( I know. I haven't updated anything in, like, years, and the first thing I do update is some random smut? Hahah, what can I say? I got bored yesterday and asked a friend for three words. They gave me the title of this little blurb of random, so I wrote it up. Giles/Buffy. Not for the younger audiences!

In other news, I've been feeling the urge to write more and more, so if I can think up a story, I'll update one soon. If you have three words you want to give me to write something like this with... go for it! I think the more I write, the more I'll get back into the swing of it, and a story might pop out of that. So I'd appreciate the help!

It doesn't have to be a sex fic, of course. Feel free to specify that, if you want to.

She says, assuming people still read her stuff. It's been too long. XD )

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This wasn't what he needed.

Under normal circumstances, tea was probably one of the greatest pleasures in Rupert Giles' life. It was such a simple escape, and yet it was always so readily available it was a wonder it didn't lose its charm and novelty. For years he had managed to find little getaways in each cup of tea, getting away from stress and worries, from exhaustion and irritation. He had his favorite flavors, of course, though none seemed to equate to any one thing. He didn't drink Earl Gray to relieve stress related to his job as a Watcher, for example, but rather picked flavors and makes at random, and each one did its job in a different way, regardless of circumstance.

At the moment, he was distracting himself from an issue that seemed to be plaguing him more and more, and though he had always been able to ignore such impulses before, for years it seemed, sometimes it got a bit much. How long was a man supposed to keep himself without that… certain kind of company? He didn't even like thinking about it.

The problem for Giles was he was a bit of a prude in his middle age. When he was young he had been reckless and used sex for fun as well as pleasure, indulgence and being wild all part of the man he had been. Growing away from that, becoming the sensible, responsible Watcher he was today, included maturing in his opinion of love and sex. He did not much enjoy the private act of masturbation, and though he had been intimate with a couple of ladies over time, these days he was very much alone. And it seemed to be getting to him at last.

And unfortunately, it seemed to be the only thing tea could not help him escape.

Putting his cup down, he sighed, finding that he was now thinking about it again: exactly the opposite of what he had wanted to do. He ran a hand through his graying hair, then adjusted his glasses on his nose. There had to be something he could be doing. Perhaps it was the down time that was giving him the chance to focus on how lonely he was. He got up from the chair at length to take his tea cup into the kitchen, rinsing it in the sink. Distantly he heard the doorknob rattle, and knew it was one of the gang coming in just by the way it was opened.

"Hey, Giles," Buffy's voice drifted to him, "we're getting ready to go patrolling. You coming with us?"

"Ah, yes, I think. I should like the change of pace."

Stepping out from the kitchen, he saw her standing in the foyer. She was wearing a light, summer-y dress, yellow with a white sash around her waist, and other similarly white accents. Her hair was up in a partial pony tail, and she smiled at him as he took in the sight of her. Without missing a beat, he canted his head to the side and offered her a scoff.

"Just what are you patrolling for?"

"I thought I'd dress like the sun," she returned, having assumed the teasing would come her way, "keep them on their toes."

"It's certainly bright enough. They'll see you coming, even in the pitch darkness. Honestly, Buffy, that's hardly appropriate apparel for Slayer duties. Though at this point I imagine you're doing it on purpose, just to vex me." He shook his head, speaking nonchalantly. Like this was exactly what she was doing, and he just wasn't surprised any more. And, of course, he was right. She grinned at him and then feigned a pout when he actually glanced her way. Scuffing her feet on the floor, she played with the hem of her dress. It was the best 'awkward disappointed girl' she could muster.

"The others said I looked cute."

"And I'm sure the vampires will agree," Giles replied, his tone light. He pulled on his jacket, fixing his lapel over his chest before sticking two stakes into the inside pockets of the outer coat, as well as a bottle of holy water. He looked at the Slayer, who was still pouting at him, then grabbed his keys from the counter and moved to the door. "Let's go then, Buffy. I can't wait to see them complimenting your dress."

He moved by her, trying not to brush against her without thinking about it. He didn't realize he was working so hard not to remind himself of his mental situation. And physical, perhaps. In either case, he was stubbornly refusing to allow himself to mix it up with things in his professional and personal life. Buffy was both his Slayer and his friend, not to mention his ward of sorts, and thus the consciousness required to realize he had any kind of attraction toward her was sufficiently buried and denied existence. Holding the door open for her, he indicated that she head out, and he followed after.

Locking his door, he moved with her down to the street. It wasn't far, and they often walked. Tonight he failed to provide casual conversation, and had no lessons or comments on their last training session, or reminders for her. He walked in silence, hands in his pockets, eyes on his feet as they led him almost instinctively toward the graveyard. Realizing the others hadn't been waiting outside, as he had assumed they were, only after nearly ten minutes of silence had slipped by, he looked at her.

"Xander and Willow will meet up with us?"

"Uh. Well."

Coming to a stop, he watched her as she walked on, the tense way she held her shoulders, ducking her head ever so slightly as she increased her pace, telling him that she was hiding something from him. As if walking faster would spare her from the conversation. Ordering her to stop, clearly realizing something was afoot, the Watcher crossed his arms over his chest and waited for an explanation to her strange behavior.

"Giles, come on. Just trust me, okay? You always take care of us. Maybe we want to do something nice for you, for a change?"

Her response hadn't been what he was expecting. For some reason, his mind had jumped to suspicion. Thoughts of what they could have broken or ruined, what they might have accidentally summoned or what kind of spell they might have underestimated or messed up were in his head the moment he realized things were just a bit off. The others weren't there, so he imagined they were either already where the trouble was, or were hiding from him. Or worse, Buffy was sent to distract him. He recalled once that she had done something similar to him, pretending to talk to him about Jenny Calendar and her thoughts on him (she had used the phrase 'hunk of burning…' to distract him) so Willow could sneak into his office and steal one of his journals. He had only learned the full extent of this treachery nearly two years later.

So her odd behavior and outfit should have tipped him off right at the start, but he had been so busy trying to tell himself things were normal because of other issues he was dealing with, he had actually helped her in her plot. Whatever it might be.

"What do you mean? You don't have to do anything nice for me…"

The dark, silent street suddenly felt impossibly vast and utterly empty, the two of them completely alone, with no hope, or chance, of someone interrupting the strange moment that was unfolding before him. She was turned toward him, her hands on her shapely hips. Slowly she brought her hand up, moving over the silky, yellow fabric to the sash at her waist. He watched her as she untied it, slipping it from around her body as she took a few steps forward, closing the short distance between them effortlessly. His green eyes were fixed on her as she looked up at him, the difference in their height suddenly very striking. She reached up, smooth hands despite the difficult work she did every day moving over his stubble heavy chin. He hadn't shaved. Someone took a shaking breath, though for the life of him Giles could not tell who it belonged to. If he was even still breathing.

His vision went white, then black as she drew the scarf around his eyes, tying it behind his head gently. He gaped a bit, baffled, and feeling immensely foolish for getting so excited by her just moving close to him. Maybe he was worse off than he realized, as pent up as he was. It would be better for him to just call it a night and go home, and not investigate this situation further, but his body didn't want anything to do with his common sense. He remained rooted in place.

"Buffy…? What are you doing?"

"Blindfolding you," she said easily, a grin in her voice.

"Yes, I can see that."

"Then I probably didn't do it right," she quipped, tugging at the knot she had tied behind his head. He winced and then felt her hands on his face, pulling the blindfold and making sure it was completely over his eyes. She then took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. His hand was large, fingers long and surprisingly musical, in a way Buffy couldn't quite decipher. Musicians hands, she knew, were long fingered and graceful, and though his were rough they seemed to possess that quality, holding the promise of beautiful melodies. She tugged his arm and started walking, with him following her like a poorly trained dog straining on its leash.

"I don't want to be blindfolded," he said in passive protest, stumbling over a curb she failed to warn him about, "Bloody hell, Buffy, I just stubbed my foot. This is unfathomably silly: just tell me what you're up to."

"I thought a Watcher was supposed to trust his Slayer."

"Not when said Slayer walks her Watcher into a curb."

"I won't let you fall and die, okay? We're almost there now. Don't take the scarf off, please?" She was asking politely, but he could hear the unmistakable order in her tone. If he took it off, he was going to have more trouble than if he just followed her lead. His soft sigh and the way his arm relaxed indicated to the woman guiding him that he was not going to fight her any more. It seemed the dog had lost his fight, and was getting pulled along quietly now.

She led him into the graveyard, taking him over grass and gravesites toward a mausoleum. She was proven to be a liar, however, because he slammed into a tombstone and was sent crashing over it, slamming his upper thigh, and his more treasured possession nestled nearby, into the stone before landing on his back, nearly on his head, on the other side. He hadn't even realized they were walking fast enough for him to get such momentum.

"Holy crap, Giles!"

Buffy was at his side, helping him figure out which limbs were supposed to go on the floor, righting him and letting him sit up. Oddly enough, he still had the blindfold on. He was sitting quietly, his muscles tense as Buffy patted his shoulder. He was furious. But also in pain, and rather dizzy.

"Are you okay?"

"Bruised," he said, through gritted teeth, his voice maybe an octave higher than it should be, "or I soon will be. How could you let me hit… whatever that was? You said you wouldn't let me fall."

"No, I said I wouldn't let you fall and die. So I didn't really fail there. You just happened to hit the one tombstone I didn't see. Sorry about that. I mean. Seriously. The last thing I wanted was for you to squish your… uh. Well. You know. Man bits."

Giles reddened under the blindfold, actually thankful for it, so he didn't have to look at her in his embarrassment.

"I would prefer you leave my man bits out of the conversation."

"Me too. Come on, up we go," she hauled him to his feet using her Slayer's strength against him, giving him no choice in the matter. He hunched forward slightly, hand on his hip. "We're almost there."

"I bloody well hope so."

This wasn't going well. Giles was now in a terrible mood, and she had been hoping he would continue on in a curious, upbeat attitude. He certainly wouldn't like the goofy things the gang had been getting together if he was in a bad mood, liable to act like an old grump rather than play along with them for their sakes. She considered calling the whole thing off, but they had come so far, and if she told him he had just fallen over a tombstone blindfolded for no reason that might be an even worse result than just letting him see the stupidity. Sighing, she realized she was in a lose/lose situation now, and nothing she did would have the desired result.

So much for doing something nice for him.

She guided him by the arm, leading him into the mausoleum carefully, making sure he wasn't about to fall over again. When they were inside, she let him sit down on something. Sighing, his body language told her he was impatient, the slump of his shoulders indicating he was not in the mood for games. This wasn't going to go very well. She moved to him, removing the scarf from his eyes carefully, revealing the torch lit chamber. There were strange contraptions lining the room, and he realized they were arcade games of various kinds. There was power to them, cords going to a generator. Looking down he saw he was sitting on a quarter powered ride for children, in the same of a motorcycle.

"Buffy, what is this?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "we found it here. We fixed it up a bit and thought it was fun. Recently you've been so stiff and angry, we thought maybe you'd want to play a bit. I guess the others went out for food. We were supposed to have… well… a party. You hate it, don't you?" She could see he wasn't impressed, but his severe expression softened and he smiled at her thinly.

"I'm sorry I've been angry," he said, not commenting on the rest of it, perhaps on purpose. Of course, he knew why he was so grumpy these days, and a party with the gang was hardly the cure. Buffy moved and turned on the motorcycle, which bobbed listlessly back and forth, and though the pace was slow it nearly knocked Giles off. He had to laugh, feeling ridiculous. Pleased that she had at least gotten him smiling, she sat with him on the very small ride, their legs touching as they sat next to each other. "I suppose this must have been fun when I was much smaller. Now I fear we're going to break it."

"We might," Buffy laughed. They sat there for a long while, making jokes at their own expenses, about their weight and the uncomfortable way the ride was groaning, until she laughed rather hard and patted his leg. It was good to see him finally relaxing, and in turn it was making her feel happy, but the feeling was squashed when he was up abruptly from the ride, crossing the space. "What's the matter?"

"This is a very silly idea," he said, sharply.

"What happened? Giles, come on, you're being-"

"Drop it, Buffy," he said, looking at her with some anger on his face. It faded into apology, though, and he looked away from her. He was standing awkwardly, his body turned from her, his head shaking slowly from side to side. "Look, we're not kids. Neither of us. Certainly not me. My problems can't be fixed by arcade games and bloody quarter machines. I don't appreciate being treated like-"

"One of us? Giles, this is how we hang out. How we… how we're friends with each other. We have fun."

"This isn't the kind of fun I want to have right now," he said, before he could stop himself. There was an awkward silence after that, the pause stretching into an eternity as Buffy contemplated all the possible meanings of his words. She stood, holding her hands in front of her. The sun dress she was wearing made her feel particularly girly, and she found her hands clasped in front of her on instinct rather than through thought. He watched her for a moment, then looked away, making sure not to face her.

"Are you… uh…"

"Yes."

"Oh."

That wasn't what she had been expecting. The furthest thing from her mind had been turning him on, and the fact that he was hiding from her made her understand that she had done more than that. Curious, she drew closer to him, testing his reaction, which was to pull away from her and walk to the far end of the crypt. She watched him.

"The others aren't coming," she confessed at length, "and I read your journal. You're not a kid, but you still write in your diary every week. I hate to tell you this, but we've been reading it pretty much as long as you've known us."

"It's… required…" he gaped, blushing. "O-other Watcher's have written worse: I'm required to write… everything… as a Watcher, my entire life is for the Council and future generations… You read it? The lot of you? Oh, bloody hell, that must be a good laugh when you're bored. Funny how you'll read that drivel, everything I write, but you rarely listen to a word I say."

"Well, you pretty much write down all the same lectures anyway."

"Yes I know, but I mean… I… that's not fair."

He looked baffled. The journals he was required to keep were split into things specifically related to the Slayer, as well as his thoughts and feelings, to make sure he was maintaining a healthy mentality. Some of the things other Watcher's had written were very strange, or aggressively sexual, full of fantasy and dreams they could not live in their duties. By all comparison, Giles', though comprehensive, were rather tame. He had, however, confided in vague terms his increasing frustration, and his thoughts on just taking care of the problem himself. The idea that the others had read it made him turn red, and he was thankful for the gloom.

"What do you mean, the others aren't coming?"

Buffy heard his question and sighing, playing with the scarf that she had refastened around her waist. She scuffed her foot on the floor in an adorable way, then drew closer to him. Leaning next to him on the wall, she leaned against his arm, glancing down to see the bulge he was trying so hard to hide. Now seeing confirmation of his trouble, she looked at his face. "I know you're… you know. You haven't been with anyone in a while and… I've been kind of glad about it. Because… well. I mean, whenever you do have a chick with you I get kind of… jealous? I don't know. Shut up, don't look at me like that. Seriously, we both know you've been having trouble just going through training with me now. You don't touch me any more, even to guide me into the right positions when we're doing yoga or something. You don't fix my stances, or get too close. I noticed that. I've been noticing. I miss it."

He hadn't realized he had been so obvious in his efforts, thinking he hadn't been acting too out of the ordinary around the gang. Now he wondered just how clear his frustrations had been, and how bad the opinion of him among the group of Scoobies had become. Feeling miserable, he shook his head and opened his mouth to explain. To his surprise, Buffy reached up and stuck her fingers, two of them, into his mouth, using her palm on his chin to close his mouth before he could do anything about it. He blinked, not quite sure how to deal with this.

She watched him, feeling the warmth of his mouth, how his tongue was completely still and away from the tips of her fingers, his jaw loose. Since he couldn't speak, she took the initiative to answer his questions before he asked.

"I did want to help you. I wanted to see where you stood, if you'd go for it. If not, I'd text the others and they'd come over to save me, with food. You know, to cover our tracks. It was kind of a trap. So. Sorry about that. And for letting you fall, but… not for this." She moved to him, taking her fingers from his mouth and surprising him by getting up on her tip toes, her body pressed to his, so she could catch his open lips with hers, kissing him deeply. There was no struggle from him, his eyes closing and his head moving forward, to ease her strain, on impulse.

It registered as her tongue slid into his mouth that he was kissing his Slayer, and he pulled back suddenly.

"Good lord, what's in your head? We can't do this. What's in my head? I… Buffy, I know what you think. I know you feel bad for me, but even if… even i-if you're right, and I have been… a bit distant to… to you, specifically, my feelings, if indeed that is… is what this is… my feelings toward you…" he shook his head, as if to free himself of his stammering, "you can't kiss me and try to 'help' me just because you feel bad for me, Buffy!"

"Good, because I'm not. I'm just doing something we both want and need, and you're too much of a chicken to try it. We're adults, remember? You said it yourself. We can be friends with benefits."

"Orgasm friends?" he asked, echoing one of the most mortifying things he had ever heard Anya say. Buffy looked very amused by it, and she nodded, still pressed to him.

"If you think you could get me off," she challenged.

There was a moment in the conversation where Giles felt relatively at ease. Like he was just going to give in and go with it, because it sounded just like something he had dreamed up, and was absolutely perfect. A woman half his age was asking to have sex with him, without strings or a relationship or dramatics. A fuck. Or two. Or however many they wanted, until they got bored. But his sensible mind kicked in and he felt himself pushing her away from him gently, his voice filling the air almost against his own will.

"We can't. I'm your Watcher: the Council will be livid. We can't, it's all but forbidden," he said, though he didn't believe it. He had never heard of a Watcher and their Slayer doing anything like this, and he doubted there were set rules for it. They would be setting a precedent, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go down in history as the first Watcher to fuck his Slayer. So many lines would have to be crossed first, and he wasn't sure either of them could really comprehend just how much things would change by giving in to carnal desires.

Of course, none of his reservations ultimately stopped him.

"Oh God, Giles," Buffy said, bucking against him. He was buried inside her, his thick length filling her completely. They were seated on the motorcycle ride, and he had no idea how he had really come to be there, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. She had lost her dress somewhere, and his pants were clinging to one of his ankles, his boxers pulled down just enough to free his member. She was sitting facing him, legs wrapped around his waist, and every rhythmic bump of the ride was timed with his thrusts, sinking him deeper, exciting her further. His mouth was on her shoulder, her neck, her ear, kissing and licking and biting, not getting enough of her taste. His hands were bruisingly splayed across her back, gripping her as they moved together, her grinding her hips to his as he thrust to meet her.

They had been like this for some time, with increasing fervor and need. It had started so calmly, him protesting meekly, her reassuring him, him giving in and losing himself against her lips, her scent becoming the only thing he knew how to breathe. Her taste was immediately intoxicating, addictive, and he hadn't wasted too much time in getting to know it better, kissing down from her lips, exploring her jaw and neck as she guided him to the floor. He hadn't even noticed the tarps strategically placed, nor that they would become a love nest of sorts, for the two of them to utilize at their leisure. Things had started there, clothes being removed, hands exploring bodies, compliments and reminders of how wrong things were being spoken but ignored. He had pulled a condom from his wallet before discarding his pants, and she had slipped it over his erect and hard member, taking her time to tease him.

Moments later she had been crying out for him, his member sinking deep for the first time, striking her on the first thrust in her most sensitive spot. It told them both things were going to go well, her walls fitting him like a glove, perfectly gripping and milking him as he moved within her, while to her he stretched her as gloriously as she had ever been stretched, filling her in a way she could not describe, and certainly couldn't compare anything to. Maybe they were both blinded by their lust and their need, deprivation and loneliness making this union so much more than it might have been if they were both more flippant and, in a simple sense, used to it. But it was like he had been starving, and she shared the feeling as well, coming together finally freeing them of that hunger with something far more delicious than they truly knew how to comprehend.

He had brought her to her first climax on the floor, and it had been so intense she had to have him stop, begging him lusciously as his thrusting had increased in an effort to find his own orgasm. It left him hard, unsatisfied, and she had moved them to the motorcycle with a cheeky grin. Now she was rocketing toward her second climax, with him right with her. Slamming her hips down to his, aggravating the bruises he had sustained earlier that night from his unfortunate fall, she was nothing close to careful or gentle with him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she rode him for all she was worth. He was not about to complain, leaving his own bruises on her back, his aching need plunging deep and striking her in ways that made her cry out with each thrust, grinding her hips to his for longer and longer periods between thrusts just to feel him hitting everything inside her.

Surprisingly, she bit his shoulder as she climaxed, the pain making him yelp as she slammed down on to him, something groaning on the machine and the rocking coming to a stop with a loud creak. It was not even noticed, Buffy throwing her head back and crying out in delirious passion as he joined her in climax, his own heated moans melodiously joining hers in a primal call that echoed around the crypt. She collapsed against him and he slumped back against the uncomfortable handlebars of the ride. It let out a long groan and something snapped, sending them both careening from it. He hit the ground on his shoulder first, skidding across his back, and she landed on top of him, stealing what little breath he had after that intense round of orgasms.

"Shit, Giles," Buffy said, though it was unclear if she was still enjoying the waves of her climax or if she was actually worried about landing on top of him. He grunted, his noises a bit more clear considering how pained they sounded. She remained on top of him, and he looked up at her in agony, gasping as he opened his mouth to ask her to get off of him. She bent to him, kissing him deeply. Somehow, that reminded him how to breath, and he took in a deep inhale through his nose before push his head forward, up from the floor, greedily seeking her lips.

She rolled from him at length, leaving him open mouthed and dazed, and he felt her grab him under his arms. She dragged him across the crypt, back to the tarp nest, her Slayer strength once again allowing her to pull him where ever she wanted. He was laying on his back, his head resting on the balled up pillow his shirt and jacket now made. She pulled his boxers down the rest of the way and managed to free his leg of his jeans. Her bra had been half up, exposing her breasts without actually being removing the fabric, and she got rid of it quickly. Both naked now, she then carefully took the spent condom from him, tossing it away carelessly.

"That was the only one I had," he pointed out breathlessly, still panting but for whole new reasons. His words seemed to fall on deaf ears, as she was now focused on his member. It was still semi-hard, but that wasn't good enough. Wrapping her hand around the slick organ, she carefully pumped his shaft with her smooth palm, to encourage another erection. He groaned and dropped his head back, letting out another luxurious sound she had never heard from him before that encouraged her to keep up her efforts. Redouble them, even. Her hand moved down his shaft, cupping his balls and teasing them as she lowered herself closer. He looked up sharply, choking on his words.

"B-Buffy, what…?"

Of course, he knew what she was doing, he just hadn't expected her to do it. He imagined there was nothing more taboo about performing oral sex on a man his age when she had just had regular, vaginal sex with him of course, but still. It still felt excitingly wrong, the sheer eroticism of watching her open her mouth and run her tongue over the head of his member sent more shocks of pleasure through him than the actual, physical move itself. Though, that was quite effective as well. His eyes rolled back a bit as he once again dropped his head back, his hands gripped into fists. She took it as a compliment, and took him deeper into her mouth, sucking at the sensitive tip of his member before letting him feel the heat of her throat.

Bobbing her head with some vigor, she continued to tease his balls and the base of his shaft with her hand, the latter whenever she pulled her head back far enough to warrant it. He shifted and sat up after a few minutes, unable to bear it, and she moved to allow it, but did not relent in her actions. She felt his hands in her hair and it made her moan, squeezing her legs together heatedly. The pressure of his palm against her head, guiding her movements, all but ordering her, in a passive way, to continue made her squirm for him. He seemed to pick up on this, exerting more pressure on her head and helping her move up and down as she worked him over, his hips moving of their own will, up to meet her as he pushed her head down, and back when she pulled up. She moaned against him, the sound vibrating in her throat and thus against him, which in turn made him moan in his own right.

"Ahhh, Buffy, you're going t-to make me come…" he warned, as if she might want to stop because of it. And she did, pulling her head up abruptly and, with one lick of her lips, moving to plunder his mouth in a deep kiss, letting him taste himself on her. He eagerly returned it, surprised by the way the taste sent a shudder down is spine, straight to his cock. He tried to speak, as he had a habit of talking at the least convenient of times, but she hushed him by pushing him down to the floor, climbing on top of him and easily taking him inside her.

"Buffy!"

"Shut up, Giles," she said, riding him as before, not losing a moment as she thrust herself hard onto him, making them both cry out in surprise and pleasure. She needed him, finding herself too hot after that blow job to allow him to blow his load without satisfying her one last time. Maybe it was greedy, dangerous in a way, because they were now unprotected, but she didn't care. He watched her in dumb wonder as she commanded him, her body doing all the work, listening to her as she moaned her pleasure and feeling the way her body gripped him, the way her nails dug into the skin of his chest and left long scratches over his flesh. It was a beautiful sight, the way her body moved, her sweat slicked hair tossing in random directions, her shoulders rising and falling, the muscles of her abdomen coiling exotically as she searched for her climax.

He felt her body tighten and didn't need to hear her crying out in pleasure to know she was coming, hard, over him. He felt the heat of her walls, the sheath she had created for him milking him greedily. He let out a cry and turned them abruptly, pulling himself out of her as she tumbled to the floor. She rolled onto her back as he scrambled over her, watching in delight and greedy curiosity as he gripped himself, as if holding back his climax. He pumped his hand only a couple of times over his rock hard shaft before he climaxed. Straddling her high on her chest, she just had to lean forward to catch his fluids in her mouth, shifting and taking him into her mouth to clean him of both their orgasms and swallow the rest of his down. He panted, collapsing forward, his hands supporting himself. He was on his knees, one on either side of her shoulders, widely set, bent over with his hands on the ground above her. She was rather trapped under him, and she giggled as she looked up at him, licking her lips. He looked down to see her, then made to throw himself to the side, clearing his body of hers and landing hard enough to roll onto his back once more.

"Th-that was amazing," he panted, his words jerky and thick. She nodded, curling next to him endearingly. Her head was resting on his chest, her hand tracing invisible patterns on his chest. She didn't feel like talking, basking in the afterglow, thinking over this agreement of theirs and thinking it was a rather good idea. She could get used to this, whatever it was. He fumbled to grab a tarp, feeling absolutely spent, his body refusing to do anything too strenuous, but he managed to pull it over them.

Once they were nestled in the little cocoon of tarps and clothes, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She held on to him, kissing his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat slicked skin. They didn't say anything, neither thinking they had to, and both right. She closed her eyes and fell to sleep first, and as she did so he listened to her breathing even out. It grew deeper, slower, and he knew she had nodded off. He was tired, very much so, and yet he hadn't felt this content in a long time.

It was exactly what he had needed.