Author: Sandra Pascoe

Rating: FRAO - woohoo!!!

Notes: Well, you said you wanted Giles in a Roman Centurion outfit ….

Disclaimer: Giles doesn't belong to me ... boy do I wish he did!

Dedication: This fic is for 2 people ... firstly, for CAT - who has spent a great deal of time listening ... and helping me "heal". She is one hell of a great listener! Secondly, for Donna - who not only beta'd this fic but also gave me encouragement and help when I needed it most - thanks guys!!!

It’s the Annual Fancy Dress Ball of the local Archaeological Society and, due to your exalted position as Museum Curator, you have, of course, been invited. The theme this year is "favourite eras" and your passion for all things Roman outweighs any practical considerations … like how on earth you’re managing to keep your car on the road whilst trying to untangle yourself from the "lady of leisure" long, flowing robe you’re wearing. You sigh as you pull into the car park, watching the various couples making their way towards the brightly lit hotel before you. You were sent a batch of tickets but, with no-one to bring, you passed the other tickets to your assistant. No doubt, you think, as you scramble out of the car, he’ll bring along that remarkably strange woman he’s currently hanging around with.

You walk slowly to the hotel entrance wondering, not for the first time, what possessed you to accept this invitation. There are too many people here you really don’t want to talk to. Oh well, you brandish your invitation and the doorman nods, ushering you towards the conference area. You immediately head for the bar at the far end of hall. You decide to stay for a couple of hours and then leave - stay long enough to be seen and then go. You push your way past a variety of costumed attendees - there are Egyptians, Greek Gods and even a few in Victorian outfits. You smile slightly as you realise you seem to be the only one dressed in a Roman outfit. A soft tap on your shoulder causes you to turn around.

"You won’t believe this," hisses John, your assistant. "Guess who’s here?"

"Go on," you sigh, "do tell."

"Rupert Giles."

"Oh no!" You suddenly feel that you’ve made a major mistake coming tonight. Rupert Giles - that’s all you need. The man has made your life a living hell for the past couple of months with his seemingly endless telephone calls. It’s all very well for him, you think, but you've only got a small museum. The kind of changes he proposes would probably work in the British Museum but you just don’t have the resources. A groan escapes your lips and you snag John’s arm before he leaves.

"Which one is he?" You ask and John shrugs.

"I’m not sure … I think he’s one of the old guys in the Victorian gear."

Right, you think as you head towards the bar with renewed purpose, avoid all Victorians.

A few minutes later and you're standing near the bar, nursing your orange juice - enjoying a quiet game of "who looks the biggest dickhead?" with yourself, when you catch the eyes of a tall man at the other end of the bar. He's dressed in a Roman Centurion outfit and, boy, does he look good! Long, gorgeous legs, shown off to the full in the short tunic, strong bare arms and a slight, quirky smile on a face which reddens delightfully when he realises how intently you've been checking him out. His eyes suddenly widen and a look of almost horror passes across his features. You frown and look around, grinning as you see the rather imposing figure of Mrs Grey, the Head of the Archaeological Society bearing down on him. Awww, you can't really let him suffer that. With a slight giggle, you walk across to him, catching hold of his arm and then turning to Mrs Grey.

"I'm sorry," you remark sweetly, "may I borrow him for a few minutes?"

Not giving her a chance to reply, you pull him away, aware of the sigh of relief he utters.

"Thank you," a soft, amused voice whispers in your ear and you have to suddenly concentrate hard on walking. The voice sends shivers along your spine, practically turning your knees to complete jelly. "I really didn't want to get involved in a conversation with her this evening," he continues, oblivious to the effect he's having. "From what I hear, she's a complete dragon."

"Mrs Grey?" You stop and turn to face him, an incredulous expression on your face. "She may be a bit ... overwhelming but she's not that bad."

"Mrs Grey?" He suddenly looks endearingly befuddled and you can't help your soppy grin. "I thought she was that Museum Curator woman ... "

The grin slips from your face. "And that would be bad, why?"

He catches your change in tone and starts to stutter.

"Well ... I ...um.... well ... is she a .... friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," you smile slightly, "but I do know her."

"Ah," he seems relieved somehow. "It's just that I can never make her see sense."

"I thought you said you didn't know her." It's your turn for the befuddlement now and this intriguing Centurion runs a hand through his hair.

"I don't," he replies, "not exactly. I've spoken to her on the telephone a few times though."

Suddenly you have clarity. Rupert Giles ... he just had to be Rupert Giles. You sigh slightly. Just when you think you've finally found someone, it turns out he's been the bane of your life recently. Your brain quickly cuts in - deciding that it's entirely possible you've misunderstood him. Maybe he just wants to help ... maybe he just cares. Your opinion of Rupert Giles is quickly and conveniently revised in your mind from insufferable prig to a man who is clearly passionate about his beliefs. Much better, you think with a smile.

"Oh, do forgive me," he says with a smile, holding out his hand. "Rupert Giles."

You smile sweetly, taking his hand and then telling him your name ... adding "the museum curator woman" as a final touch. A look of complete shock crosses his face and his mouth opens and closes a few times. His hand suddenly becomes sweaty, clammy and he instinctively pulls away. You can't help it, you find the whole situation incredibly funny. As you look up, your eyes catch his, the barely concealed merriment in the green depths quite irresistible and you both start giggling.

"Oh dear," he manages between giggles, "it is quite ironic, isn't it?"

"And the fact that I was avoiding you as well only makes it funnier."

He looks surprised at this and then acknowledges it with a rueful shrug.

"I'm sorry," he says with a smile. "I do tend to get carried away sometimes."

You raise an eyebrow and he starts giggling again.

"Okay," he replies, "most of the time."

"And I apologise too," you say with a smile. "I can be a bit ... short ..."

"Especially if you feel someone is criticising the way you run things?" He finishes your sentence and you nod. "That was never my intention."

"Alright," you reply. "Then no more shop talk tonight."

"In that case, may I buy you a drink?"

A couple of hours later you are very glad you decided to attend tonight. Rupert hasn’t let you out of his sight and the conversation between you has been wide-ranging and remarkably stimulating. It was quite an eye-opener for you to discover the incredible number of things you have in common with Rupert Giles. At the moment, he’s lounging in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, affording you a delightful view of his long, gorgeous and completely perfect legs. Your palms are positively itching with your desire to reach out and gently run your fingers up those strong calves, along those firm thighs …

"Would you like to dance?" Rupert’s soft voice interrupts your intriguing thoughts and you flush slightly. You didn’t realise the music had changed. It’s gone from a rather lively tune you didn’t recognise to Barry Manilow singing "Even Now". It’s one of your favourites and you nod, accepting Rupert’s offer. He stands quickly and ushers you to the dancefloor. As his arms wrap around you and you snuggle into his chest, you cast fervent thanks to whichever gods and goddesses are listening that Rupert had the foresight to discard his metal breastplate earlier. The music drifts over you and in Rupert’s arms you feel safe, protected and … warm. You could lose yourself in the sensation completely if it weren’t for Rupert’s Roman Short Sword that keeps banging against you. An old, corny expression crosses your mind and you start to giggle. Rupert pulls away slightly and looks down at you, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What?" He asks, smiling slightly.

"Is that a sword in your pocket or are you pleased to see me?" You giggle and, with a wicked grin, Rupert suddenly pulls you flush against him. You feel his arousal and smile up at him as you start to slowly wriggle your body against him. A sharp intake of breath is your reward and his grip on you tightens. Lowering his head, he captures your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue immediately probing, demanding entrance. You open to him without hesitation and the sensual feeling of his tongue duelling with yours causes you to moan and press yourself against him.

"Get a bloody room, you two."

The irritation in the voice brings you back to your senses and you pull back. Rupert sees your embarrassment and casts a breathtaking glare towards the man who interrupted before turning his attention back to you. He leans down, whispering in your ear.

"I've got a room," he kisses your earlobe before pulling back.

"I'm driving home," you reply softly, without conviction and Rupert smiles, his hand caressing your cheek.

"Stay," he whispers softly and, in that moment, you know that you are lost. Your grin is your reply and Rupert takes your hand, leading you from the conference room. To your surprise he walks past the lifts and heads for the stairs. He catches your questioning glance and shrugs.

"First floor," he mutters, "seems a bit of a waste. Bloody lift takes too damn long anyway."

"Sounds like someone's in a hurry," you smile and Rupert grins, turning to look at you with such an expression of desire and downright lust that it quite takes your breath away. You're barely aware of the answering expression on your own face before you're pushed back against the wall and Rupert is kissing you with a passion and intensity you've only previously dreamed of. You groan - but in frustration this time as you realise that your long robes are preventing you from wrapping your legs around him, from feeling him completely. In one swift movement, Rupert breaks the kiss and hoists you over his shoulder.

"Rupert!" You squeal in delight at this unexpected show of strength as he trots up the stairs with seemingly little effort. Before you know it, you are on your feet again and standing outside Rupert's room. He quickly opens the door with a keycard and ushers you inside.

"And where did you secrete that card?" You ask with a smirk, your eyes ranging up and down his body, mentally undressing him and enjoying the picture your mind conjures up.

"Dig deep enough and I'm sure you'll find out," he replies quietly, moving slowly towards you.

"Is that an invitation?" You lick your lips in anticipation and Rupert's eyes darken in intensity. He reaches out a hand, caressing your cheek and you lean into it, closing your eyes. You feel yourself gently pushed backwards and you don't resist, don't open your eyes. Feeling the bed against the back of your legs, you slowly open your eyes, looking up at Rupert and grinning as you suddenly fling yourself backward onto the bed. You land with an "oomph" and Rupert raises an eyebrow, grinning down at you as he quickly divests himself of his sandals and sword. He starts to fumble with his tunic but you sit up and shake your head.

"No," you say softly. "That's my job."

Rupert smiles and sits on the edge of the bed. You lay back, moaning as he gently removes your sandals and then runs his hands up your legs, pushing your robe up. Soft, featherlike kisses follow the trail of his fingers and you squirm, mentally telling him to go higher. Suddenly, Rupert frowns and then straddles your knees.

"You know," he remarks, "this robe is beginning to annoy me."

You shrug and smile up at him. "A good archaeologist knows how to peel away layers," you reply, your breathlessness an indication of the effect he's having upon you. With a wicked grin, Rupert reaches out and, grabbing two handfuls of your robe, he rips it from you.

"Rupert!" You squeal in delight but he doesn't seem to be paying attention. His gaze is fixed upon your bare breasts. You sit up slowly, shrugging off the remains of your robe and Rupert suddenly dives forward, pushing you back down. His mouth engulfs your left breast, teasing, tormenting, licking and nibbling whilst his hand works equal magic on the other. You squirm under him, rarely have you ever felt this turned on this quickly. Your hands run up and down his back, lingering as you trace the muscles through his tunic. He slowly moves up, his tongue tracing intricate trails on your sensitised skin, as his hands move over your body, never still, always touching, always caressing. As his mouth covers yours, you decide that it's your turn to have a little fun and, with a gentle pressure, you roll Rupert onto his back.

"Mmmmm," he whispers," you like being in control?"

"I don't much like losing control," you reply seriously and he reaches up, cupping your face in his hands.

"You can with me ... I want you to."

Tears fill your eyes as you gaze down at his open, yet concerned face. So much in your life has been bad ... you're not going to let this incredible man slip away. He draws your head down, kissing you gently, but with an underlying passion that ignites your desire once more. You break away, moving slowly down his body, placing kisses on his chest. You let his gasps and pants guide you to his more sensitive areas before you latch onto one of his pebbled nipples, gently biting it through the fabric. He sucks in a breath, arching his back as you move across, repeating the process on his other nipple before moving down his body once more. You ignore the increasingly evident, not to mention rather eye-catching bulge, drawing a sigh of disappointment from him. You want to touch those gorgeous, muscular legs and you grin as you run your hands along his thighs, pushing the short tunic up even more. Catching a glimpse of another fabric, you push the tunic higher, grinning at the rather incongruous boxer shorts that are now under a considerable strain.

"Tut, tut, Rupert," you smile, "not exactly in period are we?"

"You didn't really think I would be ... naked under there, did you?"

"It's about time you were," you respond, plucking at the tunic. "Off."

He sits up, quickly shrugging off the tunic before lying back once more. Oh wow, you think, chest hair! As much as your palms were itching before, they are positively singing to you now and you reach up, grinning with delight as your hands run over his chest. You love it ... the feeling of the crisp hair tickles your palms and fingertips. You could stay there all night ... but something else is making its presence known, and rather insistently at that. You hook your fingertips under the waistband of his boxers and slowly draw them down and off his legs. You toss them carelessly to one side, focusing your attention on the gloriously twitching cock before you. Unconsciously you lick your lips, drawing a groan of anticipation from the recumbent Rupert Giles. You run a finger up his length, smiling as Rupert lets out a breath and grips the bedclothes. No, you think, no teasing ... not this time anyway. Placing your hands on his hips, you lower yourself, running your tongue along the underside of his cock before swirling it around the tip. Mmm, you think, better than ice cream. You work your way slowly up and down, lips, tongue and teeth working in harmony, causing Rupert to moan and curse softly. As your hand starts fondling his balls, Rupert grips your shoulders, pulling you up.

"Jesus," he says, panting heavily. You smile and gently touch his face.

"Take a deep breath," you grin, shrieking in surprise as he rolls you onto your back. He looms over you, grinning happily.

"My turn," he replies, kissing you deeply before moving down once more. His mouth and hand capture your breasts and you arch into him, the sensations running along your body. His other hand gently caresses and tickles your stomach before brushing across your panties. You part your legs, encouraging his exploration and he doesn't hesitate. His fingers rub you through the material and you raise your hips, moaning.

"Rupert," you groan, "no teasing."

He looks up. "No teasing," he replies, quickly removing your panties. He holds them up with a grin. "Not exactly period, are they?"

You try glaring at him but he merely chuckles, tossing them aside. His fingers dip into you and now it's your turn to clutch the bedclothes. He enters you with one finger, then another, his thumb circling your clit as you push against him. Your eyes are clamped firmly shut as his magical fingers bring you closer and closer to the edge. You bite your lip, trying to hold on, struggling against the sensations he's producing.

"Don't try and control it," he whispers. "Let go ... let yourself feel."

Rupert's soft voice, combined with his talented fingers, is all it takes and you scream his name, the blood pounding in your ears as your orgasm rips through you, harder than you've ever experienced before. For a couple of minutes, you simply lie there ...trying to regain your senses as Rupert gently soothes and caresses you. Finally, you open your eyes and smile up at Rupert.

"Alright?" He asks softly and you grin.

"Wow," you reply and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss you.

"It's going to get even better."

You reach down, wrapping your hand around him and gently caressing.

"I can feel that," you smile as he hisses, his eyes closing.

"Shit!" His eyes suddenly snap open and you let go as if burned, watching in concern as Rupert leaps off the bed.

"What's wrong?" You ask, hearing him mutter to himself.

"Condom," he replies succinctly, grabbing his jeans and frantically searching the pockets. With a sigh of relief, he holds up a small, silver packet and you take a deep breath, thanking those gods and goddesses again. He tears the packet open and quickly sheathes himself before rejoining you on the bed.

"Ready?" He asks, gently brushing your hair from your face.

"Like you have to ask," you smile as you guide him to you.

Rupert pauses, his tip at your entrance, leaning down to kiss you before pushing inside you. His kiss swallows your gasp and you wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips to encourage him. Not that Rupert seems to need any persuading. Within seconds, he's moving and you both soon find a rhythm, working together to find release. You can feel it building again, but this time you don't try to stop it, don't try to control it ... you relax, letting the sensations wash over you. You grip him tighter, your fingernails digging into his back and Rupert thrusts faster ... deeper ... harder. You tense as Rupert brings you closer and closer to the edge.

"Let go," he whispers again and this time you come even harder, screaming with the intensity. You're hardly aware of Rupert tensing and shuddering before he collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. Your heart is pounding as you hold him to you, not wanting to let him go, loving the feeling of his sweat-slicked body against yours. It seems like forever until your breathing finally calms and Rupert raises his head and kisses you softly. He slowly pulls out of you, kisses you once more and then moves away to dispose of the condom. You lie back and sigh, thanking whoever is listening for your good fortune in bumping into Rupert Giles earlier. There is no way you are going to let him slip through your fingers. He returns to the bed and pulls you into his arms. You lay your head against his chest with a contented sigh. As you close your eyes and start to doze a thought drifts through your mind ... what on earth are you going to wear home tomorrow? Oh well, you think as you slowly drift off to sleep, doesn't matter now.