Giles stuttered to a halt as he was caught by a hungry look in Wes' eyes. A long moment stretched between the two men as they sat and stared at one another - both awash in arousal and attraction. Giles felt his control beginning to fray - he'd seen the look before, it seemed a clear sign. Then Wesley's face shuttered again, and he looked away, blushing and clearing his throat.
Wesley's breath had caught in his chest. The last time someone had looked like that - admiring, wanting - it had been Fred. And look how well that had turned out. He could be imagining the whole thing, but it was just overwhelming - nearly inconceiveable that Rupert Giles - Wes cast around for a subject and hit on an old standby. Work.
"So, I'd really like to hear about the slayer's dreams. If you have time. I seem to have run out of personal information."
Drat. I've done something wrong. "I'm sure we haven't exhausted the subject, but very well, if you like." Giles rose and went to the satchel where he kept his papers.
Wesley felt the absence of Giles' proximity keenly. If only he could know how the man felt. Ooh, Pryce, and that would sign Giles' death warrant, wouldn't it? Best not to get involved. Best to not even imagine what he saw was the truth.
"Here are copies of a the reports, notes, and drawings the Slayers made yesterday," Giles said, dropping to folders lightly on to Wesley's bed. He struggled not to retreat. What he'd seen . . . it had been there, even if Wes had quickly closed himself off again, what he'd seen in that instant had been real.
At least, he kept telling himself that. Retaking his seat on the bed, fighting his need to retreat, put space between them, Giles motioned to the files. "Feel free to read through them at your leisure. I’ve only made it through half of it myself, but . . . I think there may be some clues, if . . . damn, if we just knew what we were looking for."
The subject of work felt well-worn and comfortable to both of them. Wesley slipped into that role easily. Giles picked up some of what he'd not read through and Wesley began with the reports. For almost an hour, the silence was comfortable between them, though Wes kept being jarred into earlier thoughts by the brush of a hand, or a moment of shared annoyance.
At one point he looked up and found Giles studying him. His chest tightened, the soft smile on Giles' face making him blink to see if it would still be there.
"Uh, I think, perhaps, I've . . . monopolized you all morning and . . . I should get to the office."
Was it regret in Giles' voice, or was the man's reluctance only a product of his . . . quite active, it seemed, imagination?
"Uh, yes . . . I'm sure there are important matters that need your attention."
Giles struggled not to smile over that phrasing, his mind immediately wanting to ask what 'important matters' Wesley might need to him to give attention to.
"Er, well, with so many Slayers and Watchers running about, I . . . I should talk to them, and there's paperwork. Nothing . . . nothing I wouldn't rather shrug off, but . . . it has to be done."
"Right," Wesley tried to disguise his disappointment, though some small part of him noted that Giles didn't seem to be in any hurry to get his things together and go. "Would you, uh, lock the door on your way out?" Wesley licked suddenly dry lips. The other man's scent had grown stronger in the last moment and Wesley was glad he'd arranged himself so that his suddenly renewed erection would catch the man's eye. "I, uh, would like to rest a bit and I'd rather not wake up to a nurse with a blood pressure gauge."
Wesley's breath had caught in his chest. The last time someone had looked like that - admiring, wanting - it had been Fred. And look how well that had turned out. He could be imagining the whole thing, but it was just overwhelming - nearly inconceiveable that Rupert Giles - Wes cast around for a subject and hit on an old standby. Work.
"So, I'd really like to hear about the slayer's dreams. If you have time. I seem to have run out of personal information."
Drat. I've done something wrong. "I'm sure we haven't exhausted the subject, but very well, if you like." Giles rose and went to the satchel where he kept his papers.
Wesley felt the absence of Giles' proximity keenly. If only he could know how the man felt. Ooh, Pryce, and that would sign Giles' death warrant, wouldn't it? Best not to get involved. Best to not even imagine what he saw was the truth.
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At least, he kept telling himself that. Retaking his seat on the bed, fighting his need to retreat, put space between them, Giles motioned to the files. "Feel free to read through them at your leisure. I’ve only made it through half of it myself, but . . . I think there may be some clues, if . . . damn, if we just knew what we were looking for."
The subject of work felt well-worn and comfortable to both of them. Wesley slipped into that role easily. Giles picked up some of what he'd not read through and Wesley began with the reports. For almost an hour, the silence was comfortable between them, though Wes kept being jarred into earlier thoughts by the brush of a hand, or a moment of shared annoyance.
At one point he looked up and found Giles studying him. His chest tightened, the soft smile on Giles' face making him blink to see if it would still be there.
"Uh, I think, perhaps, I've . . . monopolized you all morning and . . . I should get to the office."
Was it regret in Giles' voice, or was the man's reluctance only a product of his . . . quite active, it seemed, imagination?
"Uh, yes . . . I'm sure there are important matters that need your attention."
Giles struggled not to smile over that phrasing, his mind immediately wanting to ask what 'important matters' Wesley might need to him to give attention to.
"Er, well, with so many Slayers and Watchers running about, I . . . I should talk to them, and there's paperwork. Nothing . . . nothing I wouldn't rather shrug off, but . . . it has to be done."
"Right," Wesley tried to disguise his disappointment, though some small part of him noted that Giles didn't seem to be in any hurry to get his things together and go. "Would you, uh, lock the door on your way out?" Wesley licked suddenly dry lips. The other man's scent had grown stronger in the last moment and Wesley was glad he'd arranged himself so that his suddenly renewed erection would catch the man's eye. "I, uh, would like to rest a bit and I'd rather not wake up to a nurse with a blood pressure gauge."
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