Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley, 2/17

[lostgirlslair]

Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 2/17
Feedback and concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Spoilers: Begins directly after 'Bad Girls', AU from there on out with bits and pieces taken from all over the end of BtVS season three.
Summary:  Giles finds Wesley lying, badly beaten, on the library floor.

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities.  I am neither

Big, huge thanks to beadtific, janedavitt, kyrieane, malnpudl, and psychoadept for their beta magic.  Thanks to the Buffyverse Dialogue Database for, well, the dialogue.  And thank you to everyone who read the first versions of these stories.  Your interest and feedback have made this a pleasure to work on.

Previous parts located here.


"Wesley?"  A gentle voice broke through the layers of fog that shrouded his brain.  Wesley grumbled at it, trying to turn on his side.  Pain shot through him at the move, jolting him from his sleep.  He tried to sit before he thought better of it and let out a hoarse cry when his stiff, bruised body objected.  Strong hands supported his back, helping him, the same voice tsking at him.  "I was afraid you'd be a little stiff."

"Thanks so much for sharing," Wesley ground out before he'd thought it through.  He was immediately contrite, his face heating up as he realized he'd just snapped at Giles and after all the man had done for him.  Helping him out of the library and . . .

Opening his eyes, he found Giles smiling slightly, one eyebrow quirked at him.  "Well, I see you're feeling better, at least well enough to put on some of that old Wyndam-Pryce charm.  I think I liked you better with a concussion."

Wesley might have winced had there not been a teasing tone in Giles voice.  As it was, he was left feeling quite confused.  His memories of the night before were hazy, fading in and out, but he was almost certain he remembered . . . kissing.  Quite a bit of kissing, actually, and mostly not on his part.  Wesley could feel his face turning red and was therefore glad that Giles had gone to the kitchen for some reason.  He could still feel the heat from Giles hands and, combined with what snatches of memory he had from the night before . . .

Stop thinking about it, he ordered himself, though he had little hope of doing so.  He wasn't sure how to face this situation, wasn't sure which parts were real and which he'd dreamed.  There had been kissing.  He was sure of that not because his memory was clear, but because the sensory memory of Giles' lips on his was so very strong.  The rest though . . . Giles' lips on his chest, Giles' hands on his cock, rubbing and--no, that had to be a dream, right?

There had been words, too.  He knew they had talked, of course.  Giles had asked him about the injuries, but . . . something else, something that flitted around the edges of his mind like a shy butterfly.  At least Wesley remembered enough not to shake his head to clear it.

Hearing Giles' return, he tried to push his thoughts to the present.  Giles took the seat on the couch next to him, offering a glass of water and several aspirin.

"Here.  This should help with the headache and the foggy feeling should fade as the spell wears off.  It might take a while."

"Spell?"

"To help you sleep," Giles said, a strange smile lifting his lips.  The words brought forward more hazy memories, but Wesley pushed them aside, gladly accepting the water and painkillers.

"I'm afraid," Wesley said after swallowing the aspirin, "that my memory is a bit disrupted."

"Disrupted?"  Giles nodded, a slight thread of humor in his voice.  "Probably more along the lines of a watercolor left in the rain."

"Quite an accurate description," Wesley snorted, only then realizing Giles arm was around him.  Well, more laying along the back of the sofa, but definitely touching his tense shoulders.  "I, um, I . . . don't really remember some things."  Wesley knew his fishing was painfully obvious, but couldn't think of anything more subtle.  He looked at his hands instead of meeting Giles' gaze, chewing on his lip as he waited for some kind of answer.

"Some things?"  Giles chuckled, a sound that Wesley thought should have surprised him, but somehow didn’t.  Giles didn't chuckle, not with him, and rarely enough with the children, at least in his presence.  "Which things, Wesley?"

Wesley looked up, meeting Giles' expressive eyes.  While they did indeed seem to hold laughter, he didn't think it was at his expense.  Unless he'd forgotten even more than he'd thought.

"I, uh, I seem to remember you saying something to me and I . . . you see, I had some rather, uh, odd dreams and I'm not sure I can separate what actually, er, took place from . . . that."  Wesley blinked, trying to run over that sentence in his mind and wincing.

Giles slid close, his arm brushing along the skin at the back of Wesley's neck, sending bolts of arousal straight to Wesley' cock.  Trying to make his shivers less than obvious, Wesley looked back to his hands, holding his breath as Giles leaned in close to his ear.

"Last night, I asked you if you'd ever been with another man before.  Can you remember what you answered?"

"Um," Wesley swallowed hard, panting a little at the feel of Giles' breath on his neck.  "Not as such, but . . . I'll assume I told the truth, which happens to be that, uh, no I-I haven't."

"Do you remember me telling you I'd change that for you?"  Giles' hand was on his thigh, squeezing gently.  Wesley's cock was aching now, pressed into a bad position due to his trousers.  He didn't want to move though, afraid he'd break whatever spell had been cast over Giles.  It seemed like the only logical conclusion.

There was always the slim chance that Giles was actually attracted to him.  That wasn't totally outside of the realm of possibility; it just didn't seem likely.  There had never been a hint before, had there?

"I, yes, I believe I remember that and, uh, something about, um, kissing . . ." Wesley knew he was blushing redder than young Willow's hair, but there was really no help for it.

"Kissing every bruise and scrape on your body, yes.  See, the haze is wearing away."  Giles commented before his lips and tongue began to work the skin just behind Wesley' ear, making the younger man shudder and moan softly.  "Any other questions, Wesley?"

"Um, I . . ." It took Wesley longer than he'd have liked to pull himself together, but he finally managed, turning to look at Giles.  "Why?"

"Why?"  Giles seemed surprised by that.

"Yes," Wesley began, rather breathlessly, looking back to his hands.  "You never seemed, uh, to see me, um, in-in any way beyond . . . Why would you want to . . . uh . . . Why?"

Giles was quiet for a moment before sighing.  "I find you attractive and it's not as sudden as you seem to think."  There was a hint of, not anger, but perhaps frustration in Giles' voice.

Great.  Now I've ruined it.  Stupid!  Wesley cursed himself, biting his split lip and using the pain to hold back the beginning prickle of tears.  Those never helped anything, never changed anything.  Crying only got you punished.

"I," Giles continued, the frustration clearer now, "I don't know exactly how to explain.  You . . . normally, you're a prat."  Wesley flinched, closing his eyes hard.  "Or, at least you pretend to be.  Until last night, I didn't truly see the difference."

Wesley opened his eyes once again, looking toward Giles, but keeping his eyes well away from the other man's gaze, afraid of what he'd see.

"Wesley.  You try so hard to be the perfect Watcher, very uptight, but . . . last night," Giles' hand was moving on his thigh, rubbing lightly, absently, and Wesley wasn't sure Giles even knew he was doing it.  Wesley, however, was extremely aware of the small touch, having to force himself to concentrate on what Giles was saying as his cock swelled again.  "Last night, you weren't trying to be anything.  You were hurt, but you were yourself, which is a good deal more intriguing than you let on."

"Intriguing?"  Wesley asked, looking down to hide the silly smile the word put on his face.  "You find me intriguing?"  Giles chuckled again, and the hand that had once rested on the sofa back moved to play along Wesley' neck, tickling.

"Quite."  Giles moved in close again, his lips whispering along Wesley's cheek.  "Now, where were we?"

Wesley shivered, smile dropping from his face as his heart decided to trying and beat its way out of his chest.

This is happening.  This is real.  Wesley wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince himself or just reveling in the fact.  It was quite possibly a bit of both.

"I . . . I think somewhere around the, uh, the kissing of bruises and scrapes," which I never thought I'd be almost glad to be covered in.

"Mmm, yes.  I think that's it."  Giles lips brushed his cheek again and Wesley gasped softly, his eyes falling shut once more.  Then those soft lips were on his, pressing him firmly back.  Wesley melted into the kiss, his muscles relaxing easily and with a good deal of relief.  Giles licked along Wesley’s lips and Wesley opened to him, letting himself be turned, be pressed back onto the arm of the couch.

Whether it was the painkillers or his euphoria, the pain was just a twinge in the back of his mind, easily ignored.  And for this?  He'd have gladly done it all over again.  Wesley wrapped his arms around Giles' neck, one hand tangling in the older man's hair.  He whimpered when Giles' tongue swept into his mouth, licking along his own.  The hands on his body weren't gentle, but were far from hurting.  They seemed to brand him, burning away the bruises, the failure, leaving only sensations that had him all but writhing.

"Oh, God, Giles," he panted, hands clutching at Giles' shoulders.

"Mmm, I like that you're eager," Giles murmured into the crook of Wesley's neck before biting softly at his skin.

Wesley arched into Giles' body, his cock rigid and desperate for friction.  The voice in his head, the one that always insisted he be proper, polite, distant was cast aside by Giles' words, Giles’ touch.  Then Giles pulled away and Wesley whimpered at the loss of contact, hands still clutching at Giles, trying to pull him back.

"Upstairs," Giles insisted, breaking through Wesley' daze with the hoarse edge of his voice.

Wesley nodded, getting to his feet and almost tripping as he stood.  Giles was there, one hand on the small of his back, guiding him toward the stairs.  Halfway there they were kissing again, Giles sucking Wesley's tongue into his mouth, licking at it.

Wesley didn't remember getting up the stairs, or rather, he chose to forget nearly tripping both Giles and himself.  He did remember getting to the bed though, Giles laying him down and crawling up his body, Giles' hard cock grinding into his own.

Wesley threw his head back into the pillows, crying out at the feel of it.  Never had anything felt so very good, so intense.  Jolts of pleasure ran along his nerves, every muscle jerking taut.  When Giles' mouth latched on to one bruised nipple, Wesley though he might die from the feeling.  It stung in such a good way.

Giles' hands were on his hips, holding him still as Giles pressed hard against him.  Then Giles was stripping him, undoing buttons with quick efficiency, tugging boxers and trousers down and off with urgent fingers.

Wesley gasped as his erection sprang free, slapping against his stomach.  He could feel the air brushing against the pre-cum, making him shiver.  Giles didn't return right away.  Wesley propped himself on his elbows and found his eyes roaming over Giles' body as Giles shucked his clothes.  Wesley' breath caught, eyes skimming from salt and pepper chest hair to strong thighs and then, bravely, to the erection that jutted from still-dark pubic hair.

He began to panic a little then.  While he'd imagined similar scenarios, the details had been sketchy.  Or, rather, practically nil and fairly unneeded to accomplish his goals at the time.  Now, his mind was providing him with any number of details.  Wesley swallowed hard, licking at his lips as Giles ran his fingers up one of Wesley' legs.

"I, uh--" the rest of the words, whatever they were because Wesley wasn’t at all sure, wouldn't come.  They caught in his chest, trapped by the pounding of his heart.

Giles smiled at him, the look in his eyes soft, doing things to Wesley that he'd have thought required a lot more touching.  Then Giles crawled over him again, holding his body away from Wesley's until their faces were even.

"Did you want something?"  The word 'want' was punctuated by a thrust of Giles' hips, their cocks meeting and sliding along one another.

"Oh, yes," Wesley breathed, his body shuddering, bowing to stay in contact as long as possible.  "Just, I've never--oh, God!"  The last was said as Giles lowered himself, straddling Wesley and pressing their cocks hard together.

"Shh.  Do you trust me?"  Giles' eyes were earnest, so close that they filled his vision.

"Y-yes."  Wesley nodded frantically, his breathing coming in gasps, body heaving with each inhalation.  "I want--want this.  Badly."

"I know," Giles whispered against his ear as he slipped to Wesley's side, hand stroking down Wesley' torso, making his muscles clench.  Wesley shivered, closing his eyes and groaning as Giles' calloused fingers pushed through pubic hair to wrap around his swollen shaft, stroking once, twice, before moving on.  Wesley groaned at the feel of Giles' fingertips dancing over his balls before brushing his thighs apart.

Wesley was breathless as Giles’ fingers caressed his thighs and then cupped his balls, rolling and squeezing gently.  Moaning, his body pulling tight, Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and bit hard on his lip.  The pain didn't ease the tightening, but it helped him control himself.

"Can't--so, close.  I'm--sorry, I--"

"Don't apologize, Wesley.  I want you hot; want you very, very ready."  Giles’ hand withdrew and Wesley found himself making little gasp-whimpers.  Then Giles was back and Wesley watched as Giles flipped open the lid of a tube.

Cool liquid poured over his heated skin, drawing gasps as it slid over his cock, down to his balls and lower, flowing into his crease and over his entrance.  Wesley moaned, spreading his legs wide, watching intently as Giles' stroked him, spreading the lube over his cock before sliding down to his perineum.

"Turn over."

Wesley nodded, groaning as he moved, bruises pressed into the bed.  It wasn't pain, as such, just a heightened awareness of his own skin as it tingled and throbbed.  Lying on his stomach, cock trapped between sheets and body, Wesley felt more exposed than he had before.

More lube, washing over his back and arse, making him aware of the brush of cool air against his skin, a huge contrast to the hot finger that slid into his crease, circling, probing.  Wesley went stiff; waiting for the pain he'd heard would come next.

"Relax, Wesley."  A hand kneaded his back, rubbing the lube into his skin and massaging muscles that nearly trembled with strain.  "Come up on your elbows and knees," Giles urged, stroking Wesley's flank as Wesley did as asked.  "That's it."

The hand that had been massaging skimmed from his back to his stomach, sliding to his cock.  Wesley thrust into the grip, unable to hold himself still as the fingers of Giles' other hand rubbed over his entrance, circling slowly, sending little pulses of shock to Wesley's twitching shaft.

A finger slipped inside him, easily after the first bit of resistance, but beginning a slow burn.  Wesley couldn't go stiff, couldn't tense up, not with that hand on his desperately swollen cock.  Whimpering, Wesley thrust his hips again, sliding forward into a slick hand and then back onto Giles' fingers.  "N-need, I . . . please.  More, p-please."

There was a chuckle from behind him, soft, sexy, and not at all mocking.  Then another finger pushed inside, stretching, ratcheting the burn up a notch.  Wesley was gasping for each breath now, all but fucking himself on Giles' fingers.  Giles changed the angle a little and suddenly there were fireworks in Wesley's head.

His cock jumped hard before Giles slipped his hand down, grasping tight at the base, staving off Wesley' orgasm even as he withdrew his fingers.  Wesley cried out in protest, so desperate for release he was ready to beg, ready to promise anything.

Then both Giles' hands were gone and Wesley found his face wet with frustrated tears. "Please.  God, Giles, please don't stop.  I'm sorry, I--"

"Shh, Wesley," Giles interrupted his apology, voice soft and soothing.  "I'm not stopping.  I promise I'm not stopping.  I wouldn't leave you like this.  I just need to open this blasted--there.  Just slipping on a condom."

Wesley' dropped his forehead to the pillows, letting Giles' assurances sweep over him.  Giles wasn't going away.  He wasn't stopping.  Wesley repeated that bit over and over to himself in the forever it seemed to take before he felt Giles' fingers spreading him open, the blunt head of Giles' cock against his entrance.  Wesley had begun to stiffen again, unsure, when Giles' hand fisted his cock, stroking gently as he pushed inside.

There was pain.  It hurt; felt as if someone where trying to split him open, and still there was a gnawing want in his belly, his cock.  He throbbed with his need, but it hurt.  Wesley cried out, almost sobbing his frustration.

"Shh," Giles soothed him, stroking Wesley’s erection and stilling inside him.  "Push back against me, Wesley.  It'll feel better soon, I promise."

Wesley nodded.  No words could have made it past the lump in his throat.  Taking his courage in both hands, Wesley thrust back, spearing himself on Giles' cock.  The burn filled him for a moment, drowning out all else.  He choked on the pain, but rode it out, Giles' voice with him all the way, guiding him through the haze.

The pain began to fade and the hand that stroked his cock picked up speed, the pleasure overwhelming the pain, helping to clear Wesley' mind.

Giles was inside him.

Giles was inside him.

Giles was inside him.

The words kept battering at his mind, each repetition a revelation of its own as the other man pulled out slowly.  Wesley moaned, panting hard, throwing his head back.  It felt good, and felt even better when Giles sank in again, filling him.

"You’re so tight.  God, so good."  Giles' words sent hot little sparks skittering through his insides and Wesley knew he couldn't keep himself from coming for long.  The pain had receded to a dull ache that only seemed to heighten the pleasure and every stroke of his cock, every thrust of Giles' hips pushed him closer to the edge.

Wesley found himself begging, the word 'please' falling from his lips with every thrust and stroke until he couldn't speak any longer, could only moan.  The slap of skin against skin was the only sound, Giles pushing into him and pulling hard on his cock.

A slight shift in angle and Giles was brushing his prostate.  Wesley choked on a groan, pressing his hands against the wall to push back harder, to meet every thrust with equal strength.  Wesley's balls tightened suddenly, his cock pulsing once.  Then he shouted as he came, spattering Giles' hand and the bed with his release.  His channel clenched around Giles’ cock, Giles' hand on his hip digging in hard to keep him upright.  Giles thrust in hard one last time.  Wesley could feel Giles' body trembling as he came, but it was distant, lost in the rush of ecstasy that kept his muscles tight for what seemed like forever.

Then he was collapsing, no grip strong enough to keep him upright when his muscles were nothing but goo.  Giles' weight pressed him into the bed, but Wesley couldn't find it in him to complain.  He laid there, dazed and nearly liquid, trying to catch his breath for he couldn't say how long.

He let out a soft gasp when Giles pulled out of him.  Then the other man's weight shifted off, gone for only a moment before settling in next to him.  He snuggled closer to Giles' skin, closing his eyes and reveling in the moment.  He was just drifting off when Giles shook him gently.

"I wish we had time for a nap as well," Giles whispered against Wesley’s sweaty skin.  "At this point though, we have an hour to shower, shave, get you some clothes, and show up at the library.  Any later than that and the children will worry."

Wesley groaned, eyes snapping open.  There was a smile on Giles' face and Wesley knew he had to be scarlet with his blush.  The last thing he wanted was to face the children now.

*****

The school didn't look any different.

Wesley thought it should, thought everything should look different, but nothing had changed.  He'd insisted that Giles drop him off at his apartment, that he'd take his own car to the school.  Giles had quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded.

They . . . he blushed just thinking about the shower they'd taken together, the way Giles' hands had moved over his body once again.  Had there been time, he was sure they'd have ended up . . .

No, he could think about that.  Thinking about that would turn him as red as a tomato.

Pushing through the library doors, Wesley found everything as it typically was.  Willow was there, leaning against Oz.  Xander stood behind the check-in desk, apparently having turned to snack food to relieve his boredom.  It seemed Buffy hadn't made it in yet.  Faith wouldn't be around until after lunchtime and . . . Dear God, what would he do when Ms. Chase arrived?  Giles was likely in his office because Wesley didn't see him anywhere else.

"What happened to you?"  Xander was the first to notice him and Wesley wished he could melt into the floor.  "Meet up with a girly vamp on the way home last night?"  Wesley was about to respond in kind when Giles stepped from his office.

"Someone broke into the school last night," Giles answered for him, never taking his eyes off the book he was reading as he made his way to the table.  "Wesley was rather badly beaten Xander, so please, some consideration?"

"What?"  Xander looked at Giles as if checking to be sure he hadn't grown a second head.  "And miss out on the chance to praise his Watcherly reflexes and fighting skill?"

"Yes, because we've never seen you beaten black and blue by upwards of three people, have we?"  Giles raised an eyebrow at the boy.  Xander snapped his mouth closed, his eyes widening.

"Uh, anyway," Oz piped in, "Willow thinks she found something."

Wesley forced himself to move into the library, toward the office, though he was sure he was practically glowing with the force of his blush.

"I did," Willow quickly agreed.  "I found a small, teeny, tiny reference to Ascension, but . . . I think it means to a throne."

Once in Giles' office, Wesley removed his coat and all but collapsed into the desk chair.  He was breathing too fast, his heart pounding.

Oh, God, no.  I will not panic.  I will not panic.

"Wesley," Giles' voice proceeded him by only seconds.  "Are you anywhere near--" shutting the door behind him, Giles immediately changed topics.  "Are you all right?  It looks as if you're about to melt."

"I, uh, I'm--" there were so many words and phrases to choose from.  Insane.  Scared.  Hurting.  Tired.  Panicking.  Lost.  Hoping.  The last was, of course, the worst.  "Confused," he finally decided on, laying his head in his hands.

Giles sat on the edge of his desk, hand reaching out to brush the side of his face.  Wesley looked up at the soft touch, surprised.  He wasn't sure exactly what Giles wanted from him and that put him on edge.

"What are you confused about?"  Giles' voice was soft, soothing, and just a little husky.  Wesley had never heard him speak that way, not even to the children.  Despite the panic clawing at his gut, he couldn't help but lean into the touch when Giles brushed his cheek a second time.

"I, uh . . . everything, at this point," he said with a snort, trying to make a joke of it.  Giles wasn't having it.

"Talk to me, Wesley."  Giles withdrew his hand a little before rubbing it lightly over a spot on Wesley's forehead, most likely a bruise.

"U-us?"

The word hurt.  What if there wasn't an 'us' for them to speak of?  What if it had just been a . . . moment, a thing that was never going to happen again and . . . Wesley could feel the panic rising.  It wasn't all related to--to that morning, but one thing led to another until he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

"Wesley?  Wesley?"  Giles' sounded worried, but Wesley couldn't find the air to reply.  The door opened.  Giles snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned, turning to whoever had come in.

"I need a paper sack," he snapped, but Wesley was beyond understanding what was going on around him.  Laying his head in his hands, he fought to breathe, but his mind kept throwing up images of waking up alone and cold on the floor in the stacks.  His heart was racing and his clothes felt too tight and--

"Wesley," Giles' voice again, softer.  "Here, breathe into this.  Put your head down, right, good."  Head almost between his knees, a paper sack held against his lips, Wesley began to calm.  However, he thought that had more to do with Giles' soothing voice and the way the man kept stroking his arm.

Lovely, he thought with a sigh.  A panic attack in front of the children.  They're likely already snickering behind my back.  Not as if they won't do it to my face as soon as I show it.  They're probably all gathered around the door, watching.  Taking his courage in both hands, Wesley straightened, surprised to find himself and Giles alone in the office, the door firmly shut.

"Better?"  Giles was kneeling beside him, one hand on Wesley's arm, the other on his thigh.

"Um, y-yes.  I'm . . . sorry."

"Is it being in the library that did it?"  Giles stood, moving to lean against the desk.

"Partially," Wesley admitted, forcing himself to stand and straighten his clothing.

"What else?"

Wesley shook his head.  "It's nothing, just . . . everything."  Giles raised an eyebrow at that, waiting, apparently, for him to explain.

"Being here, the . . . the children, the confusion.  It's . . . everything."  Wesley was trying very hard not to meet Giles' gaze, fussing with his briefcase, taking out his translation notes and then fussing with them.

"You said you were confused," Giles reached out and brushed his hand along Wesley's arm.  "About us?"  Wesley nodded, still staring at the desk, waiting for Giles to tell him it had been a nice diversion, but he shouldn't expect anything further.

Giles leaned forward, pushing Wesley' head up with a finger to his chin.  Giles leaned in, pressing his mouth to Wesley's split lip, his fingers moving up to cup Wesley's cheek.  "Wesley, it's only natural to be a little confused at the beginning of a relationship.  We'll . . . we'll work it out."  Giles pulled away, giving him a small smile before turning and heading to the door.  "And I need that translation.  I think it's important," he said, opening and returning to the library proper.

Wesley stood staring after him for a moment, blinking rather owlishly.

Relationship?  Grinning, though he tried to stop himself, Wesley turned back to his work.

Wesley managed to stay entrenched in the office until the children had gone; glad not to have to deal with them himself, and not to force Giles to deal with the snide remarks they were sure to make.  He finally ducked his head out around lunchtime.

Normally he brought something to eat at the desk while he worked, but as there hadn't been a lot of time that morning--and Wesley found he still couldn't think about that without blushing--he'd completely forgotten.

Giles glanced up from the book he was reading, giving Wesley a small smile.

"How's the translation coming along?"  Joining Giles, Wesley shrugged, shyly returning the smile.

"Uh, it's going slowly.  I can't seem to find some of my notes and . . . Well, we may have to see if the Council has a copy of the second book, as this one just cuts off."

Giles' forehead wrinkled.  "Are you certain?  As far as I remember there is no second book."

"I rather think there must be, though now that you mention it . . ." Wesley stood, eyebrows drawing together as he cast his mind back.  It had been years since he'd studied the works of Trentchin, not since his first years at the academy.  Turning, he went back to the office with Giles on his heels.

Picking up the book, he examined it closely and then flipped to the last page.  He squinted at the binding before handing it over to Giles.  "It, uh, pages have been cut out.  I--I'm sorry, I . . . didn't notice."  Wesley sighed, putting a hand to his forehead and rubbing against a building headache.

"Are you all right?"  Giles set the book aside with a frown, lifting a hand to Wesley's cheek.  Giles' thumb moved over his skin and Wesley felt himself relaxing a bit, just from that soft touch.

He didn't know what was happening to him.  He'd woken up in some other dimension or . . . Wesley pushed those thoughts away, forcibly.  They had other things than his libido and Giles' touching him to think about now.  "Just a bit embarrassed," Wesley said.  "I should have realized."

"You did," Giles replied and Wesley could feel him shifting closer.  Wesley's breathing picked up and he opened his eyes slowly to find Giles right in front of him, studying his face with a frown.

The bruises, Wesley suddenly remembered, lifting his face from Giles' hand and looking away.

"Was that one of the books that was out last night?"  Even as Giles' asked, he returned his hand to Wesley' cheek, moving so that he stood in Wesley's line of sight again.

"Uh, y-yes.  I was . . ." Wesley looked up as a thought struck him, meeting Giles' eyes.  "You think it was the same people who . . ." He couldn't say it, was still too ashamed at being caught unaware, leaving himself so vulnerable.  Instead, he motioned to his face, eyes flicking away from Giles'.

"Seems likely," Giles answered, though he sounded a bit distracted.  Then his thumb was moving again, brushing so softly over the bruises that the touch didn't hurt at all.

"We'll, uh, need to-to find out what, uh," Wesley couldn't get himself to think straight.  His breathing was at it again, faster, shallower.  He couldn't help but glance back at Giles only to find Giles giving him a strange little half-smile.

"I have another copy at home," Giles whispered before leaning in, his lips brushing against Wesley's.  Wesley returned the kiss eagerly, rubbing his mouth along Giles', his hands curling along Giles' shoulders when Giles' hands settled on his hips.  Giles made a little moaning sound and Wesley felt a flash of pride that it was because of him.  Then there was a warm, wet, tongue darting along his mouth.  Wesley parted his lips, welcoming the soft licks, feeling himself relax against Giles.

"Whoa," came Faith's voice from the office doorway.

Wesley froze, his face quickly heating to a hitherto unknown shade of red.  Giles, on the other hand, merely pulled away and cleared his throat as he turned to look at the Slayer.  The move effectively blocked sight of Wesley as he composed himself.

"Yes?"  Giles asked, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had been taking place just moments before.

Wesley, having put himself as together as he was going to get, stepped from behind Giles.  He wasn't about to use the older man as a shield.  Especially not if they were going to be . . . What?  A couple?  Lovers?  Giles said a relationship, but . . . what did that mean exactly?  Brushing aside the thought, Wesley did his best not to blush even further and addressed Faith.

"You're here to report about last night's patrol?"

"Uh, well, sorta.  I didn't mean to interrupt you guys.  I could--"

"Faith," both Giles and Wesley said together; Giles exasperated, Wesley rather embarrassed.

"Okay, I just . . . kinda needed to talk to you guys, about--about Buffy."

"She didn't show up this morning.  Is she all right?"  Giles was immediately at attention, taking a step toward Faith.

"She's not hurt, but there was a . . . that guy, Finch, in that alley?  We thought he was a v-vampire and . . . Buffy . . . Buffy's the one that--"

"Oh, God," Wesley breathed, casting a glance at Giles to see his expression had grown stormy.

"I tried to tell her that we should talk to you guys, but she's, like, in denial or something."

His eyes turning back to Faith, Wesley realized that there was something not right with this scenario.  Faith's tone was all wrong, as were her posture and the way her eyes shifted, the way her mouth quirked.  He was almost certain she was lying.

"Giles?" Buffy's voice called from the library proper.

Giles stepped around Faith, out of his office, "Buffy."  Wesley fidgeted, wanting to interrupt, to make certain Giles knew that Faith wasn't telling the truth, but . . . he didn't know how, not without letting Faith in on it.

"Uh. . . I don't really know how to say this, so I'm-I'm. . . I'm just gonna say it.  I know I've kept things from you before, but--" Buffy's eyes flicked to Faith as she too stepped out.  "--But, um, but I-I've been blowing off my classes.  You know, in-in the sense of not attending.  And, uh. . ."

"It's okay, Buffy.  I told 'em," Faith said, not quite able to meet Buffy's eyes.

"You told him?"  Buffy's surprise was real, but Wesley could hear that it didn’t contain any of the anger or worry it should have, were Faith's story true.

"I had to.  He had to know what you did," Faith said.

"What I did?  Giles, no.  Th-That's just not what happened!"

"I don't want to hear it, Buffy."  Giles sounded angry and, for a moment, Wesley was going to step in.  Then he realized what Giles was doing, or at least what he hoped Giles was doing.  The man was not blind.  He had to have seen what was obvious to anyone who knew how to look.

"No!  It--"

"I don't want to hear any more lies."  Giles snapped, his tone so hard Wesley would have flinched had he not known what was going on.

"You can't be serious!"  Buffy shouted at Faith.  "You're setting me up?"

"Get in my office, now.  Faith, I'll talk to you in the morning.

"Giles, please, you have to--" Buffy sounded frantic and Wesley wished he could say something to ease things.  Shifting in his place, he kept quiet, hoping Faith would leave soon.

"Now," Giles barked.

"Um . . . sorry," Faith mumbled before walking away.

"Giles, I didn't do this," Buffy was saying as she entered the office.  She stopped dead at the sight of Wesley, her eyes widening.  Then, apparently dismissing him as unimportant at the moment--for which Wesley could hardly blame her--she turned to Giles.  "Faith's--"

"--lying," all three of them said together.  Wesley warmed at the approving look Giles sent him, ducking his head so that Buffy wouldn't see the grin he admonished himself for having.  This was hardly the time after all.

Continued here.