Fic: Roman Holiday (Giles/Xander, Adult)
It’s a Giles/Xander miracle: I actually finished my fic for summer_of_giles! *breathes huge sigh of relief*
Title: Roman Holiday
Author: cordelianne
Characters/Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: Adult (barely)
Word Count: 2,093
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, Joss own them.
Warnings: Impromptu music, two thousand year old mould, active participation.
Summary: Post-Chosen. There’s another apocalypse looming, although the biggest challenge for Giles isn’t the evil fiends.
A/N: Thanks to the wonderful mods of summer_of_giles for continuing to organize this fantastic community!
Thanks to the completely wonderful savoytruffle for her invaluable beta. Any mistakes are mine (and you're always welcome to point out any to me!).
The room is so quiet each page turn slices the air like an irregular drum beat.
Giles’ impromptu music joins with the faint beating of his flat neighbour’s mindless beating music. It could be something radio-friendly and popular or a heavy metal riff for all Giles can tell or care. It’s bloody annoying.
He places the volume on the table beside him and stretches. He should do something.
Go out.
Enjoy being back in London.
Visit old friends or museums.
But none of that - nor his book - appeals to Giles.
He feels restless, but he doesn’t know what for. Nothing satisfies.
Tea is the temporary answer and he rises to brew a pot when the phone rings. When he sees Buffy’s number on the screen he gives his least worried oh-dear-it’s-another-apocalypse sigh and grabs the phone.
Rome greets him with heat and beating sun.
Giles steps off the plane, shading his eyes and cursing the need for warm trousers in the cool plane - they’re already sticking to his legs.
Fortunately it’s a short walk into the terminal which is not as air conditioned as he’d like it to be. Clearly too many years in California has acclimatized him to bloody cold buildings.
It takes so long for his luggage that he imagines there must be one guy, slowly placing one bag on the belt and then sitting down for a minute before doing the next bag. Giles sympathizes with the need to sit down , he’d like to do that himself - his hips ache at the thought - however since there are no chairs, he stands and waits.
He watches two small girls play tug of war with a suitcase. Not surprisingly the blonde one is winning.
Pulling his suitcase, he pushes through the crowd looking for one blonde in particular. She finds him first and throws her arms around him.
He smiles for the first time that day.
Buffy shoulders his carryon as if it weighs nothing - which it would to her - grabs his suitcase and navigates them through the crowd with ease. As they head to the exit he has a flash of panic that Buffy is going to drive. In Rome of all places.
When he expresses this fear to Buffy with as much tact as possible she laughs.
“Oh god Giles, can you see me driving here?” The scary thing is he can. “But seriously, Dawn forbade me and I don’t cross her when she’s serious - she’s scary. So we’re train-ing it.”
Giles heaves a sigh of relief and hopes for an air conditioned train.
It’s still hot at 9:30pm at night. Giles is sweating through his clothes despite having showered and changed into more climate appropriate slacks.
Buffy looks perfectly at home with her hair swept up and wearing a flimsy white sundress. Definitely climate appropriate but whether it’s appropriate for breaking into a centuries old church and fighting evil fiends is another question.
She lifts her foot to break the door down and Giles notices the security camera. “Stop!” he calls, annoyed that churches have become as security conscious as the rest of the world. Whatever happened to trusting in God’s protection? “There’s a security system.”
Buffy is paused mid-kick. “Crap, I hate these things.” She pulls a cell out of the top of her dress - Giles doesn’t want to know where she’s keeping the stakes - and hits a speed dial. “Will, there’s security… Oh you did? You’re awesome! What would I do without you?... Right dead or arrested.” She clicks off the cell and smashes the door open with one precise kick.
They descend two levels down to where it’s the most musty and dank. Giles tries not to think about the two thousand year old mould and instead be alert for what could be lurking in the dark shadows.
He’s peering around an ominous corner when a hand claps on his back.
He narrowly avoids a heart attack because there’s something about that hand that’s familiar - and friendly.
“Giles,” Xander says as he pulls him into a hug.
“Xander!” Buffy bounces over. “You’re here!” She throws herself into the hug.
He’s reminded of their younger selves, the ones he met many years ago - has it really been only ten years?
Before he can properly stroll down memory lane, they’re interrupted by a voice behind them, “Aw, how sweet and here we thought we’d be all by ourselves.”
And so the fighting begins.
If he can avoid a hit to the head he’ll consider it a success.
Maybe Giles should rethink his definition of success. His head is throbbing although the ice pack does seem to be helping.
“Here,” Buffy pours a generous glass of red wine. “This’ll help the pain. Proven Buffy bruise treatment.”
They clink glasses to their defeat of a yet another vampire cult set on destroying the world. You’d think evil would try something new, perhaps start an international conglomerate and try to take over the world - wouldn’t be too hard to blend in.
Buffy and Willow practically fall over each other laughing at some story or joke of Xander’s, which Giles had missed. Xander gives him a faux sad face, “You’re not letting a little concussion distract you from the story of how I lost my shoes on the way to Lomé, are you?”
Hm, perhaps the blow to the head has made him a tad unfocused. “I’m fine,” he mutters uncomfortable under Xander's increased scrutiny. He sips the wine as if that’ll prove his point.
The conversation keeps flowing.
So does the wine.
It’s a good night. Head bump and all.
Three hours later he finds himself back at his hotel room, along with Xander who's placed himself on “Giles concussion watch.”
They drag the one chair out to the tiny balcony. Xander takes the ground, leaning against the wall after insisting the “injured man” take the chair. Giles doesn’t argue, he’s not sure his hips can handle the hard ground.
“So Spanish Steps,” Xander gestures at them - they have a good view from the balcony. “Nice.” He nods his approval.
“Yes.” It’s nice to see them absent the normally inevitable swarm of tourists. “The best time to view them.”
They sit in silence for a few minutes, each responsibly drinking water.
“So, Giles, staying long enough to see the sites?”
“You mean besides first century basilicas being desecrated by evil fiends?” That gets a small smile from Xander. “Perhaps I could be persuaded. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Forum.”
“Ooh, going with you would be like having my very own personal tour guide.” While talking Xander’s hands had been in movement but on guide he rests one hand on Giles’ knee.
It’s warm.
And nice.
He clears his throat. “You assume that I’d be a good tour guide. Why is that?”
Xander’s hand remains where it is, his thumb rubs Giles’ knee. “Seriously? How can you even ask that? You’re a real trained Watcher, and not one of us pick-it-up-as-we-go-along guys. Knowledge is your job! You’re book guy!”
“Ah yes, but ‘book guy’” - he makes air quotes and when he drops his hands he places one on Xander’s - “as it concerns demons and vampires, not ancient ruins.”
There’s a hint of a smile on Xander’s face. “Oh come on, like there were no demons and vampires in Roman times.”
Giles can’t help but smile. “You have me there.”
“Oh I do, do I?” There’s an undercurrent in his voice. Of insinuation, of promise.
And then Xander’s standing, grasping Giles hands and pulling him to his feet and back into the room. It’s like they’re picking up from last time. Like there hasn’t been three months of not talking and not seeing each other since then.
He lets Xander take the lead, again.
Lets him be the first one to kiss.
The first to shove off a shirt.
The one to push Giles onto the bed.
Not that Giles is passive in all this. He's participating. Actively. His mouth ghosts over Xander’s throat and bites at his collarbone, while his hands shove at jeans to grip Xander’s arse.
Xander moans low and full of want and Giles thinks he’s never been harder than he is right now.
Xander pushes off just enough to get a condom and lube from his pocket and kick off his jeans and boxers.
Without fully realizing he’s done it, Giles has stripped and is lying naked on the bed.
A tanned and hard Xander leans over him, ready to, well, fuck him. It’s the best thing he’s seen in months.
He surrenders willingly.
They do go to the Forum the next day. Strolling through the ruins, their conversation spans the weather, Roman history and demonolgy. Giles feels just like any other tourist. Well, excepting the demonology.
And perhaps excepting the confusion engendered by the feeling of Xander’s hand resting on his lower back as they gaze up at the beam of light filtering into the senate building. Giles suspects that few other tourists are as befuddled as he by the simple touch of his traveling companion.
Xander's hand drops away, probably responding to an involuntary tensing of the muscles beneath his fingertips, and Giles regrets the loss.
He needs to go somewhere quiet, where he can think.
Somewhere the sun won’t beat down on his head with a ferocity he’s not used to.
Once in his hotel room, Giles intends to reflect. To determine what he wants, how he would like things to progress.
Naturally, he naps instead, surrendering to the reassuring simplicity of sleep.
He awakens a few hours later and stumbles to answer the door, still groggy.
Xander stands, jingling keys in his pocket with a too bright smile on his face. “Dinner?”
Giles waves him in while he tries to shove the grogginess aside and get his brain to work.
“I’m thinking pizza, because it’s pizza and who doesn’t love pizza, and also the pizza is really really good here.” Xander blinks. “Wow, I just said pizza a lot of times didn’t I? So are you in?”
The last question is said with a rush, like Xander isn’t just asking about pizza despite saying the word five times.
“Pizza is fine, Xander.”
He’s rewarded with a blinding - and genuine - smile. Giles decides to be the one who takes the first step this time. “I’m also interested in more than just pizza.”
“Oh, so um…?” It’s amusing to see Xander lost for words.
“I think -” Giles sits on the bed and motions for Xander to so the same. “- that, well, that it would be nice to see you more than just every time there’s an apocalypse. That is, they do tend to be rather unpredictable. And one could hope that they will not always be frequent.”
“Oh!” Xander’s hand finds its way to Giles’ knee. “Yeah, that would be, well, you know, um, good.”
He places his hand on Xander’s and feels lighter than… he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this light.
Xander keeps talking because he’s Xander and that’s what Xander does. “Lately I’ve been thinking of making London my home base. I just really want to live in a rainy and grey place, forget about warmth and sun.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Xander, of course there is-”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissing Giles defense of his home. “But I hear it has double-decker buses and the Queen, and if so, I’m so there.”
He’s not sure why he wants to spend time with this idiot, but he does. “With those very compelling reasons, how can you not come to London?”
“Exactly! My logic is infallible.”
Since Giles can think of no reasonable response to that, he kisses Xander. It really is the best solution, plus Xander isn’t complaining.
After a minute, they pull back breathless and stare at each other.
Giles’ head is full of all the things he wants to do with and to Xander. And then Xander’s stomach rumbles. Loudly.
Giles chuckles. “I believe you were suggesting dinner. Something about pizza?”
“Yes, I’m starving.” Xander pulls him to his feet. “First food, then sex.”
“I like the way your mind works,” Giles says, for the first time ever to Xander.
“Wait till you hear some of my other brilliant ideas.”
“I can only imagine.” And he’s only half-sarcastic.
Ten years ago he couldn’t have predicted it, but right now Xander - and his brain - appeals to Giles.
He steps outside with Xander and the door closes behind him with a satisfying click.
The basilica they break into is this amazing church, San Clemente Basilica, that is a 12th century basilica built on top of a 4th century basilica which is built on top of a 1st century Roman house and temple. It's pretty incredible.
Title: Roman Holiday
Author: cordelianne
Characters/Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: Adult (barely)
Word Count: 2,093
Disclaimer: Sadly not mine, Joss own them.
Warnings: Impromptu music, two thousand year old mould, active participation.
Summary: Post-Chosen. There’s another apocalypse looming, although the biggest challenge for Giles isn’t the evil fiends.
A/N: Thanks to the wonderful mods of summer_of_giles for continuing to organize this fantastic community!
Thanks to the completely wonderful savoytruffle for her invaluable beta. Any mistakes are mine (and you're always welcome to point out any to me!).
The room is so quiet each page turn slices the air like an irregular drum beat.
Giles’ impromptu music joins with the faint beating of his flat neighbour’s mindless beating music. It could be something radio-friendly and popular or a heavy metal riff for all Giles can tell or care. It’s bloody annoying.
He places the volume on the table beside him and stretches. He should do something.
Go out.
Enjoy being back in London.
Visit old friends or museums.
But none of that - nor his book - appeals to Giles.
He feels restless, but he doesn’t know what for. Nothing satisfies.
Tea is the temporary answer and he rises to brew a pot when the phone rings. When he sees Buffy’s number on the screen he gives his least worried oh-dear-it’s-another-apocalypse sigh and grabs the phone.
Rome greets him with heat and beating sun.
Giles steps off the plane, shading his eyes and cursing the need for warm trousers in the cool plane - they’re already sticking to his legs.
Fortunately it’s a short walk into the terminal which is not as air conditioned as he’d like it to be. Clearly too many years in California has acclimatized him to bloody cold buildings.
It takes so long for his luggage that he imagines there must be one guy, slowly placing one bag on the belt and then sitting down for a minute before doing the next bag. Giles sympathizes with the need to sit down , he’d like to do that himself - his hips ache at the thought - however since there are no chairs, he stands and waits.
He watches two small girls play tug of war with a suitcase. Not surprisingly the blonde one is winning.
Pulling his suitcase, he pushes through the crowd looking for one blonde in particular. She finds him first and throws her arms around him.
He smiles for the first time that day.
Buffy shoulders his carryon as if it weighs nothing - which it would to her - grabs his suitcase and navigates them through the crowd with ease. As they head to the exit he has a flash of panic that Buffy is going to drive. In Rome of all places.
When he expresses this fear to Buffy with as much tact as possible she laughs.
“Oh god Giles, can you see me driving here?” The scary thing is he can. “But seriously, Dawn forbade me and I don’t cross her when she’s serious - she’s scary. So we’re train-ing it.”
Giles heaves a sigh of relief and hopes for an air conditioned train.
It’s still hot at 9:30pm at night. Giles is sweating through his clothes despite having showered and changed into more climate appropriate slacks.
Buffy looks perfectly at home with her hair swept up and wearing a flimsy white sundress. Definitely climate appropriate but whether it’s appropriate for breaking into a centuries old church and fighting evil fiends is another question.
She lifts her foot to break the door down and Giles notices the security camera. “Stop!” he calls, annoyed that churches have become as security conscious as the rest of the world. Whatever happened to trusting in God’s protection? “There’s a security system.”
Buffy is paused mid-kick. “Crap, I hate these things.” She pulls a cell out of the top of her dress - Giles doesn’t want to know where she’s keeping the stakes - and hits a speed dial. “Will, there’s security… Oh you did? You’re awesome! What would I do without you?... Right dead or arrested.” She clicks off the cell and smashes the door open with one precise kick.
They descend two levels down to where it’s the most musty and dank. Giles tries not to think about the two thousand year old mould and instead be alert for what could be lurking in the dark shadows.
He’s peering around an ominous corner when a hand claps on his back.
He narrowly avoids a heart attack because there’s something about that hand that’s familiar - and friendly.
“Giles,” Xander says as he pulls him into a hug.
“Xander!” Buffy bounces over. “You’re here!” She throws herself into the hug.
He’s reminded of their younger selves, the ones he met many years ago - has it really been only ten years?
Before he can properly stroll down memory lane, they’re interrupted by a voice behind them, “Aw, how sweet and here we thought we’d be all by ourselves.”
And so the fighting begins.
If he can avoid a hit to the head he’ll consider it a success.
Maybe Giles should rethink his definition of success. His head is throbbing although the ice pack does seem to be helping.
“Here,” Buffy pours a generous glass of red wine. “This’ll help the pain. Proven Buffy bruise treatment.”
They clink glasses to their defeat of a yet another vampire cult set on destroying the world. You’d think evil would try something new, perhaps start an international conglomerate and try to take over the world - wouldn’t be too hard to blend in.
Buffy and Willow practically fall over each other laughing at some story or joke of Xander’s, which Giles had missed. Xander gives him a faux sad face, “You’re not letting a little concussion distract you from the story of how I lost my shoes on the way to Lomé, are you?”
Hm, perhaps the blow to the head has made him a tad unfocused. “I’m fine,” he mutters uncomfortable under Xander's increased scrutiny. He sips the wine as if that’ll prove his point.
The conversation keeps flowing.
So does the wine.
It’s a good night. Head bump and all.
Three hours later he finds himself back at his hotel room, along with Xander who's placed himself on “Giles concussion watch.”
They drag the one chair out to the tiny balcony. Xander takes the ground, leaning against the wall after insisting the “injured man” take the chair. Giles doesn’t argue, he’s not sure his hips can handle the hard ground.
“So Spanish Steps,” Xander gestures at them - they have a good view from the balcony. “Nice.” He nods his approval.
“Yes.” It’s nice to see them absent the normally inevitable swarm of tourists. “The best time to view them.”
They sit in silence for a few minutes, each responsibly drinking water.
“So, Giles, staying long enough to see the sites?”
“You mean besides first century basilicas being desecrated by evil fiends?” That gets a small smile from Xander. “Perhaps I could be persuaded. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the Forum.”
“Ooh, going with you would be like having my very own personal tour guide.” While talking Xander’s hands had been in movement but on guide he rests one hand on Giles’ knee.
It’s warm.
And nice.
He clears his throat. “You assume that I’d be a good tour guide. Why is that?”
Xander’s hand remains where it is, his thumb rubs Giles’ knee. “Seriously? How can you even ask that? You’re a real trained Watcher, and not one of us pick-it-up-as-we-go-along guys. Knowledge is your job! You’re book guy!”
“Ah yes, but ‘book guy’” - he makes air quotes and when he drops his hands he places one on Xander’s - “as it concerns demons and vampires, not ancient ruins.”
There’s a hint of a smile on Xander’s face. “Oh come on, like there were no demons and vampires in Roman times.”
Giles can’t help but smile. “You have me there.”
“Oh I do, do I?” There’s an undercurrent in his voice. Of insinuation, of promise.
And then Xander’s standing, grasping Giles hands and pulling him to his feet and back into the room. It’s like they’re picking up from last time. Like there hasn’t been three months of not talking and not seeing each other since then.
He lets Xander take the lead, again.
Lets him be the first one to kiss.
The first to shove off a shirt.
The one to push Giles onto the bed.
Not that Giles is passive in all this. He's participating. Actively. His mouth ghosts over Xander’s throat and bites at his collarbone, while his hands shove at jeans to grip Xander’s arse.
Xander moans low and full of want and Giles thinks he’s never been harder than he is right now.
Xander pushes off just enough to get a condom and lube from his pocket and kick off his jeans and boxers.
Without fully realizing he’s done it, Giles has stripped and is lying naked on the bed.
A tanned and hard Xander leans over him, ready to, well, fuck him. It’s the best thing he’s seen in months.
He surrenders willingly.
They do go to the Forum the next day. Strolling through the ruins, their conversation spans the weather, Roman history and demonolgy. Giles feels just like any other tourist. Well, excepting the demonology.
And perhaps excepting the confusion engendered by the feeling of Xander’s hand resting on his lower back as they gaze up at the beam of light filtering into the senate building. Giles suspects that few other tourists are as befuddled as he by the simple touch of his traveling companion.
Xander's hand drops away, probably responding to an involuntary tensing of the muscles beneath his fingertips, and Giles regrets the loss.
He needs to go somewhere quiet, where he can think.
Somewhere the sun won’t beat down on his head with a ferocity he’s not used to.
Once in his hotel room, Giles intends to reflect. To determine what he wants, how he would like things to progress.
Naturally, he naps instead, surrendering to the reassuring simplicity of sleep.
He awakens a few hours later and stumbles to answer the door, still groggy.
Xander stands, jingling keys in his pocket with a too bright smile on his face. “Dinner?”
Giles waves him in while he tries to shove the grogginess aside and get his brain to work.
“I’m thinking pizza, because it’s pizza and who doesn’t love pizza, and also the pizza is really really good here.” Xander blinks. “Wow, I just said pizza a lot of times didn’t I? So are you in?”
The last question is said with a rush, like Xander isn’t just asking about pizza despite saying the word five times.
“Pizza is fine, Xander.”
He’s rewarded with a blinding - and genuine - smile. Giles decides to be the one who takes the first step this time. “I’m also interested in more than just pizza.”
“Oh, so um…?” It’s amusing to see Xander lost for words.
“I think -” Giles sits on the bed and motions for Xander to so the same. “- that, well, that it would be nice to see you more than just every time there’s an apocalypse. That is, they do tend to be rather unpredictable. And one could hope that they will not always be frequent.”
“Oh!” Xander’s hand finds its way to Giles’ knee. “Yeah, that would be, well, you know, um, good.”
He places his hand on Xander’s and feels lighter than… he doesn’t remember the last time he felt this light.
Xander keeps talking because he’s Xander and that’s what Xander does. “Lately I’ve been thinking of making London my home base. I just really want to live in a rainy and grey place, forget about warmth and sun.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Xander, of course there is-”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissing Giles defense of his home. “But I hear it has double-decker buses and the Queen, and if so, I’m so there.”
He’s not sure why he wants to spend time with this idiot, but he does. “With those very compelling reasons, how can you not come to London?”
“Exactly! My logic is infallible.”
Since Giles can think of no reasonable response to that, he kisses Xander. It really is the best solution, plus Xander isn’t complaining.
After a minute, they pull back breathless and stare at each other.
Giles’ head is full of all the things he wants to do with and to Xander. And then Xander’s stomach rumbles. Loudly.
Giles chuckles. “I believe you were suggesting dinner. Something about pizza?”
“Yes, I’m starving.” Xander pulls him to his feet. “First food, then sex.”
“I like the way your mind works,” Giles says, for the first time ever to Xander.
“Wait till you hear some of my other brilliant ideas.”
“I can only imagine.” And he’s only half-sarcastic.
Ten years ago he couldn’t have predicted it, but right now Xander - and his brain - appeals to Giles.
He steps outside with Xander and the door closes behind him with a satisfying click.
The basilica they break into is this amazing church, San Clemente Basilica, that is a 12th century basilica built on top of a 4th century basilica which is built on top of a 1st century Roman house and temple. It's pretty incredible.