Buffy: Dawn, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It's unbelievably important. You should eat breakfast at least three times a day.

Giles woke with a start, unsure for a moment where he was. He took a moment to cast his gaze around the room, which helped in no way at all, and then fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table.

As the room swam into focus, Giles scrubbed a hand through his hair and his life fell into place to rest easily in his mind: Thursday, Cleveland, Euclid Avenue, morning…There was one more thing—

Xander pushed the bedroom door open with his shoulder, carrying a bed tray in his hands. At seeing Giles pushing himself up to a sitting position, he grinned and moved a little quicker, although not so fast that he wasn’t still visibly careful, obviously conscious of the lack of depth perception that having just one eye gave him.

“Happy new recruits day!” he exclaimed, letting Giles take the tray from him and settle it over his legs as he shrugged off his robe (thick, terry-cloth, bold stripes that Xander called ‘striking’ and Giles called ‘blinding’) and slipped back into bed.

Giles took a moment to appreciate Xander’s bare chest, grown more defined from training new Slayers than it had been during his construction career, but he was quickly distracted by the steaming pot of tea in front of him.

As he poured out, he was already considering the twenty new girls that he and Xander and Dawn would be meeting at Woodling Gymnasium that afternoon.

Before he could lift the cup to his lips or start compiling lists of names, drills, plans, weapons, potential disasters, Xander turned his face away from the tray with one large hand on his cheek; the rasp of palm on stubble sounded loud in Giles’ ears.

“Oh no,” said Xander, “No tactical maneuvers before breakfast.” And then his mouth was on Giles’, his kiss today as full of love and light and promise as the first one had been so many months ago.

It was sheer luck that Giles didn’t wind up with a lap full of hot tea.

XXX

Dawn: Are we the International House of something?
Buffy: Nope. Got up early, and it felt like a breakfast kind of morning. Okay, what kind of syrup do you want on your pancakes?
Dawn: Syrups have kinds?

As the room swam into focus, Giles scrubbed a hand through his hair and his life fell into place to rest fuzzily in his mind: Los Angeles, Friday, Velvet Underground, afternoon…There was one more thing—

Oz rolled over with a slither of leather jewelry and a puppy dog whine and wrapped himself around Giles, arms and legs effectively pinning him in place as they entwined themselves with his own. With a snuffling sigh and a couple of painful thumps on Giles’ chest with his head, Oz relaxed and was breathing quietly again a few moments later without ever having woken up properly.

Giles hadn’t woken up when Oz had slipped into bed sometime in the night, but now that he was rested, he couldn’t miss the smell of wet dog that underscored Oz’s natural patchouli and sandalwood scent. There was no hair in the bed, for which Giles was grateful, but he did notice that the t-shirt and sweat pants bunched at the foot of the bed were torn in places and he could pretend all he wanted that the red streaks were paint, but he wouldn’t be fooling anyone.

Hoping that nobody would be reporting missing pets today, Giles let his mind wander back to the night before, smiling to himself at thoughts of dope, classic rock, guitar riffs and smoke filled kisses. He let one hand wander through the disheveled mop of hair on Oz’s head, wondered just how long he’d get to enjoy its ruddy auburn hue before Oz dyed it again, and tried to remember crawling into bed as Oz had left him to run with the moon.

Oz nuzzled at his chest with another one of those sleepy grumbles and his breath warmed Giles chest, making him shiver. Another, stronger jolt of desire shot through him when  Oz worried at one peaked nipple with sharp teeth and then settled again, lips firmly wrapped around that stiff bit of flesh.

It was sheer luck that Giles didn’t wind up with some mystical form of rabies.

XXX

As the room swam into focus, Giles scrubbed a hand through his hair and his life fell into place to rest painfully in his mind: Sunnydale, Sunday, Dawn, Buffy, dawn…There was one more thing—

Spike pushed his way through the door without speaking, his long coat barely completing a twirl around his ankles before he was shoving it off his shoulders to fall to the floor with an audible thump. His shirt followed seconds later and Giles only had a moment to gasp at the fresh bruises on his vampire’s slim pale chest before jeans and boots were dropped just as unceremoniously in a crash of buckles and pocket change and a very naked, very aroused Spike was crawling across the bed.

Spike pushed aside blankets and sheets with rough efficiency and replaced them over Giles body with  himself. A low growl was the only warning Giles got before his glasses were ripped from his face and tossed carelessly aside as Spike nudged his chin with curls still stiff with gel. Giles obliged him with a growl of his own as Spike latched onto his throat, suckling toothlessly at his carotid for long enough to get Giles hard but not long enough to make him nervous. Even when he moved to the patch of soft skin behind Giles right ear and let just a hint of fang run over it, Giles responded with a hearty moan of approval.

Spike had told Giles he trusted him not to cry out in pain, which would trigger the chip. And Giles trusted that Spike wouldn’t kill him for his acquiescence. So as Spike continued to nip at his neck and shoulder, Giles reached down between them to grasp both of their cocks in a grip both practiced and sure.

They both shuddered at the first stroke, Spike bit a little harder than necessary and then he pulled Giles hand away, making them both groan.

Spike found his other hand, wrapped cool pale fingers around both wrists and shoved them up over Giles’ head.

“Keep ‘em there, Watcher,” he growled, and Giles discovered his penis could, in fact, become even more erect. “You’ll get your end away, but only when I say.”

It must have been a very bad night, Giles thought, understanding what Spike needed and why like no one else, not even Drusilla could have. He wrapped his hands around the wooden slats at the top of the bed and shifted his legs as Spike settled between them.  He closed his eyes and his grip grew tighter as he felt Spike run one finger slowly over his bollocks and keep moving lower.

It was sheer luck that Giles didn’t turn the headboard into potential stakes.