Aftermath - Chapter 4
Continued from here.
Wesley managed to hold himself together, and away from Rupert. The urge to be back in the other man's arms was . . . intense, but he sat back against the bed and soon Rupert and he were talking again. He relaxed a bit, shifting his walls back into place.
Just because the man was willing to comfort him that way, willing to . . . it didn't mean anything. Of course, there was the part of his mind that was kicking him, insisting that it did, that Rupert had looked at him and that the hands that had rubbed soothing circles on his back had been so gentle and . . . caring.
Shaking those thoughts away, he concentrated on the conversation. He wasn't sure how he and Giles had come around to discussing the Ancient Balvorian sects, but neither did he care. It was good to talk to someone that way again, good to feel as if he could talk to someone about such things.
It had, near to the end, come to seem like a weakness. Now, though, with Giles getting his puns and the two of them debating without need of explanations that turned into lectures . . . it felt as if a weight were lifted for just a little while. Unfortunately, Rupert had to go.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Wes." Giles' hand landed on his shoulder for a moment, brushing down his arm just the slightest bit when Giles pulled away. It could have been--was--completely accidental. Still, it made his cock twitch.
"I look forward to it," Wesley said, forcing himself to be honest when some part of him was screaming at him not to be. Rupert . . . slipped passed his defenses too easily. He really should ask the man not to come back, but the very thought had his stomach twisting into knots.
"I'll bring breakfast, something new for you to try. Is there . . . anything else you need? I know there aren't many clothes here. I should send someone to get you some things, I just . . . uh, didn't think about it. If you like, I can bring you some of my old things, until that's done."
"Thank you," Wes said, though his soft tone was more an attempt to control himself than out of anything else. "Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," Giles smiled at him before shutting the door.
Wesley relaxed back into the pillows, smiling despite himself. Then his eyes fell on the wheelchair and he sighed. A bit of guilt welled up once again, but Wesley quashed it with thoughts of Angel lying there . . .
Nodding to himself, turned to the small alarm clock beside his bed and set it for three hours later. That should give the nurses time to believe everything had settled down . . . and it would give him time for a sorely needed nap.
A nap. How pathetic.
Wesley managed to hold himself together, and away from Rupert. The urge to be back in the other man's arms was . . . intense, but he sat back against the bed and soon Rupert and he were talking again. He relaxed a bit, shifting his walls back into place.
Just because the man was willing to comfort him that way, willing to . . . it didn't mean anything. Of course, there was the part of his mind that was kicking him, insisting that it did, that Rupert had looked at him and that the hands that had rubbed soothing circles on his back had been so gentle and . . . caring.
Shaking those thoughts away, he concentrated on the conversation. He wasn't sure how he and Giles had come around to discussing the Ancient Balvorian sects, but neither did he care. It was good to talk to someone that way again, good to feel as if he could talk to someone about such things.
It had, near to the end, come to seem like a weakness. Now, though, with Giles getting his puns and the two of them debating without need of explanations that turned into lectures . . . it felt as if a weight were lifted for just a little while. Unfortunately, Rupert had to go.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Wes." Giles' hand landed on his shoulder for a moment, brushing down his arm just the slightest bit when Giles pulled away. It could have been--was--completely accidental. Still, it made his cock twitch.
"I look forward to it," Wesley said, forcing himself to be honest when some part of him was screaming at him not to be. Rupert . . . slipped passed his defenses too easily. He really should ask the man not to come back, but the very thought had his stomach twisting into knots.
"I'll bring breakfast, something new for you to try. Is there . . . anything else you need? I know there aren't many clothes here. I should send someone to get you some things, I just . . . uh, didn't think about it. If you like, I can bring you some of my old things, until that's done."
"Thank you," Wes said, though his soft tone was more an attempt to control himself than out of anything else. "Until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," Giles smiled at him before shutting the door.
Wesley relaxed back into the pillows, smiling despite himself. Then his eyes fell on the wheelchair and he sighed. A bit of guilt welled up once again, but Wesley quashed it with thoughts of Angel lying there . . .
Nodding to himself, turned to the small alarm clock beside his bed and set it for three hours later. That should give the nurses time to believe everything had settled down . . . and it would give him time for a sorely needed nap.
A nap. How pathetic.