Author: M. Jade
Tile:Poetry Reading
Email:m_jade34@hotmail.com
Rating:PG-13
Summary:Willow attends a poetry reading, with some interesting twists.
Spoilers:None
Feedback:I'll really be your friend! Please?
Disclaimers:I own NOTHING BtVS. The only thing I own is the poem, which I
wrote and is called "Intimate Stranger".
Distribution:Strange Brew, Bite Me...Please?, all others ask.
Notes:This is a companion piece to "What Would happen" and is a challenge to
both the Dreams Challenge at Strange Brew and the Lecture Hall Challenge at
the Quill. It's a combo!
More Notes:The poem is supposed to be lyrical, but alas, I can't write
music. Just imagine a tune and a beat to go with it.

*******************************************************************

Professor Walsh’s lecture hall is buzzing with the sounds of about fifty
students waiting for it to begin. They’re using the room for a poetry
reading, and I can’t wait for it to start. It’s been awhile since I’ve been
to one, so it’s kind of treat-y. I had invited Tara, but she had other
plans to see her family this weekend. I also told Buffy and the others
about this, and they’re around. I can see my roommate and Riley talking
quietly in the back row, and Xander and Anya, who are surprisingly silent,
are sitting off to my left, a few rows up. I’m sitting in the middle of the
front row, right in front of the podium they’ve set up, and Spike is sitting
off near the aisle to my right. Soon, the readers enter, and the crowd
begins to hush.

“Welcome,” Professor Yates greets us. He’s the head of the department and
in charge of tonight’s activities. “We have some very exciting work for you
tonight, so shall we begin? First up is a local teacher I’m sure some of
you are familiar with. Mr. Giles?” Giles nodded at the professor and makes
his way up to the podium.

Giles clears his throat, places his paper on the podium, and adjusts his
glasses before he begins. I’ve never really imagined Giles as a poet, but
being up there seems to fit him. Of course, it makes sense. Music and
poetry are closely related, and I’ve already witnessed his musical prowess.
He appears to be so comfortable in front of everyone, a natural with
audiences. Somehow, he manages to catch the crowd’s attention, and all eyes
are on him, including mine. Since when did Giles look so good in jeans?

“Thank you, Professor Yates,” Giles says as the other takes his seat. Here
it goes. Giles doesn’t even bother to glance down the paper before him.
“The sun knows little of you,” he begins in a calm, nearly hypnotic tone. I
can’t remember his accent ever sounding so utterly perfect. It’s the type
of voice anyone can listen to. I lean forward in order to hear well. “The
vampire’s energy is what you chose.” Giles mentions vamps! How cleaver! I
just hope no one else got that.

“You’re so eccentric,” he continues on in that voice. I can’t see to get
enough. “Your heart so unyielding, I believe.” The words flow from him so
easily. Okay, maybe natural is an understatement. As he’s reading on,
Giles starts to leave the podium, walks towards me, and takes my hand and I
rise from my chair to meet his soft gaze. I could melt in those eyes. As
the others look on in silence, he pulls me almost impossibly close to him.
I’m so stunned I forget to breathe. I can’t ever remember being so close to
him. And I like it!

“An intimate stranger in my arms,” he whispers in my ear. The feel of his
skin on my bare arms is almost shocking. I can’t seem to recall feeling
quite this way with Oz or Tara. I’ve rarely described anything as feeling
this way, well beside the actual thing, but being here feels like magic,
real, physical magic. I know I could move from his grasp, but I’m in no
hurry to do so. No, I’ll stay here thank you very much! The poetry goes
on.

“Careful to hold on, holding it in,” Giles tells me in a husky voice. It
only now occurs to me that he may be speaking about me. It’s a poem for me!
I begin to blush, because it’s even better that the song Oz wrote for me.
This kind of attention is…nice.

“An inviting mystery,” Giles breathes as he begins to move the strap of my
blouse and my bra. He gently pushes it off my shoulder as he begins to kiss
the nape of my neck and makes his way across to my shoulder. Oh…I can’t
help but shutter a little as he holds me even closer to him, the fabric of
his sweater grazing my bare skin. A slight moan escapes my lips as he
continues his assault on my poor, overloaded senses. Oh, yeah, this
is…nice!

“Your charismatic smile, your knowing ways.” Giles strokes my hair and
gazes directly into my eyes. I could nearly melt under his look. It does
occur to me that I may be losing it, but hey, I figure that if you’re going
to lose it, this is the way to go. Nice, charming, handsome, sexy
Englishman reading incredible poetry. This is unlike anything else I could
ever imagine. Maybe I should attend poetry readings more often!

“Always drawing me in. Forever getting closer,” he goes on. Giles’ voice
is more masculine and charming than ever, and it’s nearly driving me crazy.
Well, that and the thing he’s doing with my ear.

“But how far, I fear I’ll… never know.” He almost seems to stop, to lose
the beat and the rhythm. Oh, no! Giles can’t be done! I open my eyes to
see him staring at me.

“Don’t stop,” I beg him. No, stopping is not of the good. We make our way
over to Professor Walsh’s huge desk, as he obliges me, still kissing my arms
and neck between the lines he’s reading.

“All I know,” he tells me, “Is the bond we share. This emotional chain.”
I’m vaguely aware there are other people in the room, but no one appears to
notice what we’re doing. Giles pushes me back onto the desk as he goes on.

“Am I doomed to keep this distance? Never to know you?” Giles looks at me,
his tender eyes asking my permission. Should I let him? Do I dare? Do I
ever!

“Forever denying the heart that holds mine?” How could I deny those
gorgeous eyes? I lean up to him and press my lips to his. Hard. Our
tongues chase each other teasingly for a few moments before we finally part.
Giles’ hands are still stroking my hair as he goes on.

“Here tonight,” Giles tells me. Instantly, the room goes dark, as if on
cue. Everyone else just puff, disappears. The only space that seems lit up
is the one we’re in. It’s kind of like we’re in a spotlight. “You’re
always here in the night, never in the day.” We kiss again, this time more
intensely than before. We can’t seem to stop. It’s quite awhile before I
can possibly attempt to think again. I’m nearly insane with this. I can’t
seem to get enough. I try to lift his sweater above his head, but he has to
help me. All I get for my trouble is the tee shirt underneath it.

“And I know,” Giles continues, “That it gets better than this.” I finally
manage to get the tee shirt off, and he begins to help me with my blouse.
We end up in the middle of Professor Walsh’s lecture hall wearing only our
jeans and I’m still in my bra. Offhand, I have to wonder what the others
would say if they could see us now. I have to agree with the poem. It does
get better. We kiss one more time as he begins to massage my back. Oh,
yeah…

BRING! BRING! BRING!

Damn clock. I groan as I roll over and slap the button. I look at the
time. It was Saturday, and I had somehow managed to set the alarm to go off
at an inhumanly early hour. How does that thing manage to always interrupt?
It was just getting to the really snuggly part, damn it! Buffy was
spending the night with Riley, so our dorm room was empty aside from me.
It’s too early to even have breakfast, which totally sucks.

I lay in my bed for some time, thinking of my dream and what had meant. The
poem Giles had read to me in my dream keeps running though my mind; it’s
words haunting me. Finally, after about an hour, I eventually give up even
attempting to go back to sleep. I do the only thing I can think of. I grab
the receiver off the cradle and dial an all-too-familiar phone number. It
rings twice before I get an answer.

“Hello,” I hear groggily from the other line. I couldn’t resist the
temptation to do it.

“Giles, it’s me” I answer weakly, not really caring if I woke him up. Well,
okay, not caring too much.

“Oh, hello Willow.”