Title: Remnants

Series: BtVS, Giles/other

SPOILERS: A wee smidge of the Season 5 premiere :)

Rating: NC-17, sex, a teeny bit of pain If that disturbs you, then please don't read it. If it disturbs you and you read it anyway, then please don't complain to the widow!

Archiving: If you'd like to archive this fic, just ask. :)

Feedback: Keep it nice and I'll be putty in your hands. ;)) Ooh, what a luverly image! Not that I don't mind a *little* criticism... Just keep it nice, okay?

Summary: Giles has unfinished business at Dracula's Castle...

To the writers/producers of BtVS - No one, especially *me* is getting rich off of this, although a few people might get a little pleasure. :)

He estimated the amount of force it would take to accomplish his job, then he swung the mallet.

The old brick broke easily, crumbling into the dark environs beyond, just as he had expected.

Giles looked over his shoulder, checked his watch. Good timing.

He looked at the hole in the wall and decided he could easily squeeze into it, then began paying out rope from the coil around his waist. This he wrapped securely around a nearby tree.

He took one last look at this watch, lowered the end of the rope into the hole he'd broken open and clambered into Dracula's castle.

Just as he had suspected, he'd cracked into the dark room where the Three Sisters lay in wait. He let go of the rope, looked up at the window and walked to the middle of the room.

"I'm back."

The hair on his neck stood before he could actually hear the sibilant hiss of them in the dimness, before he could even see them.

Then they were there, on him. Hands were on him, rubbing his torso, noses nuzzling, smelling him, lips caressing him, tasting him. Those hands found their way to the buttons of his shirt, the zipper of his pants. They wormed their way across his chest, feeling his pockets for evidence of the weapon he'd last brandished at them.

They found him weapon-free. Giles had come to them without a crucifix or holy water or any other method of salvation.

He lay down and accepted the invasion of their hands, their tongues. He felt cool hands slipping into his boxers, groping for his turgid, heated organ. He'd been achingly hard since he swung the damn mallet.

"Dear Lord." he muttered before a toothy mouth met his and gently swiped a fang along his lower lip.

Another pair of cool hands gripped his firm shaft and pulled, tugged at it indelicately. He rode with the painful pleasure, rode through the delicious sensations. _It had been far too long._

Too long with only his own feverish grip on his aching root. Too long since he'd felt like a man. Too long without the touch of another.

Now he had the touch of *three* others; kissing and licking, nipping and stroking. Barely able to think now past the delicious sensations, he managed to sneak a look at his watch. It was close.

That was okay, so was he. His manhood was swollen to bursting and the hands that caressed it were skillful beyond belief.

_Naturally, you fool_, he thought. _They've had centuries of practice_.

Pale claw-like nails gently raked down his bared chest, one nail edge catching one of his nipples and making it sing, then sting. It was a pleasurable pain, and it soon repeated with his other taut nub. The sensation ricocheted from his chest to his throbbing groin.

Giles arched. A wordless utterance escaped him as those hands milked his response.

Warm semen pulsed from him, punctuated by his strangled moans and thrashing head. Sparkles of light filled his vision as his pleasure spasmed through him.

The light seemed to increase and as his pleasure ebbed and normal vision returned, those hands abruptly withdrew. So did the sisters, hissing and gasping and wailing.

Giles blinked as his senses returned to him.

The first hint of dawn, rays of light, had begun to stream through the hole he'd created.

He swallowed, checked his timepiece.

_6:19. Right on time._

He looked around, but the vamps had slithered away to hide in the dim shadows of the castle's dank room. He was safe, if disheveled, in the shaft of sunlight.

Giles sighed and stood, tucked his sated member away, not bothering to button his shirt.

He shuffled his way to the rope along the wall and climbed up to the light.

-----> <-----

Rupert snorted awake.

He looked around. His room's clock read 8:29. As he watched it the minute hand changed and his alarm went off. He reached over to shut it off, the movement making him realize his hip was damp.

Giles checked his pajama bottoms and found the sticky residue of semen, evidence of his powerful dream.

He shuddered and sat up fully, running a hand through his hair to try and shake off the remnants of the nightmare.

_Be honest, Rupert. That was no nightmare._

He shook his head at this inner voice, refuting it. Then he sighed and made his way to his bath room. A hot shower and a shave would help. Soon he'd feel like a new man.

His chest stung as he soaped, though. A glance revealed bright red weals left by fingernails, vivid on his pale chest. A tiny dot of blood welled against one nipple.

His heart began to thump as the image of an unholy vixen scratching a claw down his chest filled his mind.

Even as he looked at it, the blood and welts slowly disappeared... and the water and scented soap became more compelling than the memory.

By the time he was done dressing, Giles had managed to convince himself he had merely scratched himself in his sleep.

-----> THE END <-----