Maybe this is what you got for moving your daughter to a Hellmouth.
Pausing in scrubbing herself clean, Joyce carefully fingered a purpling mark on the curve of her right breast, hissing slightly at both the ache of pain and desire.
The police car hadn't been the first time. The first time had been in his apartment, both of them stripped of their shirts, her bra tossed aside, her panties shoved aside, and he'd spent considerable time biting and licking at her breasts as she'd writhed beneath him and cursed him and clutched him to her.
A swell of heat wafted up her body from between her trembling legs and she cursed him again for completely different reasons.
Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth Joyce resumed bathing, washing away the physical evidence, knowing that washing away the memories would be impossible.
An insidious voice whispered in her ear, did she really want to? Because it had been a long time and it had been really, really good, and Rupert Giles, beneath that tie and those glasses and the smell of tea and crumpets, was a bad boy and she had a weakness...
Jesus, woman, stop it! It wouldn't--couldn't--happen again. He was devoted to her daughter's life in ways she simply couldn't understand and she found hard to accept, and the man he was now simply wasn't of much interest to her outside of a casual friendship.
But, oh, there was something so dark and dangerous hidden in him.
And reckless, she couldn't forget reckless, she chided herself as she dipped her fingers between her legs, felt swollen flesh wet with more than her own secretions. They hadn't used protection. She hadn't had a date in years and so wasn't on the pill and they really had been acting like horny teenagers, unable to keep their hands and mouths off each other.
Dimly she wondered if her ass was imprinted on that cop car, but there was something much more important to worry about.
As she resumed scrubbing almost harshly now Joyce started to count in her head, hoping, praying that she was nowhere near that time of the month she was fertile. She could live with being on the Hellmouth, live with Buffy being the Slayer, live with even the memories of sex with a bad boy who tasted like cigarettes and candy.
She wasn't sure she could live with bringing another child into this messed up world.
Years ago she'd wanted another, but that was before she knew the truth of the world, the darkness that forced her to sleep with a light on, the fear that made her drink much more than was healthy. But she knew that if she was pregnant she'd have the child. She didn't have it in her to make any other choice available to her.
And, for a moment, she pictured Rupert holding a tiny blonde baby, his eyes wide with wonder behind those glasses she doubted he really needed, and, for a moment, she knew she could accept this consequence of tonight's wonderful and scary activities.
Although she was still going to pray it didn't happen.
End