Yes, the schoolbody idiocy is in full effect. Giles had raced home from the office, showered, shaved and stood in front of the closet fretting over what to wear. It wasn't as if Wes hadn't seen him nearly every day, and never really commented on his appearence - except for that one time when he told Giles he was handsome.
He was definately hoping for another kiss like they shared a few weeks ago, and with Wes's sensitive fingers, that meant wearing something pleasant to the touch. Giles flushed a little in anticipation, remembering that marvellous kiss.
Even a light wool sweater might be too scratchy against Wes' skin, and he wanted it to be perfect in every way. Cotton? Too mundane. Suede? Too hot, really, nearly summer. Silk? Too formal, and too Angel. He shuddered delicately.
He finally remembered a sweater Willow had given him for his birthday. He'd had so little opportunity to wear casual clothes since he began working with the Council again, and it was too lightweight really, for the colder months. There it is. Perfect.
Giles slipped the dark green cashmere sweater over his head, and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. He took a moment to add his favorite silver earring, let out a yelp when he realized how late he was, and hurried out of his flat, giving it one, last panicked glance as he shut the door. Hopefully it was in a fit state for company if Wesley wanted to stop by, after.
Once inside the safehouse, he stopped to catch is breath and let his racing heart calm down. Smiling at himself, he shook his head at his own, utterly smitten behavior.
"Don't think you should be playin darts with hands that shake, Rupes." Spike strolled out from the shadows near the stairs.
"Spike, where did you come from?"
'Just lookin' out at the garden at bit. It's nice out there."
"Did you talk to Angel today? Actually I can tell from the cloud of doom over your head that you didn't."
Spike rolled his eyes. "No" He held up a hand, "And don't tell me I'm bein' a stupid git again, and takin' a page from your old book and running off. This is different."
"Oh, yes, I see how it is entirely, utterly different than me hiding myself and my feelings from the object of my affection. Though if it's this difficult for you to face Angel, maybe - "
"Didn't hide them, weren't you listening? My feelings popped out and landed squarely on Angel's mouth. And shut up about the 'stay away from Angel, he's bad news' crap. Know you're not bosom friends, but he's our bloody champion and my Sire."
Giles sighed explosively. "As you are fond telling me at every opportunity. So, if he's so wonderful and easy to get along with, you're skulking about the garden, why?"
"Besides, he's spendin' some time with Sarah. Saw him walkin' her to her room. Sarah chattering away about drawing and art."
"Oh, so you did see him?"
"Not exactly. Standing a bit down the hall."
Giles just stared at him steadily, part of him worried about Sarah spending time with Angel, and the other part reluctantly admitting that it would give both patients a creative, healing outlet.
"Okay, then, maybe a little skulking." Spike admitted ruefully, then sniffing and taking on a magesterial air, he clapped Giles on the back, "Well, your hands 'ave stopped shaking, so off you go, you're no longer a danger to the pub goers of the city. No need to thank me."
Giles smiled. "You really are an insufferable git, you know that, right?"
"The once and future thorn in your side, and don't you ever forget it."
He was definately hoping for another kiss like they shared a few weeks ago, and with Wes's sensitive fingers, that meant wearing something pleasant to the touch. Giles flushed a little in anticipation, remembering that marvellous kiss.
Even a light wool sweater might be too scratchy against Wes' skin, and he wanted it to be perfect in every way. Cotton? Too mundane. Suede? Too hot, really, nearly summer. Silk? Too formal, and too Angel. He shuddered delicately.
He finally remembered a sweater Willow had given him for his birthday. He'd had so little opportunity to wear casual clothes since he began working with the Council again, and it was too lightweight really, for the colder months. There it is. Perfect.
Giles slipped the dark green cashmere sweater over his head, and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. He took a moment to add his favorite silver earring, let out a yelp when he realized how late he was, and hurried out of his flat, giving it one, last panicked glance as he shut the door. Hopefully it was in a fit state for company if Wesley wanted to stop by, after.
Once inside the safehouse, he stopped to catch is breath and let his racing heart calm down. Smiling at himself, he shook his head at his own, utterly smitten behavior.
"Don't think you should be playin darts with hands that shake, Rupes." Spike strolled out from the shadows near the stairs.
"Spike, where did you come from?"
'Just lookin' out at the garden at bit. It's nice out there."
"Did you talk to Angel today? Actually I can tell from the cloud of doom over your head that you didn't."
Spike rolled his eyes. "No" He held up a hand, "And don't tell me I'm bein' a stupid git again, and takin' a page from your old book and running off. This is different."
"Oh, yes, I see how it is entirely, utterly different than me hiding myself and my feelings from the object of my affection. Though if it's this difficult for you to face Angel, maybe - "
"Didn't hide them, weren't you listening? My feelings popped out and landed squarely on Angel's mouth. And shut up about the 'stay away from Angel, he's bad news' crap. Know you're not bosom friends, but he's our bloody champion and my Sire."
Giles sighed explosively. "As you are fond telling me at every opportunity. So, if he's so wonderful and easy to get along with, you're skulking about the garden, why?"
"Besides, he's spendin' some time with Sarah. Saw him walkin' her to her room. Sarah chattering away about drawing and art."
"Oh, so you did see him?"
"Not exactly. Standing a bit down the hall."
Giles just stared at him steadily, part of him worried about Sarah spending time with Angel, and the other part reluctantly admitting that it would give both patients a creative, healing outlet.
"Okay, then, maybe a little skulking." Spike admitted ruefully, then sniffing and taking on a magesterial air, he clapped Giles on the back, "Well, your hands 'ave stopped shaking, so off you go, you're no longer a danger to the pub goers of the city. No need to thank me."
Giles smiled. "You really are an insufferable git, you know that, right?"
"The once and future thorn in your side, and don't you ever forget it."
"With your daily reminders? Hardly."
"Off you go then, collect your Wesley."
"Goodnight, Spike."
"'Night, Rupes."
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