Comments: This universe is different to the original Buffyverse in a number of ways. No Faith, Jenny Calendar is still alive, Angel has not become Angelus, Spike was never in a wheelchair and Dru is still weak. Nothing is exactly the same as in the series.
A Fairly Simple Seduction, part 1
Willow and Jenny were cuddling and smooching as they conducted searches using the library's computer and an assortment of occult reference books. Normally they avoided touchy-feely stuff in school, frightened of discovery. But this was the library, a relatively safe place, and it was Sunday morning. And, as Willow pointed out, most people in Sunnydale have a life - or at least an unlife.
Mrs. Summers had gone on a week-long buying trip, so Buffy had been packed off to her father until Wednesday. After the incident with Eygon, things were pretty quite. The vampires had felt the death of the demon and were keeping their heads in their lairs for a while. Giles had gone off to do the things he did on those ultra-rare occasions when he wasn't Watching Buffy. Cordelia and Xander had been partying at the Bronze, Willow knew, and were probably both still snug in their respective beds. Angel was either asleep or brooding in his basement.
Which just left Oz. Who had been conspicuous by his absence for a time now. Ever since Cordelia had been inspired by the love displayed by Jenny and Willow into expressing her own desire for Xander. Who had promptly reciprocated. Oz hadn't seemed particularly phased by his girlfriend's desertion, but then, Oz seemed rarely phased by anything. He'd wished a nervous Xander and defiant Cordelia 'Good luck', then ambled from the library.
Willow wondered if she should ring Giles and ask him to organise a search for Oz. After all, tomorrow night was the full moon. Just then, the library door opened and the object of her worries strolled in, carrying a large paper bag. Willow and Jenny pulled apart. The 'no PDAs in front of Buffy and Angel' rule had been extended to include Oz.
As Oz drew nearer Willow's eyes widened. Jenny gasped behind her.
'Nice look, Oz,' she heard Jenny say. Willow herself was doing the goldfish-impersonation that was becoming all too familiar around the library these days.
'Thanks, felt like a change. Giles about?'
'No, he's at home I think.'
'Okay, see ya.'
And Oz walked out of the room, leaving two stunned females behind him.
'That was Oz?'
'It certainly sounded like Oz.'
'It was about the right size.'
'Double wow. With bells on it.'
Giles opened the crate with all the reverence it deserved. Good, everything seemed intact. He pulled the smooth dark objects out one by one from the crate, letting packaging material fall heedlessly to the floor. He placed them carefully on the low coffee table, inspecting each one in minute detail. When all forty-eight identical objects had been withdrawn from the crate and displayed to his satisfaction, he sank to his knees in trembling awe.
Forty-eight bottles of Young's Chocolate Stout, sent to him by an old friend. A very good old friend. A saint. The best of fellows. He'd been waiting for this for weeks. And now here it was. He could barely believe it.
Giles stood up, wiping sweaty hands on the tight jeans and then smoothing down the ragged white t-shirt. Ripper clothes. Complemented by the soft, ancient, leather jacket slung over the back of a chair, the jacket he'd taken off just ten minutes ago. It had hung off him when he was sixteen. A gift from Ethan, who'd undoubtedly stolen it. Now it fitted snugly, emphasising the muscles that few ageing British librarians possessed. Since the return of Ethan and Eygon, Ripper had been very close to the surface. In the few stolen moments of free time he had, he'd taken to letting Ripper out just a little. The clothes, music and cigarettes were a safety valve of sorts. The admiring glances he'd received when out shopping yesterday had done a lot to relieve the ego-bruising he'd suffered when Jenny had chosen Willow over him. He'd even been propositioned three times. Admittedly, one of his 'suitors' had been a woman at least ten years older than him and raddled besides. The other two, though, had positively been jail bait: a nymphet with a dress that left nothing to the imagination; and a slender doe-eyed young man with 'sub' written all over him. Ripper had been so tempted. Giles had managed to stifle Ripper's base response and escape, but only at the cost of having to listen to his alter-ego's mocking laughter and comments all night. He was going to have to do something more positive than mere damage control. And do it soon. Ripper wanted to play. And when Ripper wanted to play, very little could get in his way.
But now the ambrosia of the gods lay before him. He fished out the pocket knife from the recesses of the jacket, pulled out the bottle opener and took a long swallow. He wasn't going to think of anything negative for the rest of the day. Not Ripper, not Eygon, and most certainly not Ethan Raynes.
Two hours later he was sprawled in front of the fire, shoes and socks off, felling pleasantly buzzed.
A knock on the door caused him to swear softly and climb to his feet unsteadily. He was tempted to yell 'Fuck off', but some degree of sanity still remained. He staggered to the door, wrenching it open, ready to verbally blast whichever salesperson, religious nut or irritating teenager had dared to disturb his precious downtime...
Lavender spikes framed an elfin face. More than a suspicion of eyeliner emphasised softly glowing eyes. A tight black T shirt stretched revealingly across a slender chest. Faded jeans that looked as if they had been spray-painted on left nothing to the imagination. Nothing at all, not if that tempting bulge was any indication.
Ripper was positively salivating. He could almost feel the drool dribbling from his mouth.
And other places.
'Oz.' Oh, God, was that his voice?
'Hey, Giles, mind if I come in?'
Mind? Well, it saved dragging the child in, he supposed. There was no way he was going to let this delicious morsel walk away without a taste of the delights the packaging was so clearly offering. His outfit and expression just screamed an invitation. The only way the boy could have been more blatant was if he'd put a sign announcing 'Fuck Me' round his neck.
Some degree of self-preservation made him double-check that the sun was still out before motioning the young man into his lair.
end pt 1