fabric from her chest, before doing the rest of the buttons up to cover her stomach. ) Aha. Hopefully you weren't going to wear this. ( awkwardly, ) Finders keepers.
( she stays rocking on her heels, watching him, planning her escape. only — there's a little meticulousness to his set up that is clearly lacking on buffy's end of things, with more of a spread and scatter approach to organization. she watches him set little bottles and brushes and tools for things out, her head tilted in interest. she hasn't lived with a man since her parents were still married — it's like seeing a whole other planet. )
What's that?
( she tiptoes behind him, curious, peering over his shoulder. everything looks so nice, so fancy. she reaches for a bottle at random to sniff at. )
no subject
Date: 2025-05-19 04:13 pm (UTC)And now, what she looks like in just a bra and shorts and his shirt, a sight which makes him realise that he hasn't really appreciated that shirt before, the colour of the fabric, the way the hem skims across her --
With an effort, he focuses on what she's saying. ]
What? Oh. If you're -- if you're sure -- go ahead, I have plenty of, um. Yes.
[ He doesn't quite finish his thought, busying himself at the sink. He turns on the faucet to splash cold water on his face. He's no more dressed than she is, in a t-shirt and flannel pyjama bottoms. Not exactly Watcher material, Rupert.
Ignoring his chiding thoughts -- which sound rather worryingly like Wesley Wyndham-Pryce -- he hunts around for his razor. When Buffy appears behind him, he becomes all too aware that he hasn't had a shower yet. ]
That? Oh. Um. Aftershave. Rather nicer than I'm used to, actually. I suppose I'll have to get used to smelling like my father.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-20 12:52 pm (UTC)( aftershave? buffy takes the top off and sniffs, humming to herself. it's definitely what you expect a fancy old british guy to smell like — her dad was more the irish springs sort, which begs the question now thanks to the proximity of ireland (west of here? she thinks?), do irish people find it offensive to have their namesake be one of the worst boy-coded soaps in the continental us? or do they maybe not care, not even a little bit? she's about to ask, but she bites her tongue, instead stepping to the side to blink up at giles.
early morning giles. not so rare as one might expect from someone who was initially just her school librarian in the early days of their slayer/watcher dynamic. still. he doesn't look stubbly, which is something she would be interested in seeing, if only for the novelty. )
Do you shave every morning?
( fascinating. without thinking, she lifts her hand to bump knuckles against his jaw, grinning with a very unparalleled bit of delight at the feeling of rough hair under her fingers, biting into her skin. that is novel, giles is almost always well kept. huffing at herself, she asks like she knows it's silly of her, but can't exactly mask her interest, )
Can I watch? I'll leave after.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-22 02:27 pm (UTC)[ He starts, before he's interrupted by the playful touch of Buffy's hand against his jaw, not exactly an unpleasant surprise. It makes him startle a little, but he doesn't move, watching her in the mirror with an expression somewhere between fondness and curiosity, as if waiting to see what will happen.
Tentatively, he reaches for the can of shaving foam and sprays some into his palm. ]
I.. of course, as long as I'm not -- not keeping you from anything. You don't, um. Have plans?
no subject
Date: 2025-05-23 01:50 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2025-05-24 12:29 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2025-05-25 06:23 am (UTC)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
Date: 2025-05-29 11:33 am (UTC)[ 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
Date: 2025-05-30 01:34 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2025-05-31 03:53 pm (UTC)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.