Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley 3/17
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 3/17
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.
The library was near to silent, quieter than Wesley had ever heard with the children present. Even Willow and Xander were speechless, absorbing the news.
"So," Xander finally said, "uh, what do we do about this?"
Wesley cleared his throat, licking his lips before he began. "May I suggest we call the Council? This isn't the first time something like this has happened, there are . . . procedures to be followed."
"This has happened before?" Xander leaned forward, his eyes on Wesley. Wesley forced away his nervousness, determined not to give Xander that satisfaction.
"Yes," Giles answered from his place by the office door. Wesley heard Giles' footsteps, and then felt the heat from Giles' body as he settled himself on the table not far away. "Uh, Slayers being on the front lines, it has, well, it's happened in the past."
"It was quick," Buffy supplied, "I, I only realized just, a second or so before . . ."
"Yes, exactly," Giles removed his glasses, polishing them and Wesley had to force his eyes away from Giles' fingers as his mind conjured the feel of them against his skin.
Stop it! He ordered himself, turning his gaze first to the table and then to the others.
"However," Giles continued, "I don't believe that the Council is the best option." Wesley opened his mouth to disagree, but Giles quickly continued. "It's only that Faith is in complete denial and . . . I don't think such a confrontational approach is necessarily going to help her. We need her to know she can trust us, come to us, and calling the Council--"
"Will seem as if we're abandoning her, handing her off to be someone else's problem," Wesley nodded, conceding the point, for once, gracefully. He might not have, under other circumstances, but Giles was taking the time to listen, to explain his feelings on the matter and . . . well, perhaps Wesley was more disposed to listen than he would have been just a few days ago.
Is this relationship clouding my perceptions? The thought worried him greatly. His admiration of Giles had only grown in the past few days, especially once he had seen a side to Giles other than the sarcastic wit so often pitted against him. Or, rather, now that he had seen it in more than mere glimpses aimed at the children. The thought of losing their fragile relationship made him feel jittery and out of focus. Still, his primary duty lay with the Council. Would he be betraying that duty by concurring with Giles' plans?
Wesley tried to detach himself from the situation, tried to decide what he would do were he not . . . in his current position. Did Giles have a point? Yes. Was he agreeing with the point or agreeing with Giles simply because he was Giles? No, Wesley decided. He did believe that Faith would feel handed off, but . . . did that matter?
Wesley's eyes travel to Buffy, considering. Before he'd come to Sunnydale, he knew his immediate answer would be that it didn't. That Faith was a weapon, as was Buffy. But he'd read Giles' journals, he'd seen her laughing with her friends. He'd seen Faith laugh once or twice and he sometimes forgot to think of them as Slayers at all. Was that his problem or was that the way it should be? Giles obviously saw something more in Buffy than the weapon the Council called her.
Does he see more in me than the Watcher? The question struck him hard and Wesley blinked, considering. He was a Watcher, all his life had known he would be. There was no other way than his father's way, of course, but was he only a Watcher? He snapped back to the conversation just as Xander was suggesting he should go to speak with Faith.
"Well, I can be the one . . . on her one." Xander paused, apparently realizing how that had sounded. "Let's rephrase. I think she might listen to me. We kind of have, um, a connection."
"A connection? Why would you think that?" Buffy shook her head, looking askance at the young man. Wesley, realizing what the boy was saying, merely looked away, his mind heading off in another direction.
Shouldn't he be the one to talk to Faith? As little as she and Buffy seemed to think of it, he was her Watcher. He was willing to cede Buffy to Giles. The two of them . . . he was beginning to understand that he could never take Giles' place there, but Faith needed a Watcher, he needed a Slayer. Perhaps he could even begin to forge a bond with the young woman similar to the one Giles had created with Buffy.
He smiled a little at that, daydreams filling his head before the Council's view of such an idea came crashing in to ruin them. They'd sacked Giles for the bond he and Buffy shared, but . . . perhaps they were wrong in having done so. That didn't change much. They would do the same to him in a moment and then where would he be?
His heart pounded hard at the thought, the disapproval he knew he'd receive from his father making him swallow hard against the lump in his throat. Then Giles' hand brushed his shoulder, quite by accident he was sure, but Wesley felt the tension in his stomach ease at once.
He was more than a Watcher.
"Then why would you . . ." Buffy paused, seeming to have finally caught on, "Oh."
"Oh!" Giles echoed, polishing his glasses with a vaguely disturbed expression.
All eyes turned to Willow who shrugged. "I don't need to say 'oh'. I got it before. They slept together."
"Fine, fine, let's--let's move on," Giles insisted and Wesley had to smile a little at seeing that flustered expression.
"All right. Look, I-I know that you mean well, Xander, but, um, I-I just don't see Faith opening up to you." Buffy looked to Xander, not unkindly, saying, "She doesn't take the guys that she has a . . .'connection' with very seriously. And they're, they're kind of a big joke to her. No offense."
"Oh, no. I mean, why would I be offended by that?" Xander quipped, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
Giles stepped in, trying to turn the topic back to helping Faith, where it belonged. While Giles’ attention was elsewhere, Wesley made up his mind. He wanted to talk to Faith, wanted to get through to her and . . . he wanted to do this right, do something right. Slipping quietly away, Wesley soon found himself before Faith's motel room door.
It was almost as if someone else's hand rose to knock. His heart was pounding. This was his chance to show Giles, and the others, that he wasn't some prat who always screwed things up. He could help; he could be useful.
The door opened and Faith peered out, her eyebrows drawn together.
"Wesley? What do you want?"
"I, uh, I came to-to talk to you, about . . . what happened. I, uh, I thought you might need someone to talk to about it." Wesley realized he was all but babbling, but his mind suddenly deserted him. He had no idea how to broach the topic, really. How did one even begin to explain something like this?
Faith snorted, stepping back to let him inside. "So, why aren't you talking to Buffy then? I guess Giles got that assignment?"
"No, uh, there was no assignment. I, uh, Faith . . ." Wesley wasn't sure what to do with himself. He stood, hands at his side, trying to come up with the right words. There had to be right words. Giles would know what to say and . . . why had he ever thought he'd be able to do this? "I know that it was an accident. I understand how quickly things happened and--"
"So? Again, I say why aren't you talking to B? She's the one who 'accidentally'. . ." Faith raised her hands, making little quotation marks in the air, ". . . offed a guy. Me? I've got nothing to talk about."
She pulled herself up to sit her chest of drawers, giving Wesley a bored look as she fidgeted with her fingernails.
"I know that isn't true," Wesley said, trying to get through to her, to let her know that he was on her side and wanted to help. "I know that it was you, Faith and I'm willing to do all I can to help you, but--"
"Is this the part where you say, 'if you don't tell anyone that I'm screwing the old guy'? 'Cause, frankly, I think Buffy and the others oughta know that." There was a nasty smirk on the girl's face as she slipped from the chest of drawers, crossing her arms over her stomach.
"What?" Wesley blinked at her, his voice a little more shrill than he'd have liked.
"Well, he is kinda like their dad and all. Don't you think they should know that kinda stuff? How do you think they'd react, Wesley? Huh? How do you think Buffy and Willow and Xander would react?"
"You're trying to put me on the defensive," Wesley said, keeping his voice calm, measured, unwilling to give away any more than he already had. "It isn't going to work, Faith. Please, I'm on your side and--"
"No one is 'on my side'," she shouted and then clenched her jaw. Wesley blinked, glad when she seemed to calm down. "I don’t have a side here. Can't you get that through your head?"
"You have to admit that you made a mistake, Faith. It happens. It's horrible and it's hard and it feels like the end of the world--"
"What the hell would you know about it, you prissy little momma's boy? How would you know what the hell anything's like?" Faith advanced on him, but Wesley refused to back down, holding his stance even when she got right in his face.
"Faith, I can help you, if you'll let me. The Council--"
"What? You called those freaks on me?"
"No! No, I want to forge a connection with you, like--"
"A connection?" Faith raised an eyebrow, snorting. "And here I thought you weren't batting for that team. What, the old man can't keep up with you?"
"What? Good Lord, Faith, that's not wh-what I meant!"
"Uh-huh, sure it isn't." She took another step closer and this time Wesley did step back, trying to put some distance between them, but Faith kept coming and Wesley hit the wall. He swallowed hard, realizing he'd put himself in the room with an angry Slayer, far stronger and quicker than he'd ever be.
Faith pressed against him, her eyes hard as stone.
"You don't want to do this, Faith, neither of us wants this. I just want to help you face this thing and you can, I know you're scared, but you--"
"Shut up! God! Is talking all you ever do? Just . . . just shut up!" Faith pressed him hard, her jaw clenching tight. Wesley found himself balling his hands into fists, still trying to get through to Faith.
"I only want to help--"
"Oh, I bet I know," Faith interrupted, that nasty little smirk on her face again. "Old Rupes can't give you what want, right? Need something a little . . . harder? Is that where the bruises came from, Wes?" Faith laughed her own joke, but Wesley ignored it, his fists shaking now.
"Faith, please, just back up and we can--"
Then Faith's hands were around his throat, pressing into bruises left there just the other night. Wesley wanted to shout at her to stop, but he couldn't get the air into lungs and her hands were so bloody strong.
"Like this, Wes? Giles not up to this?" She was saying, her voice sharp and hard with anger. Wesley thrashed, manicured nails too short to do much damage as he clawed at her hands and wrists, trying to get them away, get some space so that he could breathe. Faith squeezed harder, her words no longer breaking into his mind as it was filled with only one thought. The need to breathe blotted out all else and Wesley struggled, panic keeping him fighting even as he could feel himself weakening. The world began to go black around the edges.
He was barely conscious when the door flew open, slamming into Faith and knocking her back. He tried to stand, blinking away the black sparks that had invaded his vision as Angel and Giles came into the room.
Then Faith was up and shouting, her words incoherent to Wesley' ringing ears. Giles came to him, giving him an arm to lean against.
"Come along, I think Angel can handle this," Giles said, voice calm and soothing even through the bells clattering in Wesley' ears. "Let's get you out of here."
There was shouting behind them, the sound of something breaking, but Wesley was too busy sucking in air through his aching throat to care very much. Giles helped him into the car and it felt so familiar that Wesley wanted to weep. He'd done it again; screwed up again. But Giles was also there again, hands gentle as he buckled the seat belt.
"I'm--I'm fine," he croaked when Giles slid into the driver's seat.
"You're not fine," and Giles' voice sounded strained and angry. He'd known the older man would be cross and he could hardly blame him. This had to be the most idiotic thing he'd done to date.
"I know . . . it was . . . stupid . . . I'm . . . sorry to make you have to . . . help me again. I just . . . I wanted to help, to prove I'm not . . . useless."
Giles' hand froze on the keys and he turned to look at Wesley. "She hurt you. It's not your fault, Wesley. I--I understand why you did it. You're her Watcher, you feel responsible for her. That's the way it's supposed to be. I only wish you'd asked me to come along."
Wesley gaped at Giles as he started the car, trying to process all those words and come up with something that made sense.
"You're . . . not angry?"
"At you? No. But Faith is lucky it's Angel in there."
Wesley opened his mouth to reply but what could he say to that? He slipped lower in his seat, forehead furrowing as he tried to work out what all this meant. Giles wasn't angry with him. He wished Wesley had thought to ask him along. Faith was lucky to be fighting a vampire with over two hundred years of life experience. . .
It didn't add up in his oxygen-deprived brain, but it made him feel warm inside.
Wesley barely noticed when they arrived at Giles' flat instead of his own. His mind was churning over the encounter with Faith, looking for any opening, any opportunity he had missed. It had been there, he knew it. If he could just find it . . .
"Wesley?" Giles' voice called him from his thoughts and he looked over to the older man, realizing the car had been stopped for a few moments.
"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry, I was, uh, thinking. Th-thank you for the-the ride. I--" When he went to open the door he realized where they were, and he looked to Giles, confused.
"I can take you to your flat, if you'd rather." Giles' voice was soft, soothing and Wesley didn't know what to say. He didn't want to go to his place. It was bare and lonely, and Giles' flat was so much more inviting and warm, but he'd have to go home eventually. Giles would surely rather not look at him tonight and the last thing he wanted to do was wear his welcome thin--
"That's it." Giles' voice once again interrupted his thoughts as Giles smiled gently, reaching a hand out to brush over Wesley's cheek. "If that simple question takes so much thought, you're not to be alone tonight."
Wesley smiled a little at that, ducking his head. Giles had asked him to stay. Well, more insisted really, which made him feel less like an imposition and more . . . wanted.
Shaking his head at his own silliness, Wesley undid his seat belt and got out of the car. Neither he nor Giles spoke until they were inside. Wesley wanted to ask Giles a few questions, but he didn't even know how to begin. Surprised when Giles handed him a glass of Scotch, Wesley took it automatically, staring into the tumbler.
"You looked as if you could use it," Giles explained, relaxing back onto the couch beside Wesley with a glass of his own. He laid one arm along the sofa-back and fixed Wesley with a direct gaze, waiting, as if he knew Wesley wanted to say something but couldn't find words.
"I . . . I wondered if, uh, if you could . . . Help me to understand how I . . . Help me pin down what mistakes I made?" Wesley looked into the glass rather than at Giles, uncertain as to whether he wanted to see the other man's expression.
"Certainly, if you really feel you made a mistake."
"I had to have done," Wesley insisted, taking a small drink of the Scotch and wincing as it slid down his throat. Putting it on the coffee table, he stood, pacing the small area between bookcases and couch. "She ended up choking me, after all."
"That doesn't mean you made a mistake. It's possible that the same would have happened to anyone. Why don't you tell me about it?" Giles kicked off his shoes, crossing his legs at the ankle, though his gaze was always on Wesley. Wesley could feel the weight of it, even when he wasn't looking.
Sighing as he collapsed back onto the couch and taking what he hoped would be a fortifying gulp of the Scotch, Wesley explained. He went over it all from the moment he'd knocked on Faith's door to the moment her hands wrapped around his throat, flinching when he repeated what she'd said about Giles.
"Hmm, so she was defensive? Why is that, do you think?" Giles' quiet question had Wesley turning to him, considering.
"Well, she-she was obviously frightened. The more I said that I wanted to help, the angrier she became. I--I don't understand. Shouldn't it have felt good to know that someone was on her side, willing to help?"
"Perhaps Faith didn't like the thought that she needed help. You're right, she's scared, but does she strike you as the type to admit that?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He leaned back into the couch, his mind filled with so many thoughts he barely noticed when Giles' hand stroked his neck. He felt comfortable--relaxed, even--as he considered his mistakes. Giles wasn't getting angry or shouting at him. It was nice to have someone listening.
While Wesley knew that, in Faith's situation, he'd have been grateful to have someone willing to help him, he could also understand the fear of needing that help. The fear of others seeing his weaknesses and, perhaps, using them against him. It hadn't been long ago--God, has it only been two days?--that such a fear haunted his every step. It still did around most people.
Shifting, suddenly uncomfortable, Wesley cast a sidelong glance at Giles. The man stared contemplatively at the wall, giving Wesley as much privacy with his own thoughts as he was able to without moving away. Wesley noticed the brush of fingers over his neck and the touch, so casual and unplanned, made him smile.
"No," he finally answered on a sigh. "She must feel quite helpless and she doesn't want anyone to see that. She's afraid that, if people see how off balance and out of her depth she is, they'll use it to hurt her." He sat bolt upright at that, turning to Giles. "Angel won't hurt her, will he?"
Giles' gaze snapped back to him and a small smile touched his lips. He shook his head before his eyes flicked down to Wesley's throat. Wesley' hand rose, touching the new bruises there with a sigh.
"Strangled twice in two days. That's a new record even for me," his laugh was bitter, but he didn't understand the flash of anger that ripped through Giles' eyes. Confused, he looked away, trying to figure out what he'd said.
"You've been strangled before?" The question was soft in volume, but hard in tone.
Realizing what he'd let slip, Wesley forced a shrug. "Not as such, but . . . things happen," he whispered, pushing away memories of a hand pulling at the back of his collar, tugging him toward the door beneath the stairs, the memories of his shirt buttons digging into his throat. He once again stared into his Scotch. Abruptly, he put it back on the coffee table, swallowing hard. He'd had too much of it already if he hadn't thought before saying that.
There was silence between them for a moment. Wesley was just beginning to feel agitated when Giles shifted closer, his arm circling Wesley's shoulders and pulling him against his side. Wesley went willingly, allowing Giles to pull him in. It felt good, but he was afraid to speak in case his words broke it all apart, or he said something else he shouldn't.
"Yes," Giles finally said, taking a sip of his Scotch. "They do. Hopefully, eventually, to the people who deserve it."
Unsure what Giles meant by that, Wesley scooted a little closer, hoping Giles wouldn't think him childish for seeking out the warmth and comfort. He laid his head on Giles' arm and let his thoughts wander.
They returned to Faith, of course. His mistake lay in his belief that his help would be wanted, or rather, that any help at all would be wanted. Not that he shouldn't have approached her, but perhaps he should have done it differently somehow.
"Why did you sneak away?" Giles' asked, once again pulling Wesley from his thoughts.
"What?" Turning, he found Giles' face quite close to his own and had to force his eyes to stay on Giles' rather than let them slip down to the man's lips.
"From the library. Why did you sneak away to speak to Faith? Without even a word." He had to be imagining the hurt in Giles' voice. Still, the thought that his actions had somehow hurt Giles made him feel even worse. Without his realizing it, his hand stole out to stroke Giles' chest, as if he could soothe his mistake away.
"I--I didn't want you to talk me out of it," Wesley eventually admitted. "I wanted to do something--" right "--to help."
"I wish you'd have talked to me," Giles' voice made his chest rumble and Wesley finally realized where he'd put his hand. He fixed his eyes on it, heart picking up speed. When he made an abortive attempt to move it, Giles settled his own hand over it, pressing lightly. "I understand why you went. I might even have done the same in your place, but--"
Wesley snorted, watching with a strange detachment as he intertwined his fingers with Giles'. "No, you wouldn't have," he said with a sigh. "You understood that that approach wouldn't work. It never even occurred to me."
"You're new to this. All of it. Being a Watcher is not something one learns from books and rules. You're only now learning how," Giles said and Wesley could feel him shrug, as if it was nothing, as if it didn't matter.
Wesley wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd made a mistake, several apparently, and yet Giles was treating it as if nothing had gone wrong. Why wasn't the man angry? Why wasn't he telling Wesley what he'd done wrong? Giles should be angry, should be telling Wesley how to make things right.
The whole thing confused him.
"Yes, new and apparently rather bad at it," he sighed, closing his eyes and slowly, almost guiltily, letting his head slide onto Giles' shoulder. He stayed tense and still, ready to move should Giles laugh or comment. Instead, Giles' arm slid so that it lay along his shoulders and arm.
"No, just new. You'll get better, if you stop trying to be perfect."
Wesley snorted at that statement, pulling away to look Giles in the eyes. "You do realize that you just told me to stop trying so that I would get better, yes?" Giles chuckled, but there was no derision in the sound.
"No," he said, hand moving up and down Wesley' arm in a way that both soothed and excited the younger man. "I told you to stop trying to be perfect. Wesley, you're human. Striving for perfection is setting yourself up for failure. It makes every mistake seem larger than it is. Also," he said with what Wesley could only call a warm smile, "it turns you into an utter git."
Furrowing his brow over an insult delivered in such a kind voice, Wesley tilted his head, trying to understand. "You say that, but you don't seem . . ." Angry wasn't what he meant at all, but he couldn't come up with another word that suited better.
"Put off?" Giles suggested with a small smile, continuing when Wesley nodded. "Perhaps, that's because I have a better understanding now of why you sometimes act that way. And I've come to see that you don't act that way all of the time. Sometimes," Giles said leaning in closer in a way that made Wesley's breathing speed up, "you're even very pleasant."
The kiss didn't take him by surprise, but that hardly mattered when Giles' lips pressed against his own, rubbing softly. Wesley moaned at the feel, needing no coaxing to part them, to let Giles' tongue sweep away whatever words he might have spoken. His hands automatically sought out Giles' body, one reaching to tangle in his hair while the other slid from chest to hip.
Giles' hands were on Wesley as well, one squeezing gently at the back of his neck and the other sliding over his thigh, working toward--Wesley's thought spun away as Giles' hand cupped his burgeoning erection, thumb sliding over the zip of his trousers. His groan was muffled by Giles' mouth, and Wesley felt himself relaxing completely.
Giles pulled away, humming against his lips. "You feel so good in my hand, Wesley. Hardening under my fingers."
Swallowing hard, trying to keep his composure as Giles stroked more firmly, Wesley let his head fall against the sofa back. His hips arched to push his now straining cock into Giles' hand and he couldn't help the moan that broke from his lips.
"Does that feel good?" There was a thread of amusement in Giles' voice, but Wesley didn't mind, didn't care about much of anything as long as the other man kept doing what he was doing.
"God, yes," Wesley found himself answering, his hands scrabbling at the couch, searching for something to anchor him.
"You’re so beautiful like this, arching, body taut." The words seemed to run straight to his cock, making it twitch in Giles' hand. Wesley whimpered when the touch changed, when the pressure left. His body sagged into the cushions and he looked at Giles with pleading eyes.
"Just unzipping you," Giles soothed, his hands matching his words. "Want to touch your skin, so warm and smooth, feel you pulse hot and heavy in my grip."
Sighing, Wesley slid a hand over Giles' thigh, reaching for Giles obviously hard cock. Giles rose up on his knees to make it easier, his hand nudging inside of Wesley's boxers to grip his erection even as Wesley' fingers closed over his.
Wesley relished Giles' drawn out groan, knowing he'd caused it, that it was for him. Spreading his legs wider to give Giles better access, Wesley tried to work Giles' zip one handed. Giles' thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum to ease the strokes and Wesley whimpered, his fingers fumbling, but he finally pulled the zip down. He thrust his hand inside just as Giles' lips claimed his, tongue pushing inside.
Giles moaned into his mouth and Wesley felt his balls begin to rise, the thought of his hand pulling such sounds from Giles almost sending him over the edge. He pulled away from the kiss reluctantly, trying to draw in enough breath to speak.
"I . . . I'm so close, Giles, I--"
"My name is Rupert," the man whispered against his ear, pulling his hand free of Wesley's boxers.
"Rupert," Wesley smiled, idiotically, he was sure, but he felt as if Giles had just told him a secret. No one else, so far as Wesley knew, got to call Giles that. Just him. He was fairly sure Giles--Rupert--had told him that before, but this . . . this was different somehow.
Pulling his hand away from Rupert's erection, Wesley felt suddenly shy, unsure what to do next. Rupert was kissing along his neck and it felt good, really good, but Wesley was still so close to the edge. He wanted . . . he wanted to come, but wasn't sure how to ask for that, was worried that Giles might think him ungrateful. Rupert was talking to him again and Wesley had to pull his mind together to understand the words.
"I want to taste you, Wesley. Can I do that? Suck your cock into my mouth and watch you writhe until you can't take it any longer?"
Wesley nodded frantically, whimpering as Rupert worked the buttons on his shirt, licking at each bit of exposed skin. Giles bit and sucked on one nipple and Wesley gasped, hands digging into the couch once again. Then Giles was sliding lower, his lips playing over stomach muscles and hair until his tongue slid under the elastic of Wesley' boxers. Unable to keep himself from bucking, Wesley tried to apologize, only to have the words cut off when Rupert mouthed his cock through the fabric.
Giles was tugging off Wesley's trousers and Wesley barely had the presence of mind to lift his hips to make things easier. He sat forward, pulling his shirt off while Giles bent to remove his shoes. Naked from the waist up, and with Giles taking care of the rest, Wesley ran his hands over Rupert's back, enjoying the feel of him through the slightly rough fabric of his shirt.
Standing, Rupert began undressing himself, his eyes skimming over Wesley's body in a way that made Wesley feel less vulnerable and far more erotic. Especially when Rupert's eyes met his own and Wesley could see the heat there.
Swallowing his nervousness, telling himself to be bold, Wesley fisted his own cock, stroking slowly as he watched Rupert undress. The process seemed to go faster with Giles' eyes riveted to Wesley' hand. He could actually see Giles' breathing pick up and that sent another jolt through him. Wesley had to stop, as good as it felt, knowing he'd come otherwise. He didn't want to do that yet, not until . . .
The thought of Rupert's mouth on him made his cock twitch again and Wesley whined a little. There was no way he was going to last and then he'd disappoint Rupert and . . . that did it. The anxiety pushed him farther from orgasm, though not far enough for his peace of mind. An idea struck him then and Wesley bit his lip, wondering if he could actually . . .
Looking up at Rupert, who had just taken his shirt off, Wesley swallowed hard. "I want to t-taste you f-first." Rupert raised an eyebrow at that, sitting beside Wesley and running a hand over his thigh. Wesley sighed, still nervous, waiting to see what Rupert's reaction would be.
"All right," Rupert agreed against his cheek, kissing softly along his jaw line. "Always tell me what you want, Wesley."
Nodding, Wesley licked his lips as Rupert lay back, drawing Wesley with him. Heart thudding in his ears, Wesley started by kissing Rupert's chest, letting the hair tickle his face as he nuzzled close and breathed in Rupert's scent. Curious, he moved a little to the right, letting his tongue dart out against Rupert's nipple.
Rupert groaned loudly, arching up. Smiling, only a little shyly, Wesley did it again, enjoying the way the little nub grew tight under his tongue. He moved to the other, using the same slight, delicate touches until it was hard and then rubbing his lips against it.
Rupert was clutching the sofa cushions and Wesley felt like laughing with the joy of it. Swallowing what he was sure were inappropriate giggles, he licked lower, watching as Rupert's stomach muscles jumped at the contact. Thrilled that he was having such an effect, he boldly slid lower. His own cock forgotten, he contemplated Rupert's, unsure how to begin.
Taking a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to Rupert's, he found the other man watching him, chest heaving. Wesley flicked out his tongue, touching it to Rupert's foreskin and watching as Rupert's eyes fluttered shut. He licked, more firmly, from the head to the base, burying his nose in Rupert's hair, inhaling deeply. The scent was the same, but more pronounced, more . . . Wesley didn't even have words.
He licked lower, watching Rupert's cock twitch when Wesley's tongue touched his balls. Returning to the head, he watched as a pool of pre-cum formed, trickling down the side. On impulse, he darted in, licking at it, following it back to the head.
"Good bloody Lord," Rupert groaned, watching him once again.
Swallowing hard, Wesley licked his lips, unconsciously chasing the last drops of Rupert's flavor. Taking Rupert's dick in his hand, he parted his lips and pressed the hard shaft into his mouth, pushing the foreskin back as he did. Lapping at the underside of the head, he sucked hard and almost gagged when Rupert bucked his hips.
"S-sorry," Rupert said immediately, hand brushing over Wesley's face. Wesley got himself under control, and then smiled a little, raising one eyebrow.
"Couldn't help yourself?"
Rupert grinned, shaking his head slowly, eyes slipping down to Wesley' mouth. Warmed by the admission, Wesley leaned forward, again taking Rupert into his mouth. He could feel the tension in Giles. Giles’ legs trembled under Wesley's hand, his cock twitching against Wesley' palate. Knowing he could do that to Rupert, have such an effect on the staid man, made Wesley's own cock twitch. He ignored it, sucking once again, slowly pushing to take in as much of Rupert's cock as he could before withdrawing to lap at the head once more.
Groaning between pants, Rupert clutched the sofa, his body tense as a loaded crossbow. Daring a bit further, Wesley slid a hand to Rupert's balls, rubbing gently against them, feeling them tighten under his hand.
"I'm, Wesley, I'm almost there," Rupert panted out, his fingers sliding into Wesley's hair. His nod drew another groan from Rupert and Wesley began stroking Giles' shaft with his hand, sucking at the head of Rupert's cock while he bobbed his head.
"Yes . . . oh, God . . . Wesley, I--" the words turned in a shout as Rupert's body seemed to contract under him and Rupert's cock twitched and pulsed, filling his mouth. Wesley refused to swallow at first, letting Rupert's taste pour over his tongue. After milking Rupert's orgasm, he sat up, swallowing and then breathing hard as he tried to calm down.
Giles didn't move for a long moment. He was smiling, though, watching Wesley through half-lidded eyes. He wouldn't have been surprised had Rupert spontaneously begun to purr.
Then Rupert pulled himself up, hand reaching out to cup the back of Wesley's neck and pull their mouths together. Wesley moaned as Rupert licked along his lips before diving in, pushing his tongue against every surface inside Wesley's mouth.
Wesley moaned, bucking into the touch, when Rupert's fingers slipped around his erection. He ached with his need for release and let Rupert push him back. His head lolled backward as Rupert licked at his neck and he moaned as that talented mouth worked its way down his chest. Wesley was grateful when Rupert didn't linger over his nipples, unsure he could take the lovely torment just then.
His cock jumped when Rupert pressed his lips to it. Giles fisted him, spreading pre-cum with his thumb, before lapping at the head. Wesley shuddered as Rupert stroked him, tongue flickering under his foreskin and pushing it back.
Panting, Wesley strained to get more of that hot mouth, spreading his legs wider. Had he been able to catch his breath, Wesley was fairly sure he'd have begged, anything to get those lips around his cock again.
Then Rupert was taking him in, warm, wet mouth sliding down his throbbing prick, hand rolling his balls, and he groaned. It felt like nothing else. Rupert's mouth was so soft, his tongue playing with Wesley's foreskin, providing constant sensation. Wesley's body strained as he fought not to buck, not to thrust himself deeper into that lovely mouth.
The fingers on his balls slipped lower, press-sliding over his perineum before rubbing against his entrance. Wesley gasped, half sitting up, hands grabbing for anything close by. Then Rupert pressed inside him, just a little, enough make the burn rise. Wesley moaned, his balls drawing up tight.
Wesley shouted as he came, body shuddering from head to toe, muscles clenching, flooding Rupert's mouth. He felt Rupert swallow around him and shivered, the last tremors of his orgasm echoing down his nerves.
Rupert pulled away and then crawled up Wesley's body, their mouths meeting in a sated, lazy kiss. Rupert relaxed against him, settling in so that his weight was more on the couch than on Wesley. His hands slid over Wesley' sweat-slick skin in soothing patterns.
"I . . ." Wesley didn't know what to say. He wanted to say something, wanted to hear Rupert speak to know this was real and not just a very, very vivid dream. "That was . . ."
"Mmm-hmm," Rupert agreed and pressed his lips against Wesley's neck in a soft kiss that made Wesley shiver. "It definitely was."
Continued here.
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 3/17
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.
The library was near to silent, quieter than Wesley had ever heard with the children present. Even Willow and Xander were speechless, absorbing the news.
"So," Xander finally said, "uh, what do we do about this?"
Wesley cleared his throat, licking his lips before he began. "May I suggest we call the Council? This isn't the first time something like this has happened, there are . . . procedures to be followed."
"This has happened before?" Xander leaned forward, his eyes on Wesley. Wesley forced away his nervousness, determined not to give Xander that satisfaction.
"Yes," Giles answered from his place by the office door. Wesley heard Giles' footsteps, and then felt the heat from Giles' body as he settled himself on the table not far away. "Uh, Slayers being on the front lines, it has, well, it's happened in the past."
"It was quick," Buffy supplied, "I, I only realized just, a second or so before . . ."
"Yes, exactly," Giles removed his glasses, polishing them and Wesley had to force his eyes away from Giles' fingers as his mind conjured the feel of them against his skin.
Stop it! He ordered himself, turning his gaze first to the table and then to the others.
"However," Giles continued, "I don't believe that the Council is the best option." Wesley opened his mouth to disagree, but Giles quickly continued. "It's only that Faith is in complete denial and . . . I don't think such a confrontational approach is necessarily going to help her. We need her to know she can trust us, come to us, and calling the Council--"
"Will seem as if we're abandoning her, handing her off to be someone else's problem," Wesley nodded, conceding the point, for once, gracefully. He might not have, under other circumstances, but Giles was taking the time to listen, to explain his feelings on the matter and . . . well, perhaps Wesley was more disposed to listen than he would have been just a few days ago.
Is this relationship clouding my perceptions? The thought worried him greatly. His admiration of Giles had only grown in the past few days, especially once he had seen a side to Giles other than the sarcastic wit so often pitted against him. Or, rather, now that he had seen it in more than mere glimpses aimed at the children. The thought of losing their fragile relationship made him feel jittery and out of focus. Still, his primary duty lay with the Council. Would he be betraying that duty by concurring with Giles' plans?
Wesley tried to detach himself from the situation, tried to decide what he would do were he not . . . in his current position. Did Giles have a point? Yes. Was he agreeing with the point or agreeing with Giles simply because he was Giles? No, Wesley decided. He did believe that Faith would feel handed off, but . . . did that matter?
Wesley's eyes travel to Buffy, considering. Before he'd come to Sunnydale, he knew his immediate answer would be that it didn't. That Faith was a weapon, as was Buffy. But he'd read Giles' journals, he'd seen her laughing with her friends. He'd seen Faith laugh once or twice and he sometimes forgot to think of them as Slayers at all. Was that his problem or was that the way it should be? Giles obviously saw something more in Buffy than the weapon the Council called her.
Does he see more in me than the Watcher? The question struck him hard and Wesley blinked, considering. He was a Watcher, all his life had known he would be. There was no other way than his father's way, of course, but was he only a Watcher? He snapped back to the conversation just as Xander was suggesting he should go to speak with Faith.
"Well, I can be the one . . . on her one." Xander paused, apparently realizing how that had sounded. "Let's rephrase. I think she might listen to me. We kind of have, um, a connection."
"A connection? Why would you think that?" Buffy shook her head, looking askance at the young man. Wesley, realizing what the boy was saying, merely looked away, his mind heading off in another direction.
Shouldn't he be the one to talk to Faith? As little as she and Buffy seemed to think of it, he was her Watcher. He was willing to cede Buffy to Giles. The two of them . . . he was beginning to understand that he could never take Giles' place there, but Faith needed a Watcher, he needed a Slayer. Perhaps he could even begin to forge a bond with the young woman similar to the one Giles had created with Buffy.
He smiled a little at that, daydreams filling his head before the Council's view of such an idea came crashing in to ruin them. They'd sacked Giles for the bond he and Buffy shared, but . . . perhaps they were wrong in having done so. That didn't change much. They would do the same to him in a moment and then where would he be?
His heart pounded hard at the thought, the disapproval he knew he'd receive from his father making him swallow hard against the lump in his throat. Then Giles' hand brushed his shoulder, quite by accident he was sure, but Wesley felt the tension in his stomach ease at once.
He was more than a Watcher.
"Then why would you . . ." Buffy paused, seeming to have finally caught on, "Oh."
"Oh!" Giles echoed, polishing his glasses with a vaguely disturbed expression.
All eyes turned to Willow who shrugged. "I don't need to say 'oh'. I got it before. They slept together."
"Fine, fine, let's--let's move on," Giles insisted and Wesley had to smile a little at seeing that flustered expression.
"All right. Look, I-I know that you mean well, Xander, but, um, I-I just don't see Faith opening up to you." Buffy looked to Xander, not unkindly, saying, "She doesn't take the guys that she has a . . .'connection' with very seriously. And they're, they're kind of a big joke to her. No offense."
"Oh, no. I mean, why would I be offended by that?" Xander quipped, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
Giles stepped in, trying to turn the topic back to helping Faith, where it belonged. While Giles’ attention was elsewhere, Wesley made up his mind. He wanted to talk to Faith, wanted to get through to her and . . . he wanted to do this right, do something right. Slipping quietly away, Wesley soon found himself before Faith's motel room door.
It was almost as if someone else's hand rose to knock. His heart was pounding. This was his chance to show Giles, and the others, that he wasn't some prat who always screwed things up. He could help; he could be useful.
The door opened and Faith peered out, her eyebrows drawn together.
"Wesley? What do you want?"
"I, uh, I came to-to talk to you, about . . . what happened. I, uh, I thought you might need someone to talk to about it." Wesley realized he was all but babbling, but his mind suddenly deserted him. He had no idea how to broach the topic, really. How did one even begin to explain something like this?
Faith snorted, stepping back to let him inside. "So, why aren't you talking to Buffy then? I guess Giles got that assignment?"
"No, uh, there was no assignment. I, uh, Faith . . ." Wesley wasn't sure what to do with himself. He stood, hands at his side, trying to come up with the right words. There had to be right words. Giles would know what to say and . . . why had he ever thought he'd be able to do this? "I know that it was an accident. I understand how quickly things happened and--"
"So? Again, I say why aren't you talking to B? She's the one who 'accidentally'. . ." Faith raised her hands, making little quotation marks in the air, ". . . offed a guy. Me? I've got nothing to talk about."
She pulled herself up to sit her chest of drawers, giving Wesley a bored look as she fidgeted with her fingernails.
"I know that isn't true," Wesley said, trying to get through to her, to let her know that he was on her side and wanted to help. "I know that it was you, Faith and I'm willing to do all I can to help you, but--"
"Is this the part where you say, 'if you don't tell anyone that I'm screwing the old guy'? 'Cause, frankly, I think Buffy and the others oughta know that." There was a nasty smirk on the girl's face as she slipped from the chest of drawers, crossing her arms over her stomach.
"What?" Wesley blinked at her, his voice a little more shrill than he'd have liked.
"Well, he is kinda like their dad and all. Don't you think they should know that kinda stuff? How do you think they'd react, Wesley? Huh? How do you think Buffy and Willow and Xander would react?"
"You're trying to put me on the defensive," Wesley said, keeping his voice calm, measured, unwilling to give away any more than he already had. "It isn't going to work, Faith. Please, I'm on your side and--"
"No one is 'on my side'," she shouted and then clenched her jaw. Wesley blinked, glad when she seemed to calm down. "I don’t have a side here. Can't you get that through your head?"
"You have to admit that you made a mistake, Faith. It happens. It's horrible and it's hard and it feels like the end of the world--"
"What the hell would you know about it, you prissy little momma's boy? How would you know what the hell anything's like?" Faith advanced on him, but Wesley refused to back down, holding his stance even when she got right in his face.
"Faith, I can help you, if you'll let me. The Council--"
"What? You called those freaks on me?"
"No! No, I want to forge a connection with you, like--"
"A connection?" Faith raised an eyebrow, snorting. "And here I thought you weren't batting for that team. What, the old man can't keep up with you?"
"What? Good Lord, Faith, that's not wh-what I meant!"
"Uh-huh, sure it isn't." She took another step closer and this time Wesley did step back, trying to put some distance between them, but Faith kept coming and Wesley hit the wall. He swallowed hard, realizing he'd put himself in the room with an angry Slayer, far stronger and quicker than he'd ever be.
Faith pressed against him, her eyes hard as stone.
"You don't want to do this, Faith, neither of us wants this. I just want to help you face this thing and you can, I know you're scared, but you--"
"Shut up! God! Is talking all you ever do? Just . . . just shut up!" Faith pressed him hard, her jaw clenching tight. Wesley found himself balling his hands into fists, still trying to get through to Faith.
"I only want to help--"
"Oh, I bet I know," Faith interrupted, that nasty little smirk on her face again. "Old Rupes can't give you what want, right? Need something a little . . . harder? Is that where the bruises came from, Wes?" Faith laughed her own joke, but Wesley ignored it, his fists shaking now.
"Faith, please, just back up and we can--"
Then Faith's hands were around his throat, pressing into bruises left there just the other night. Wesley wanted to shout at her to stop, but he couldn't get the air into lungs and her hands were so bloody strong.
"Like this, Wes? Giles not up to this?" She was saying, her voice sharp and hard with anger. Wesley thrashed, manicured nails too short to do much damage as he clawed at her hands and wrists, trying to get them away, get some space so that he could breathe. Faith squeezed harder, her words no longer breaking into his mind as it was filled with only one thought. The need to breathe blotted out all else and Wesley struggled, panic keeping him fighting even as he could feel himself weakening. The world began to go black around the edges.
He was barely conscious when the door flew open, slamming into Faith and knocking her back. He tried to stand, blinking away the black sparks that had invaded his vision as Angel and Giles came into the room.
Then Faith was up and shouting, her words incoherent to Wesley' ringing ears. Giles came to him, giving him an arm to lean against.
"Come along, I think Angel can handle this," Giles said, voice calm and soothing even through the bells clattering in Wesley' ears. "Let's get you out of here."
There was shouting behind them, the sound of something breaking, but Wesley was too busy sucking in air through his aching throat to care very much. Giles helped him into the car and it felt so familiar that Wesley wanted to weep. He'd done it again; screwed up again. But Giles was also there again, hands gentle as he buckled the seat belt.
"I'm--I'm fine," he croaked when Giles slid into the driver's seat.
"You're not fine," and Giles' voice sounded strained and angry. He'd known the older man would be cross and he could hardly blame him. This had to be the most idiotic thing he'd done to date.
"I know . . . it was . . . stupid . . . I'm . . . sorry to make you have to . . . help me again. I just . . . I wanted to help, to prove I'm not . . . useless."
Giles' hand froze on the keys and he turned to look at Wesley. "She hurt you. It's not your fault, Wesley. I--I understand why you did it. You're her Watcher, you feel responsible for her. That's the way it's supposed to be. I only wish you'd asked me to come along."
Wesley gaped at Giles as he started the car, trying to process all those words and come up with something that made sense.
"You're . . . not angry?"
"At you? No. But Faith is lucky it's Angel in there."
Wesley opened his mouth to reply but what could he say to that? He slipped lower in his seat, forehead furrowing as he tried to work out what all this meant. Giles wasn't angry with him. He wished Wesley had thought to ask him along. Faith was lucky to be fighting a vampire with over two hundred years of life experience. . .
It didn't add up in his oxygen-deprived brain, but it made him feel warm inside.
Wesley barely noticed when they arrived at Giles' flat instead of his own. His mind was churning over the encounter with Faith, looking for any opening, any opportunity he had missed. It had been there, he knew it. If he could just find it . . .
"Wesley?" Giles' voice called him from his thoughts and he looked over to the older man, realizing the car had been stopped for a few moments.
"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry, I was, uh, thinking. Th-thank you for the-the ride. I--" When he went to open the door he realized where they were, and he looked to Giles, confused.
"I can take you to your flat, if you'd rather." Giles' voice was soft, soothing and Wesley didn't know what to say. He didn't want to go to his place. It was bare and lonely, and Giles' flat was so much more inviting and warm, but he'd have to go home eventually. Giles would surely rather not look at him tonight and the last thing he wanted to do was wear his welcome thin--
"That's it." Giles' voice once again interrupted his thoughts as Giles smiled gently, reaching a hand out to brush over Wesley's cheek. "If that simple question takes so much thought, you're not to be alone tonight."
Wesley smiled a little at that, ducking his head. Giles had asked him to stay. Well, more insisted really, which made him feel less like an imposition and more . . . wanted.
Shaking his head at his own silliness, Wesley undid his seat belt and got out of the car. Neither he nor Giles spoke until they were inside. Wesley wanted to ask Giles a few questions, but he didn't even know how to begin. Surprised when Giles handed him a glass of Scotch, Wesley took it automatically, staring into the tumbler.
"You looked as if you could use it," Giles explained, relaxing back onto the couch beside Wesley with a glass of his own. He laid one arm along the sofa-back and fixed Wesley with a direct gaze, waiting, as if he knew Wesley wanted to say something but couldn't find words.
"I . . . I wondered if, uh, if you could . . . Help me to understand how I . . . Help me pin down what mistakes I made?" Wesley looked into the glass rather than at Giles, uncertain as to whether he wanted to see the other man's expression.
"Certainly, if you really feel you made a mistake."
"I had to have done," Wesley insisted, taking a small drink of the Scotch and wincing as it slid down his throat. Putting it on the coffee table, he stood, pacing the small area between bookcases and couch. "She ended up choking me, after all."
"That doesn't mean you made a mistake. It's possible that the same would have happened to anyone. Why don't you tell me about it?" Giles kicked off his shoes, crossing his legs at the ankle, though his gaze was always on Wesley. Wesley could feel the weight of it, even when he wasn't looking.
Sighing as he collapsed back onto the couch and taking what he hoped would be a fortifying gulp of the Scotch, Wesley explained. He went over it all from the moment he'd knocked on Faith's door to the moment her hands wrapped around his throat, flinching when he repeated what she'd said about Giles.
"Hmm, so she was defensive? Why is that, do you think?" Giles' quiet question had Wesley turning to him, considering.
"Well, she-she was obviously frightened. The more I said that I wanted to help, the angrier she became. I--I don't understand. Shouldn't it have felt good to know that someone was on her side, willing to help?"
"Perhaps Faith didn't like the thought that she needed help. You're right, she's scared, but does she strike you as the type to admit that?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He leaned back into the couch, his mind filled with so many thoughts he barely noticed when Giles' hand stroked his neck. He felt comfortable--relaxed, even--as he considered his mistakes. Giles wasn't getting angry or shouting at him. It was nice to have someone listening.
While Wesley knew that, in Faith's situation, he'd have been grateful to have someone willing to help him, he could also understand the fear of needing that help. The fear of others seeing his weaknesses and, perhaps, using them against him. It hadn't been long ago--God, has it only been two days?--that such a fear haunted his every step. It still did around most people.
Shifting, suddenly uncomfortable, Wesley cast a sidelong glance at Giles. The man stared contemplatively at the wall, giving Wesley as much privacy with his own thoughts as he was able to without moving away. Wesley noticed the brush of fingers over his neck and the touch, so casual and unplanned, made him smile.
"No," he finally answered on a sigh. "She must feel quite helpless and she doesn't want anyone to see that. She's afraid that, if people see how off balance and out of her depth she is, they'll use it to hurt her." He sat bolt upright at that, turning to Giles. "Angel won't hurt her, will he?"
Giles' gaze snapped back to him and a small smile touched his lips. He shook his head before his eyes flicked down to Wesley's throat. Wesley' hand rose, touching the new bruises there with a sigh.
"Strangled twice in two days. That's a new record even for me," his laugh was bitter, but he didn't understand the flash of anger that ripped through Giles' eyes. Confused, he looked away, trying to figure out what he'd said.
"You've been strangled before?" The question was soft in volume, but hard in tone.
Realizing what he'd let slip, Wesley forced a shrug. "Not as such, but . . . things happen," he whispered, pushing away memories of a hand pulling at the back of his collar, tugging him toward the door beneath the stairs, the memories of his shirt buttons digging into his throat. He once again stared into his Scotch. Abruptly, he put it back on the coffee table, swallowing hard. He'd had too much of it already if he hadn't thought before saying that.
There was silence between them for a moment. Wesley was just beginning to feel agitated when Giles shifted closer, his arm circling Wesley's shoulders and pulling him against his side. Wesley went willingly, allowing Giles to pull him in. It felt good, but he was afraid to speak in case his words broke it all apart, or he said something else he shouldn't.
"Yes," Giles finally said, taking a sip of his Scotch. "They do. Hopefully, eventually, to the people who deserve it."
Unsure what Giles meant by that, Wesley scooted a little closer, hoping Giles wouldn't think him childish for seeking out the warmth and comfort. He laid his head on Giles' arm and let his thoughts wander.
They returned to Faith, of course. His mistake lay in his belief that his help would be wanted, or rather, that any help at all would be wanted. Not that he shouldn't have approached her, but perhaps he should have done it differently somehow.
"Why did you sneak away?" Giles' asked, once again pulling Wesley from his thoughts.
"What?" Turning, he found Giles' face quite close to his own and had to force his eyes to stay on Giles' rather than let them slip down to the man's lips.
"From the library. Why did you sneak away to speak to Faith? Without even a word." He had to be imagining the hurt in Giles' voice. Still, the thought that his actions had somehow hurt Giles made him feel even worse. Without his realizing it, his hand stole out to stroke Giles' chest, as if he could soothe his mistake away.
"I--I didn't want you to talk me out of it," Wesley eventually admitted. "I wanted to do something--" right "--to help."
"I wish you'd have talked to me," Giles' voice made his chest rumble and Wesley finally realized where he'd put his hand. He fixed his eyes on it, heart picking up speed. When he made an abortive attempt to move it, Giles settled his own hand over it, pressing lightly. "I understand why you went. I might even have done the same in your place, but--"
Wesley snorted, watching with a strange detachment as he intertwined his fingers with Giles'. "No, you wouldn't have," he said with a sigh. "You understood that that approach wouldn't work. It never even occurred to me."
"You're new to this. All of it. Being a Watcher is not something one learns from books and rules. You're only now learning how," Giles said and Wesley could feel him shrug, as if it was nothing, as if it didn't matter.
Wesley wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd made a mistake, several apparently, and yet Giles was treating it as if nothing had gone wrong. Why wasn't the man angry? Why wasn't he telling Wesley what he'd done wrong? Giles should be angry, should be telling Wesley how to make things right.
The whole thing confused him.
"Yes, new and apparently rather bad at it," he sighed, closing his eyes and slowly, almost guiltily, letting his head slide onto Giles' shoulder. He stayed tense and still, ready to move should Giles laugh or comment. Instead, Giles' arm slid so that it lay along his shoulders and arm.
"No, just new. You'll get better, if you stop trying to be perfect."
Wesley snorted at that statement, pulling away to look Giles in the eyes. "You do realize that you just told me to stop trying so that I would get better, yes?" Giles chuckled, but there was no derision in the sound.
"No," he said, hand moving up and down Wesley' arm in a way that both soothed and excited the younger man. "I told you to stop trying to be perfect. Wesley, you're human. Striving for perfection is setting yourself up for failure. It makes every mistake seem larger than it is. Also," he said with what Wesley could only call a warm smile, "it turns you into an utter git."
Furrowing his brow over an insult delivered in such a kind voice, Wesley tilted his head, trying to understand. "You say that, but you don't seem . . ." Angry wasn't what he meant at all, but he couldn't come up with another word that suited better.
"Put off?" Giles suggested with a small smile, continuing when Wesley nodded. "Perhaps, that's because I have a better understanding now of why you sometimes act that way. And I've come to see that you don't act that way all of the time. Sometimes," Giles said leaning in closer in a way that made Wesley's breathing speed up, "you're even very pleasant."
The kiss didn't take him by surprise, but that hardly mattered when Giles' lips pressed against his own, rubbing softly. Wesley moaned at the feel, needing no coaxing to part them, to let Giles' tongue sweep away whatever words he might have spoken. His hands automatically sought out Giles' body, one reaching to tangle in his hair while the other slid from chest to hip.
Giles' hands were on Wesley as well, one squeezing gently at the back of his neck and the other sliding over his thigh, working toward--Wesley's thought spun away as Giles' hand cupped his burgeoning erection, thumb sliding over the zip of his trousers. His groan was muffled by Giles' mouth, and Wesley felt himself relaxing completely.
Giles pulled away, humming against his lips. "You feel so good in my hand, Wesley. Hardening under my fingers."
Swallowing hard, trying to keep his composure as Giles stroked more firmly, Wesley let his head fall against the sofa back. His hips arched to push his now straining cock into Giles' hand and he couldn't help the moan that broke from his lips.
"Does that feel good?" There was a thread of amusement in Giles' voice, but Wesley didn't mind, didn't care about much of anything as long as the other man kept doing what he was doing.
"God, yes," Wesley found himself answering, his hands scrabbling at the couch, searching for something to anchor him.
"You’re so beautiful like this, arching, body taut." The words seemed to run straight to his cock, making it twitch in Giles' hand. Wesley whimpered when the touch changed, when the pressure left. His body sagged into the cushions and he looked at Giles with pleading eyes.
"Just unzipping you," Giles soothed, his hands matching his words. "Want to touch your skin, so warm and smooth, feel you pulse hot and heavy in my grip."
Sighing, Wesley slid a hand over Giles' thigh, reaching for Giles obviously hard cock. Giles rose up on his knees to make it easier, his hand nudging inside of Wesley's boxers to grip his erection even as Wesley' fingers closed over his.
Wesley relished Giles' drawn out groan, knowing he'd caused it, that it was for him. Spreading his legs wider to give Giles better access, Wesley tried to work Giles' zip one handed. Giles' thumb swiped over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum to ease the strokes and Wesley whimpered, his fingers fumbling, but he finally pulled the zip down. He thrust his hand inside just as Giles' lips claimed his, tongue pushing inside.
Giles moaned into his mouth and Wesley felt his balls begin to rise, the thought of his hand pulling such sounds from Giles almost sending him over the edge. He pulled away from the kiss reluctantly, trying to draw in enough breath to speak.
"I . . . I'm so close, Giles, I--"
"My name is Rupert," the man whispered against his ear, pulling his hand free of Wesley's boxers.
"Rupert," Wesley smiled, idiotically, he was sure, but he felt as if Giles had just told him a secret. No one else, so far as Wesley knew, got to call Giles that. Just him. He was fairly sure Giles--Rupert--had told him that before, but this . . . this was different somehow.
Pulling his hand away from Rupert's erection, Wesley felt suddenly shy, unsure what to do next. Rupert was kissing along his neck and it felt good, really good, but Wesley was still so close to the edge. He wanted . . . he wanted to come, but wasn't sure how to ask for that, was worried that Giles might think him ungrateful. Rupert was talking to him again and Wesley had to pull his mind together to understand the words.
"I want to taste you, Wesley. Can I do that? Suck your cock into my mouth and watch you writhe until you can't take it any longer?"
Wesley nodded frantically, whimpering as Rupert worked the buttons on his shirt, licking at each bit of exposed skin. Giles bit and sucked on one nipple and Wesley gasped, hands digging into the couch once again. Then Giles was sliding lower, his lips playing over stomach muscles and hair until his tongue slid under the elastic of Wesley' boxers. Unable to keep himself from bucking, Wesley tried to apologize, only to have the words cut off when Rupert mouthed his cock through the fabric.
Giles was tugging off Wesley's trousers and Wesley barely had the presence of mind to lift his hips to make things easier. He sat forward, pulling his shirt off while Giles bent to remove his shoes. Naked from the waist up, and with Giles taking care of the rest, Wesley ran his hands over Rupert's back, enjoying the feel of him through the slightly rough fabric of his shirt.
Standing, Rupert began undressing himself, his eyes skimming over Wesley's body in a way that made Wesley feel less vulnerable and far more erotic. Especially when Rupert's eyes met his own and Wesley could see the heat there.
Swallowing his nervousness, telling himself to be bold, Wesley fisted his own cock, stroking slowly as he watched Rupert undress. The process seemed to go faster with Giles' eyes riveted to Wesley' hand. He could actually see Giles' breathing pick up and that sent another jolt through him. Wesley had to stop, as good as it felt, knowing he'd come otherwise. He didn't want to do that yet, not until . . .
The thought of Rupert's mouth on him made his cock twitch again and Wesley whined a little. There was no way he was going to last and then he'd disappoint Rupert and . . . that did it. The anxiety pushed him farther from orgasm, though not far enough for his peace of mind. An idea struck him then and Wesley bit his lip, wondering if he could actually . . .
Looking up at Rupert, who had just taken his shirt off, Wesley swallowed hard. "I want to t-taste you f-first." Rupert raised an eyebrow at that, sitting beside Wesley and running a hand over his thigh. Wesley sighed, still nervous, waiting to see what Rupert's reaction would be.
"All right," Rupert agreed against his cheek, kissing softly along his jaw line. "Always tell me what you want, Wesley."
Nodding, Wesley licked his lips as Rupert lay back, drawing Wesley with him. Heart thudding in his ears, Wesley started by kissing Rupert's chest, letting the hair tickle his face as he nuzzled close and breathed in Rupert's scent. Curious, he moved a little to the right, letting his tongue dart out against Rupert's nipple.
Rupert groaned loudly, arching up. Smiling, only a little shyly, Wesley did it again, enjoying the way the little nub grew tight under his tongue. He moved to the other, using the same slight, delicate touches until it was hard and then rubbing his lips against it.
Rupert was clutching the sofa cushions and Wesley felt like laughing with the joy of it. Swallowing what he was sure were inappropriate giggles, he licked lower, watching as Rupert's stomach muscles jumped at the contact. Thrilled that he was having such an effect, he boldly slid lower. His own cock forgotten, he contemplated Rupert's, unsure how to begin.
Taking a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to Rupert's, he found the other man watching him, chest heaving. Wesley flicked out his tongue, touching it to Rupert's foreskin and watching as Rupert's eyes fluttered shut. He licked, more firmly, from the head to the base, burying his nose in Rupert's hair, inhaling deeply. The scent was the same, but more pronounced, more . . . Wesley didn't even have words.
He licked lower, watching Rupert's cock twitch when Wesley's tongue touched his balls. Returning to the head, he watched as a pool of pre-cum formed, trickling down the side. On impulse, he darted in, licking at it, following it back to the head.
"Good bloody Lord," Rupert groaned, watching him once again.
Swallowing hard, Wesley licked his lips, unconsciously chasing the last drops of Rupert's flavor. Taking Rupert's dick in his hand, he parted his lips and pressed the hard shaft into his mouth, pushing the foreskin back as he did. Lapping at the underside of the head, he sucked hard and almost gagged when Rupert bucked his hips.
"S-sorry," Rupert said immediately, hand brushing over Wesley's face. Wesley got himself under control, and then smiled a little, raising one eyebrow.
"Couldn't help yourself?"
Rupert grinned, shaking his head slowly, eyes slipping down to Wesley' mouth. Warmed by the admission, Wesley leaned forward, again taking Rupert into his mouth. He could feel the tension in Giles. Giles’ legs trembled under Wesley's hand, his cock twitching against Wesley' palate. Knowing he could do that to Rupert, have such an effect on the staid man, made Wesley's own cock twitch. He ignored it, sucking once again, slowly pushing to take in as much of Rupert's cock as he could before withdrawing to lap at the head once more.
Groaning between pants, Rupert clutched the sofa, his body tense as a loaded crossbow. Daring a bit further, Wesley slid a hand to Rupert's balls, rubbing gently against them, feeling them tighten under his hand.
"I'm, Wesley, I'm almost there," Rupert panted out, his fingers sliding into Wesley's hair. His nod drew another groan from Rupert and Wesley began stroking Giles' shaft with his hand, sucking at the head of Rupert's cock while he bobbed his head.
"Yes . . . oh, God . . . Wesley, I--" the words turned in a shout as Rupert's body seemed to contract under him and Rupert's cock twitched and pulsed, filling his mouth. Wesley refused to swallow at first, letting Rupert's taste pour over his tongue. After milking Rupert's orgasm, he sat up, swallowing and then breathing hard as he tried to calm down.
Giles didn't move for a long moment. He was smiling, though, watching Wesley through half-lidded eyes. He wouldn't have been surprised had Rupert spontaneously begun to purr.
Then Rupert pulled himself up, hand reaching out to cup the back of Wesley's neck and pull their mouths together. Wesley moaned as Rupert licked along his lips before diving in, pushing his tongue against every surface inside Wesley's mouth.
Wesley moaned, bucking into the touch, when Rupert's fingers slipped around his erection. He ached with his need for release and let Rupert push him back. His head lolled backward as Rupert licked at his neck and he moaned as that talented mouth worked its way down his chest. Wesley was grateful when Rupert didn't linger over his nipples, unsure he could take the lovely torment just then.
His cock jumped when Rupert pressed his lips to it. Giles fisted him, spreading pre-cum with his thumb, before lapping at the head. Wesley shuddered as Rupert stroked him, tongue flickering under his foreskin and pushing it back.
Panting, Wesley strained to get more of that hot mouth, spreading his legs wider. Had he been able to catch his breath, Wesley was fairly sure he'd have begged, anything to get those lips around his cock again.
Then Rupert was taking him in, warm, wet mouth sliding down his throbbing prick, hand rolling his balls, and he groaned. It felt like nothing else. Rupert's mouth was so soft, his tongue playing with Wesley's foreskin, providing constant sensation. Wesley's body strained as he fought not to buck, not to thrust himself deeper into that lovely mouth.
The fingers on his balls slipped lower, press-sliding over his perineum before rubbing against his entrance. Wesley gasped, half sitting up, hands grabbing for anything close by. Then Rupert pressed inside him, just a little, enough make the burn rise. Wesley moaned, his balls drawing up tight.
Wesley shouted as he came, body shuddering from head to toe, muscles clenching, flooding Rupert's mouth. He felt Rupert swallow around him and shivered, the last tremors of his orgasm echoing down his nerves.
Rupert pulled away and then crawled up Wesley's body, their mouths meeting in a sated, lazy kiss. Rupert relaxed against him, settling in so that his weight was more on the couch than on Wesley. His hands slid over Wesley' sweat-slick skin in soothing patterns.
"I . . ." Wesley didn't know what to say. He wanted to say something, wanted to hear Rupert speak to know this was real and not just a very, very vivid dream. "That was . . ."
"Mmm-hmm," Rupert agreed and pressed his lips against Wesley's neck in a soft kiss that made Wesley shiver. "It definitely was."
Continued here.