"I understand all too well how it is to not to be able to be as mobile as it would like, and I'm afraid in the interest of keeping you occupied, and well, quite a selfish desire to spend more time conversing with you, I've made quite the wrong impression."
"What -"
"I enjoy your company, Wes. Simple as that," Giles chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. Wesley's expression was utterly priceless - totally gobsmacked.
"I don't give a tinker's damn whether or not you work from your hospital bed for me, Angel the Council, the Reformed Brotherhood of Hammer-Tossing Donkeys, or bloody Wolfram & Hart. I just want to you get well, and hopefully not be bored out of your mind while you heal. So please, if I've given you any impression that I'm just visiting to wheedle knowledge out of you, I'm dreadfully sorry.
There was a long pause as Wesley contemplated this. I enjoy your company, Wes. . That, combined with the man's presence, gave him a deliciously warm feeling.
This morning, Wes had decided that his best course of action would be to plunge himself into researching Angel's cure, since he'd obviously burned his bridges with Rupert Giles. He studiously ignored how horrible it felt to know that the man wouldn't be coming back, and that once again, it was his fault. But there the man was, hammering away -
"Wait, what was that was that about Hammer-Tossing Donkeys?"
"Quite an attractive option, yes? Well, if you're going to work with them you'll have to make the calls yourself as I've never got on with the lead ass. He tossed a hammer at me," Chuckling, Giles cut his sandwich into two and handed half to Wesley with a chuckle at the man's expression.
"Uh, no, I--"
"Eat," Giles insisted, though he kept his voice soft. "I can pick up something on my way to the office, later. You, however, have to live with whatever they give you and, frankly, I don't think they're too happy with you."
Wesley accepted the plate with a chuckle. "It really is delicious," he said with a small smile to Giles as he dug in to the other half of the sandwich. The two of them sat in a fairly comfortable silence as they ate. Giles watched Wes out of the corner of his eye, smiling at the delighted faces the man made. Those small, half stifled groans and moans were not making things particularly easy on him, but he wasn't about to tell Wes that.
Wesley? Could you please stop moaning over that sandwich? You're turning me on. No, that was certainly not something to say so early in this new . . . whatever it was, but the thought did make him laugh.
Wesley looked up at Giles' amused laughter, the sound twisting things inside of him, but it such a wonderful way. He couldn't help but to smile in return, raising an eyebrow at the man.
"Oh, I'm just delighted that you enjoyed it," Giles motioned to Wes' now empty plate with a nod his head.
"It was fantastic," Wes put his place aside, leaning back into the pillows with a contented sigh. He felt better and he wasn't fool enough to think it was just the lovely breakfast. While Giles had said he'd be in in the morning, Wesley hadn't believed he get to see him, get to be surrounded by the lovely scent that was currently strong enough to fill the room.
Wes was surprised to find he'd slipped into a very light doze, more surprised to find Giles leaning over him when he opened his eyes.
His breath caught and he couldn't help but to inhaled deeply. His heart picked up a quicker beat, pounding in his ears. They didn't go away when he realized that Giles was reaching for the empty plate Wes had put on the opposite side of the bed. Especial not since Giles' stomach was pressed, firm and warm against his arm. The man's skin was so close, his neck close enough to kiss if Wesley leaned up.
The moment was over too quickly. Giles reached the plate and pulled back, apparently entirely unaware that Wesley was awake, let alone hard and aching to touch. In fact, the man whistled softly as he put everything away.
Well, thank god. That went well. Giles congratulated himself. Taking a page from Spike's book and not letting the man get a word in edgewise works beautifully. Not that I'd ever tell Spike that.
And he didn't mind the entirely sexy noises Wes made while he was eating, either, but made a note to himself that he probably wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself for meals over two courses at the moment. Though I do wonder what would happen if I made him one of his favorites? He bit back a chuckle, so as not to wake Wes.
Brushing the crumbs from his hands as the set the dishes on the small side table, he turned back to see if Wes was still asleep. His eyes were closed, his face was flushed and his breathing was slightly heavier than normal.
"Wesley, are you alright? Are you having a nightmare?" Giles hurried across the room to lay a hand on the sleeping man's shoulder, and shook him gently.
Wesley gasped at the feel of Giles' hand, his eyes snapping open to find the man staring down at him--and really, no ones eyes should be that damned green.
"Uh, I'm . . . fine, just . . . dreaming." He whispered the last word, eyes flicking away from Giles' face. "Really, it's nothing."
Giles gave him a dubious look, but nodded and stepped away. Wesley could feel the man's gaze on him now, as Giles straightened up the room. He was a bit unnerved to find that the sensation was not at all unpleasant, though it made his mouth go dry.
"Uh, so, what did--what did you find out about the Slayer's dreams?"
Giles turned, giving him an ironic half-smile. "I thought we weren't going to discuss work?"
"Uh," Wesley shrugged, "I'm . . . not sure what else to discuss, frankly."
"Well, there's the weather, which you wouldn't know about. Uh, there's music, which I doubt you listen to. There's sports, which you haven't seen." Giles sat back down in his chair, scooting it a bit closer to Wes' bedside, his voice dropping to that deep, rich tone that . . . did things to Wes' concentration. "And there's . . . us."
Wesley could have swore he stopped breathing for a moment. Then, forcing his face to stay neutral, his voice to remain calm.
"Us?"
"You and I. For instance, I don't know all that much about you outside of work things," Well, Giles added to himself, Not that you'd remember, or likely even want to remember, telling me.
"Ah, well," Wesley said, looking up at the ceiling to collect his thoughts - and to get himself under a modicum of control. "It seems that I at some point in time, took great exception to jelly donuts, but I do have quite a sweet tooth." He opened his eyes and looked at Giles. "Did I give any sort of reason for battering the good people of this house with pastries?"
Giles contemplated Wesley for a moment, his head tilted to the side, he smile deepened and his eyes twinkled. "You took great exception to what one of the nursed wanted you to wear, and wouldn't hear otherwise from anyone. So, whoever expressed an opinion was pelted soundly, and treated to a rather colorful stream of abuse." He rubbed his nose, remembering the explosion of filling coursing down his face. "You have marvelous aim."
Blushing furiously Wesley said, "Oh dear, it sounds like I had the worst sort of tantrum - though I'm not really clear on the exact procedure since I was not the tantrum sort of child."
He rubbed his fingers gently across the counterpane, enjoying the texture of the fabric while he thought. "My aim, actually, is one gift that I can take no credit for. It's just there - like some people are gifted with singing voices, or the ability to fence extraordinarily well," he gave Rupert a significant glance, letting him know he remembered all too well the older man's fencing skills. "I can hit pretty much anything I wish to - archery, sharpshooting....darts."
"I'm not so bad at darts myself," Giles said. "Perhaps when you're feeling better, we can go down to the pub 'round the corner and just see about that."
Wesley's eyebrows rose. "Hmm, you did say you liked a challenge," he said confidently, though a flock of anticipatory butterflies had just hatched in his stomach. "You're on."
Giles nodded graciously to the acceptance of his proposal, though inside he was grinning broadly. And if the gods love me at all, I've just made our first date.
"So you're a marksman in several different categories, and have a sweet tooth, and for some reason, I have the feeling that you've used that aim of yours to hustle a few dart games."
Wes gave him a broadly innocent look. "Only if I was hungry and penniless," he said sincerely, "or needing pocket money at school. Or perhaps a rare volume or two. Really not very often at all."
Giles snorted with amusement. "Oh dear, I may be over my head. Moving on to topics that are less potentially damaging to my chequebook, what's your favorite sweet? Perhaps I should offer making it for my wager when we play darts."
Wes' eyes glazed over. "That's a very tempting offer." He unconsciously liked his lips, and missed the brief, hungry look in the other man's eyes.
"You're already imagining eating it - and we haven't even played the match. Come on, let me hear what I'm going to have to make when you soundly trounce me. If you soundly trounce me."
"Hmmm," Wesley smiled and Giles wanted to get closer. Still, he thought that moving his chair any nearer might be a bit too much. He wanted to take this slow, give Wes plenty of time to pick up on the signals, plenty of time to recover and figure out what he wanted. After all the man had been through, he couldn't expect Wes to have his head sorted so soon. "Well, I've always been partial to chocolate cake."
"That’s it?" Giles' eyes widened. "And here I worried I'd have to make . . . baked Alaska or some such thing . . . if I lost. The question is, if I win, what will you give me."
Giles watched Wesley's eyebrow raise at the question, a jolt of arousal shooting through him when the man licked his lips, nervous or aroused? It was hard to tell, actually, but Wesley didn't show any other signs of nervousness. Too bad it was much, much to early to check for further . . . signs of arousal.
"Well, uh . . . I'm not sure. I could translate something for you, but I' sure you could do that, or have others to do it for you. I could, uh . . . I don't know. What do you want?"
"Yes, Wesley, I do apologize. I'm sure -"
"But -"
"I understand all too well how it is to not to be able to be as mobile as it would like, and I'm afraid in the interest of keeping you occupied, and well, quite a selfish desire to spend more time conversing with you, I've made quite the wrong impression."
"What -"
"I enjoy your company, Wes. Simple as that," Giles chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. Wesley's expression was utterly priceless - totally gobsmacked.
"I don't give a tinker's damn whether or not you work from your hospital bed for me, Angel the Council, the Reformed Brotherhood of Hammer-Tossing Donkeys, or bloody Wolfram & Hart. I just want to you get well, and hopefully not be bored out of your mind while you heal. So please, if I've given you any impression that I'm just visiting to wheedle knowledge out of you, I'm dreadfully sorry.
There was a long pause as Wesley contemplated this. I enjoy your company, Wes. . That, combined with the man's presence, gave him a deliciously warm feeling.
This morning, Wes had decided that his best course of action would be to plunge himself into researching Angel's cure, since he'd obviously burned his bridges with Rupert Giles. He studiously ignored how horrible it felt to know that the man wouldn't be coming back, and that once again, it was his fault. But there the man was, hammering away -
"Wait, what was that was that about Hammer-Tossing Donkeys?"
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"Uh, no, I--"
"Eat," Giles insisted, though he kept his voice soft. "I can pick up something on my way to the office, later. You, however, have to live with whatever they give you and, frankly, I don't think they're too happy with you."
Wesley accepted the plate with a chuckle. "It really is delicious," he said with a small smile to Giles as he dug in to the other half of the sandwich. The two of them sat in a fairly comfortable silence as they ate. Giles watched Wes out of the corner of his eye, smiling at the delighted faces the man made. Those small, half stifled groans and moans were not making things particularly easy on him, but he wasn't about to tell Wes that.
Wesley? Could you please stop moaning over that sandwich? You're turning me on. No, that was certainly not something to say so early in this new . . . whatever it was, but the thought did make him laugh.
Wesley looked up at Giles' amused laughter, the sound twisting things inside of him, but it such a wonderful way. He couldn't help but to smile in return, raising an eyebrow at the man.
"Oh, I'm just delighted that you enjoyed it," Giles motioned to Wes' now empty plate with a nod his head.
"It was fantastic," Wes put his place aside, leaning back into the pillows with a contented sigh. He felt better and he wasn't fool enough to think it was just the lovely breakfast. While Giles had said he'd be in in the morning, Wesley hadn't believed he get to see him, get to be surrounded by the lovely scent that was currently strong enough to fill the room.
Wes was surprised to find he'd slipped into a very light doze, more surprised to find Giles leaning over him when he opened his eyes.
His breath caught and he couldn't help but to inhaled deeply. His heart picked up a quicker beat, pounding in his ears. They didn't go away when he realized that Giles was reaching for the empty plate Wes had put on the opposite side of the bed. Especial not since Giles' stomach was pressed, firm and warm against his arm. The man's skin was so close, his neck close enough to kiss if Wesley leaned up.
The moment was over too quickly. Giles reached the plate and pulled back, apparently entirely unaware that Wesley was awake, let alone hard and aching to touch. In fact, the man whistled softly as he put everything away.
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And he didn't mind the entirely sexy noises Wes made while he was eating, either, but made a note to himself that he probably wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself for meals over two courses at the moment. Though I do wonder what would happen if I made him one of his favorites? He bit back a chuckle, so as not to wake Wes.
Brushing the crumbs from his hands as the set the dishes on the small side table, he turned back to see if Wes was still asleep. His eyes were closed, his face was flushed and his breathing was slightly heavier than normal.
"Wesley, are you alright? Are you having a nightmare?" Giles hurried across the room to lay a hand on the sleeping man's shoulder, and shook him gently.
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"Uh, I'm . . . fine, just . . . dreaming." He whispered the last word, eyes flicking away from Giles' face. "Really, it's nothing."
Giles gave him a dubious look, but nodded and stepped away. Wesley could feel the man's gaze on him now, as Giles straightened up the room. He was a bit unnerved to find that the sensation was not at all unpleasant, though it made his mouth go dry.
"Uh, so, what did--what did you find out about the Slayer's dreams?"
Giles turned, giving him an ironic half-smile. "I thought we weren't going to discuss work?"
"Uh," Wesley shrugged, "I'm . . . not sure what else to discuss, frankly."
"Well, there's the weather, which you wouldn't know about. Uh, there's music, which I doubt you listen to. There's sports, which you haven't seen." Giles sat back down in his chair, scooting it a bit closer to Wes' bedside, his voice dropping to that deep, rich tone that . . . did things to Wes' concentration. "And there's . . . us."
Wesley could have swore he stopped breathing for a moment. Then, forcing his face to stay neutral, his voice to remain calm.
"Us?"
"You and I. For instance, I don't know all that much about you outside of work things," Well, Giles added to himself, Not that you'd remember, or likely even want to remember, telling me.
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Giles contemplated Wesley for a moment, his head tilted to the side, he smile deepened and his eyes twinkled. "You took great exception to what one of the nursed wanted you to wear, and wouldn't hear otherwise from anyone. So, whoever expressed an opinion was pelted soundly, and treated to a rather colorful stream of abuse." He rubbed his nose, remembering the explosion of filling coursing down his face. "You have marvelous aim."
Blushing furiously Wesley said, "Oh dear, it sounds like I had the worst sort of tantrum - though I'm not really clear on the exact procedure since I was not the tantrum sort of child."
He rubbed his fingers gently across the counterpane, enjoying the texture of the fabric while he thought. "My aim, actually, is one gift that I can take no credit for. It's just there - like some people are gifted with singing voices, or the ability to fence extraordinarily well," he gave Rupert a significant glance, letting him know he remembered all too well the older man's fencing skills. "I can hit pretty much anything I wish to - archery, sharpshooting....darts."
"I'm not so bad at darts myself," Giles said. "Perhaps when you're feeling better, we can go down to the pub 'round the corner and just see about that."
Wesley's eyebrows rose. "Hmm, you did say you liked a challenge," he said confidently, though a flock of anticipatory butterflies had just hatched in his stomach. "You're on."
Giles nodded graciously to the acceptance of his proposal, though inside he was grinning broadly. And if the gods love me at all, I've just made our first date.
"So you're a marksman in several different categories, and have a sweet tooth, and for some reason, I have the feeling that you've used that aim of yours to hustle a few dart games."
Wes gave him a broadly innocent look. "Only if I was hungry and penniless," he said sincerely, "or needing pocket money at school. Or perhaps a rare volume or two. Really not very often at all."
Giles snorted with amusement. "Oh dear, I may be over my head. Moving on to topics that are less potentially damaging to my chequebook, what's your favorite sweet? Perhaps I should offer making it for my wager when we play darts."
Wes' eyes glazed over. "That's a very tempting offer." He unconsciously liked his lips, and missed the brief, hungry look in the other man's eyes.
"You're already imagining eating it - and we haven't even played the match. Come on, let me hear what I'm going to have to make when you soundly trounce me. If you soundly trounce me."
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"That’s it?" Giles' eyes widened. "And here I worried I'd have to make . . . baked Alaska or some such thing . . . if I lost. The question is, if I win, what will you give me."
Giles watched Wesley's eyebrow raise at the question, a jolt of arousal shooting through him when the man licked his lips, nervous or aroused? It was hard to tell, actually, but Wesley didn't show any other signs of nervousness. Too bad it was much, much to early to check for further . . . signs of arousal.
"Well, uh . . . I'm not sure. I could translate something for you, but I' sure you could do that, or have others to do it for you. I could, uh . . . I don't know. What do you want?"
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