The London Sonnets

Spoilers: Anything through Buffy S4 is fair game.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Property of Joss and ME. Just playing.
Summary: Sightseeing can be fun.
A/N: Follows All Frailties That Besiege All Kinds Of Blood. I can never thank Savvy enough for her help on all of this. The title is taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet 16.


“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Joyce asked as she dressed. “Playing tourist, I mean?”

Giles watched her move with simple grace about the room. “I think I can put up with it for one day,” he said, trying to sound put-upon.

Walking over, she bent down and kissed him lightly. “Thank you.”

“For humoring you?” he grinned. “Such a chore. But contrary to popular belief, locals do like to check out the attractions.”

“For understanding,” she corrected, sitting next to him on the bed.

“I think it’s the other way around,” Giles said somberly. “I’ve been . . . well, I’ve been an idiot these last few weeks and—”

She silenced him with her fingertips. “I have an idea. This is a vacation, right? How about we take a day off from the adult stuff? We have time to deal with it later.”

“What? Act like two crazy young kids in—” he stopped himself before he added love, “on their own for the first time? We know how well that turned out.”

“I certainly had fun. But somehow I doubt the police here will be as understanding as in Sunnydale,” she said, eyes dancing.

“Bobbies,” he corrected. “They can be just as oblivious. If you know how to do things, that is.”

“Shall we?”

“Find ourselves another police car?” he asked, fighting a grin.

She punched him lightly. “Leave,” she clarified. “And I thought I had the dirty mind.”

“I have my moments,” he laughed. “But I wasn’t the one who nicked the handcuffs that night.”

“No, but you didn’t seem to mind that I took them,” she said pointedly. “Ready to go?”

He nodded as she rose, sad for the loss of her pressed against him. Last night after dinner nothing had happened, as they had been worn out from both the journey and the talk. But with her curled close as they slept, Giles found he was quite happy with just that. It was the little things he had missed most while they were apart. Like the contented sigh she gave before finally giving herself over to sleep. Her warmth and smell. Just being able to hold her again.

“Rupert?” she pulled him back to the present.

“Sorry,” he said, getting up and walking toward Joyce. Then, affecting one of his more seductive tones as he wrapped his arms about her, “I just got a bit distracted.”

“Good distraction?”

“The best,” he gave her a languid kiss. “But I’m afraid if we don’t leave now, we probably won’t make it out of the room.”

“I’m not complaining,” she kissed him back.

He let the kiss progress a bit before finally stopping it. “No, the lady wanted to see the sights today and the sights she shall see.”

Giles left her standing there and made his way to the door. Joyce stood there a bit flustered.

“Are you coming?”

Blinking, she affected frustration, grabbed her purse, and brushed past him. She turned back with a wicked smile. “I will get you back, you know.”

And there was nothing he could do but follow after.

Big Ben Par Parliament, the Tower, Trafalgar Square . . . Giles was amazed that they had been able to see so much in so little time. It was only early afternoon when they reached Westminster Abbey. The cool dimness and simplicity of the church were welcoming after a whirlwind tour of the sights on an all too bright day.

“I thought it was always supposed to be foggy or rainy here. I don’t think we get this much sun in California,” Joyce commented idly as they waited for admittance.

“No need to alert the media, I can assure you that the sun does pop out on occasion, however rare,” he chuckled, pulling her close.

Joyce melted back against him. “So no apocalypse then?”

“Missed the season by a month.”

“Good to know,” she grinned.

They walked the paths of millions of visitors over the years, paying their respects to the famous residents of the Abbey: Tennyson and Chaucer, Dickens and Hardy, Newton and Darwin, Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots…

“There’s a sort of irony to it all, isn’t there?” Joyce said, studying Elizabeth I’s refurbished memorial.

“How’s that?” Giles whispered in her ear as he leaned close. He was pleased to feel her shiver in response, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Now, is that the proper respect to show one of your great monarchs?” she sighed, leaning her head back to rest against his chest.

“I don’t think she minds so much. And contrary to what many believe, the Virgin Queen was far from being a prude,” he breathed along her neck. “You were saying something t irt irony?”

“Irony, right. Um…” she rubbed ever so slightly against him, his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. In principle, he thought he should feel bad about getting aroused in a church near the remains of a once great ruler, but Giles just couldn’t make himself feel bad. Joyce seemed to find her thought. “Right. Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots, rivals in life, and yet they are buried in close proximity to one another. You would think they’d want to keep their distance in death.
His
His voice became low as he lectured. “Initially, Mary was buried in Peterborough Cathedral per Elizabeth’s orders. However, James I moved Mary here in 1612 and had her buried opposite Elizabeth. Some would say it was to give her the memorial she deserved.”

Joyce seemed to consider this before she spoke next. “Are you sure it wasn’t so Mary could keep an eye on Elizabeth? Not together, but not quite apart. They may have wanted to be as far away from each other as possible, but things seemed to always bring them back together.”

It took Giles a moment to realize there was a hidden meaning in her words. He turned her to face him, searching her face for some indication of her intent. The words were hitting a little too close to home. He wouldn’t put it past her to try and make a point.

She smiled enigmatically up at him.

“Remind me to never underestimate you, Joyce,” he said finally.

Resuming their tour, they left the Lady Chapel and passed by Edward the Confessor and the Poets Corner on their way to the Cloister. A little chapel lay offset from the Poets’ Corner. Joyce wandered over for a closer look and rejoined him with a slight grin.

“Saint Faith’s Chapel,” she said. “I think Buffy would have to see it to believe it.”

The Cloister was quiet when they entered. Giles and Joyce practically had the stone walkway to themselves.

“So peaceful,” Joyce murmured as they walked, Giles’ arm about her shoulders.

“It’s a wonderful place to come and reflect, when the crowd is at a minimum, of course,” he agreed.

Midway down the South Cloister, Joyce directed their steps close the inner wall. She halted their journey, reaching out to touch the cool alabaster stone. A few moments passed while she seemed to contemplate the wall. Turning, she leaned back against it to look at him.

“You’ll probably think I’m silly, but I just had to see if my mother was right. Having toured Europe in her when she was a girl, she had a lot of stories to share. One of them always made me laugh,” she smiled fleetingly. “Mom said that you could feel the history in the stones. ‘If you go over there, Joyce, touch one of the walls and you’ll see.’”

“And was your mother right?”

“It may seem crazy, but I think she was. Okay, it might not seem crazy to you, but…there’s a feeling there. It’s not just cold dead stone.”

“If these walls could talk, oh, the tales they would tell?” he asked.

Joyce nodded. “A bit like that. There’s more than just great architecture to these places.”

He kissed her then, their tongues brushing lightly as he gained entrance. As the kiss deepened, he felt her moan, the sound reverberating through his body. He pressed her against the wall, seeking closer contact. Joyce arched into him in response.

Hearing footsteps, Giles had enough presence of mind to stop things before they progressed too far. He wasn’t normally one for very public displays of affection, but something about Joyce was suddenly irresistible. Maybe it was the insight she’d gained or the appreciation she’d shown. Or maybe they had been apart too long and he really didn’t need an excuse.

“Have you had enough sight seeing for today?” he asked, voice rich and husky.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve had enough, exactly, but I suppose there are certain enticements for saving some things for another day,” there was a breathlessness to her reply as she pressed against his growing erection. “Do you think the watchers have enough to keep themselves occupied for a few days?”

Giles couldn’t help the groan that escaped him then. The woman was the embodiment of temptation at the moment. He glanced at his watch.

“If we hurry, we should be able to beat rush hour at the station,” he said. “Think we can make it?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But if worse comes to worse, we can always improvise.”

Fortunately they managed to mix in with the early post-work rush and boarded the Circle Line with little delay. Maybe it was unfortunate, Giles had to admit. He was a bit disappointed at not getting the chance to improvise. Pressed together in the standing room only car, he found it very hard to keep himself in check. Joyce’s wandering hands were making it increasingly difficult.

“While the commute can be a trifle dull, I doubt the passengers would appreciate the show they are about to get if you don’t stop that,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal as her right hand stroked him idly through the lining of one of his pockets.

“Do you think they would mind?” she asked innocently, her actions anything but as the car bumped them against each other when it came to a stop. “How much longer?”

“Two more stations,” he replied, closing his eyes to focus on not taking her right there.

“I think I can live with that.” She withdrew her hand. “Can you?”

The woman was going to bloody kill him. He captured her mouth in a fierce kiss, leaving her breathless by the time he finished. “I’ve survived at least four apocalypses. Ten minutes won’t kil.”
.”

It actually took them twenty minutes to get back to the bed and breakfast. And five more to get up to their room, because Agnes insisted on hearing a brief synopsis of their day after giving Joyce her messages.

Giles had possessed just enough rational thought to throw the bolt on the room door before pinning Joyce against it and devouring her mouth with a greater hunger than he knew he had. It briefly crossed his mind that they should take things slow after everything they had been through, but then Joyce’s hand wrapped tightly against his bare cock and all thoughts of taking it slow fled.

He had never been more thankful for Joyce’s proclivity for wearing skirts as he gathered the material, pulling it up, seeking her out. As he reached her upper thigh, he was shocked to encounter neither cotton nor satin. Fingers under the material of the skirt, he worked inward and found Joyce uncovered and waiting.

“Jesus,” he groaned, forehead against the door. He twisted his head, tongue darting out to tease her ear as his fingers slid through her wetness. “Nothing. All day. And I didn’t know?”

Her breath caught as he slid first one finger then two into her. Moist and hot, so ready for him.

“Joyce!” he punctuated her name by thrusting his fingers just so. She bucked against him in response, her grip further tightening around him. “All day?” Again his fingers accentuated his words.

“More,” she gasped. Obligingly he added a third finger, thumb toying with her clit. Then with effort she spoke again, “I didn’t tell you because—oh god—because if I did—harder!—we never would have—a little more to the…oh—made it out of the room.”

He felt her tighten as climax neared. No, not quite yet. She whimpered when he removed his fingers.

“Shh,” he hushed, nibbling along her jawbone as he worked his pants down a little farther. Placing his hands on her waist, he kissed her quickly and caught her gaze beneath her half-lidded eyes. “Joyce, love, I need you with me on this.”

Blinking her eyes open, Joyce nodded as she brought her arms up around his neck. “Alright.”

Lifting her up, Joyce braced herself, legs locking against his hips and giving Giles enough time to position his cock before she let her self down, taking him all the way in. He nearly came then, feeling her liquid tightness softly enveloping him.

“Too long,” he murmured, pressing her back against the door and holding still until he regained some control. Then he began to move, Joyce working with him as they built back up.

She arched as he thrust up and in, changing the angle as he plunged deep and hard. Left hand supporting Joyce, Giles’ right moved between them and began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts.

“Missed you, so much,” she breathed, voice strained.

“Come for me, Joyce,” he coached. “Please, Joyce, come for me.”

Joyce’s eyes went wide, locking with his, before her head fell back and she screamed his name. Her inner muscles clenched around him as she climaxed. Giles finally gave himself over, her name a silent prayer on his lips.