Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley 10/17
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 10/17
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.
He woke early on Monday, hating that he felt so uncomfortable just lying in Rupert's bed. He turned over slowly, so as not to wake Rupert, and watched his lover sleep for a few moments before his uneasiness wouldn't let him stay any longer. Sighing, he eased out of the bed, somehow gratified when Rupert grumbled in his sleep.
He left a note taped to bridge of Rupert's glasses. He would have liked to stay and see the man's expression when he fumbled for them, put them on and found Wesley's note staring him in the face.
Smiling sadly at the thought, Wesley gathered the research materials he'd been using and the few things of his that had somehow wound up at Rupert's flat. Secretly, Wesley liked the thought that there was a piece of him here, or rather, many small pieces. He went to get his volume of Dryden's poetry from the coffee table and then stopped. He stared at it for a moment and then turned, leaving it there.
He wouldn't need it any time soon, and he'd be back for it. Of course he would.
Wesley glanced back up to the loft and then left quietly. He'd driven his own car the day before, thinking it best if he and Rupert--Giles, he should really try to call him Giles while the Council was about--arrived separately.
It was fairly cool for Sunnydale, the sun barely over the horizon. Wesley shivered, though not really from the temperature, and slipped into his car. His flat was as he'd left it. He'd been there only once over the weekend. Given that the children often went to Rupert's flat or called him there, and they'd never actually attempted to contact Wesley, it had seemed better to spend their time together at Rupert’s.
Sighing, Wesley tossed his things onto the couch and went to shower and get ready for the day. It had been a long time since he'd chosen a suit so carefully, since he'd stared at himself in the mirror for so long, since he'd gelled his hair back so forcibly.
He was, of course, the first to arrive at the library. He'd hoped as much, as if setting to work before even the Council team arrived gave him the higher ground. Or perhaps he just wanted to dive into his research so he wouldn't have to think.
Setting himself up in Rupert's office, he pulled out the books he'd been using to look into the knife. There were several references to this horde of demons that had descended upon Sunnydale, and not just the Tes'ri to whom he'd finally linked the knife's style and construction. In fact, a few of them he remembered from his research into the place before he'd arrived. He'd tried to find out everything about this Hellmouth, tried so hard to be prepared. Not that it had worked. Well, in some ways it had. He knew more about local history than almost anyone. He knew a good deal more about Rupert than most, he suspected. Though the references in his records were vague for most of what was discretely called his, 'Rebellious Phase', his years in the British Museum were well documented.
Rupert had been instrumental in the recovery of several important artifacts. His father, whom Wesley had met only once or twice, had pushed for Rupert's assignment to the Slayer. His mother, whom Wesley had never met, was a teacher of some sort. There had been other family records, a whole file on Rupert's father and grandmother, neither of which Wesley had read. That had seemed a bit too intrusive even to his curious mind. Still, even after all the research, what he'd found when he'd arrived and been very different from what he'd expected. He certainly hadn't expected Rupert, for one.
Giles, he reminded himself. Perhaps even, 'Mr. Giles'. Grimacing at that, Wesley forced his mind back to his work, only looking up again when someone cleared their throat from the doorway of the office. He looked up to find two men and a woman, all dressed in suits much like his own, all looking so rigid he thought they might snap if they moved too quickly.
Is that how I looked to Rupert and the others? Did I give off such an air of disapproval?
"Hello. I assume you're here for the evaluations?" Wesley stood and found it all too easy to mimic these people. His posture was always straight, but now he felt as if he should have had his boxers starched.
"Yes, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Are the . . . girls here now?" The man who asked raised both his eyebrows over the world 'girls' as if Wesley wouldn't understand whom he was speaking about otherwise.
"No. Buffy won't be in for another hour or so yet and Faith won't arrive until about noon. We do most of our training in the afternoons, for obvious reasons." Wesley didn't bother to explain. In fact, he liked the slightly puzzled look that received from two of the Watchers, the feeling of superior field knowledge making him a tad bit giddy. He'd learned since he'd been here. One didn't ask a teenager to stay up to all hours and then get up earlier than they absolutely had to, after all.
"Er, yes, of course. Well, I am Mr. Fallow. This is Mrs. Greer, and Mr. Rhodes." Wesley shook each of their hands. "We should discuss the tests through which we'll be putting the girls."
"Yes, of course, come in." Wesley saw Rupert walk into the library and had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Giles," he said casually. While he knew Rupert would understand the necessity of his formality, he still regretted it, almost loathed it.
"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I see you'll be appropriating my office once again." There was a sarcastic, slightly bitter edge to Rupert's voice and Wesley had to remind himself that it was false, a farce to keep the Council from the truth of the matter. Wesley still hated it.
The Council team stayed for three days and Wesley thought there had never been a longer three days in all his life. It was a strain to keep up a chilly exterior in regards to Rupert. He found himself watching the other man surreptitiously, daydreaming about how those long fingers had felt on his body, about long nights spent researching, about morning showers and meals spent debating the merits of demon slaying techniques. He found himself daydreaming far too often.
Buffy and Faith performed, though their disdain was obvious, at least to him. He was proud of them, though. Not only did they do what was expected of them, but they kept to a minimum of snark in front of their evaluators. He wasn't allowed to participate in the psychiatric exams, but from what both girls had said, it had gone well. Though Faith seemed less sure of that and far more on edge about the whole process, but that was only natural, considering.
Fallow was with him nearly constantly and Wesley, not being a complete fool, knew that he had been assigned to assess Wesley's performance with the Slayers. For this reason, Wesley trained the girls and Rupert stayed away as much as possible. The tension among them all was . . . well, exactly what they were going for, but still more real than Wesley found comfortable.
Each night, Wesley went back to his flat and tried to research or read, tried to distract himself, and each night he wound up staring at the cold white walls. He was making himself sick, ashamed of his own behavior. He was mooning over Rupert as if it was a year they were spending apart. Three days shouldn't feel so long. He shouldn't spend each night in bed touching himself and thinking of Rupert's hands, Rupert's mouth, Rupert's cock.
Really, he was obsessing. Wasn't he? His thoughts often wandered to what Rupert was doing. Did he think of Wesley? Did he wank to thoughts of Wesley's body? Wesley wanted to believe he did, but only, he told himself, to feel less foolish when he himself thought of Rupert.
When, finally, Mr. Fallow announced they'd be leaving, Wesley found it hard to keep his reply simple, and civil.
"There's only the matter of Mrs. Greer interviewing you and Faith together, as she did with you and Buffy. Then all our evaluations will be complete and we'll be out of your hair."
Sitting at Rupert's desk with Mr. Fallow sitting opposite, sipping tea from Rupert's cups, Wesley was very hard pressed not to stand and dance a jig.
"Of course. When can that be arranged?" Was all Wesley said.
"You and Faith are to meet Mrs. Greer in an hour. I've already taken the liberty of contacting Faith and telling her of the appointment."
Wesley nodded, keeping his face blankly polite, though it was becoming more and more of an effort. The task was not made any easier when Fallow began asking questions about the knife again. Thus far, Wesley had managed to put the man off of seeing it--it was still at Rupert's flat after all--and he'd only told him the barest of details, those recorded in his journal.
False reports, outright lies, a homosexual affair with a disgraced Watcher, wouldn't Father be proud? Hushing that voice, Wesley tried to concentrate on what Fallow was asking.
"I'm not sure of its purpose yet, but I believe I’m getting close. The investigation seems to be pointing toward the person who gave it to the horde leader, for whom I'm still trying to find references." Knowing what the next set of questions would be about, Wesley cut Fallow off at the pass. "As for what the Mayor is up to, I'm working on that puzzle as well. We know he and Mr. Trick were connected and he sent Trick to kill Faith--well, both the Slayers--thus precipitating her . . . uh, disappearance. However, we're unsure, as of yet, why he'd go to the trouble."
Fallow raised an eyebrow at him, but Wesley turned his eyes back to his books. It was a clear dismissal, as, technically, Wesley outranked Fallow, being the Slayers' Watcher. Over the last few days he'd used that, reminded them all of that as often as he could without seeming uncivil. In fact, Wesley thought he should probably feel a tad ashamed at the spark of pleasure that act gave him.
Finally, Fallow excused himself and Wesley sighed his relief. When there was a knock on the door, he almost growled. "Yes?"
Rupert entered, shutting the door behind him. Wesley made a quick check that the blinds were shut and then shot to his feet. He and Rupert met one another halfway, lips and hands tangling immediately. Wesley moaned softly into the kiss, parting his lips and sighing at the feel of Rupert's talented tongue rubbing against his own. The kiss was hungry, heated. Wesley pulled Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrust his hands underneath, loving the groan the action pulled from Rupert.
"Good Lord, I've missed that," Rupert murmured when they finally had to pull apart in order to breathe. Both of them were panting slightly, neither of them letting go of the other. Wesley leaned his head forehead against Rupert's, breathing deep to pull in the other man's scent.
"I'm thrilled to hear I’m not the only one," Wesley admitted, his fingers still moving over Rupert's skin, reacquainting themselves with firm muscle beneath warm flesh.
Rupert pulled back, giving Wesley an odd, almost hurt, look. "Did you honestly believe I wouldn't miss you at all?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, his eyes flitting down to Rupert's chin as he shrugged. He'd feared it, couldn't possibly see Rupert mooning over him the way he himself had been doing over Rupert. In truth, he'd tried to imagine that often enough to know that the image simply didn't fit.
"Wesley?" Wesley looked up to meet those gorgeous eyes, trying to keep his own hooded. He didn't want Rupert to see the insecurities there. "I missed you," Rupert whispered, smiling gently. "I missed talking to you, missed researching with you, missed feeling you beside me at night, missed touching you."
Wesley didn't let Rupert say anything further, if indeed there was anything left to say. He lunged forward, licking along his lover's lips and groaning when they parted beneath his tongue. Another hungry kiss followed, their bodies rocking against one another, lips and tongues dueling and tasting. Wesley forced himself to pull away, whimpering slightly even as he did.
"We, uh, we should-should stop, or--"
"Or one of us will wind up bent over the desk? Yes, I agree." Rupert leaned his head against Wesley's shoulder and so missed the slightly shocked expression on Wesley face.
Wesley blinked, trying to re-align skewed perceptions. It wasn't the suggestion that they'd wind up having sex in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk in that had him slightly shocked. In fact, that part had Wesley swallowing around a lump in his throat, his cock twitching at the idea. No, it was the suggestion that Wesley might not be the one being bent over that had him blinking.
He’d honestly never considered that option before, and wasn't entirely certain how he felt about it. Wesley pushed the thought aside for the moment. He had a meeting to go to, after all, and showing up with an obvious hard-on would probably lose him a few points.
"I have one final meeting with the evaluators and then, uh, my evening's free. Uh, may I come over?" Wesley hated how nervous he sounded. Rupert had just been saying how much he'd missed him after all, but Wesley still felt it would be rude to assume.
"Of course," Rupert chuckled against his shoulder, pulling away to meet Wesley's gaze. The smile on his face soothed Wesley's uneasiness. "How does seven sound? We can have a late supper?"
Wesley smiled, leaning in to taste Rupert's lips one last time. "It sounds wonderful," he said softly before pulling away entirely. "And now," he said in a tone that was exaggeratedly pompous, "You must excuse me, Mr. Giles. I have a meeting I must attend."
Rupert laughed at him and Wesley felt lighter than he had in days. Three, to be exact.
****
Wesley grumbled to himself as he made his way through the empty school, heading for the parking lot and his car. He wasn't as aggravated as anyone observing him might have assumed. Though he walked through the halls muttering, 'quite adequate, what the bloody hell kind of evaluation is that,' inside he was giddy.
Another half hour and he'd be at Rupert's flat. He let himself smile over that fact, feeling freer than he had since the evaluators had turned up. While, rationally, he knew they hadn't been watching him every second, he'd felt as if they were and he resented the intrusion, both into his work and his private life. He couldn't ignore their presence, however. Not only had his work in Sunnydale been in question, but he knew Mr. Rhodes would be reporting back to his father. The man had made no secret of it. He'd even conveyed several messages from Roger Wyndam-Pryce.
Wesley knew he should call, knew his father wouldn't. While he couldn't exactly say that he thought either of his parents missed him, they'd never done in the past, he did know they'd want him to check in, or perhaps 'report' was the more accurate word. He wondered if his father would see the accomplishments he'd made. The strides he'd taken. Would the man hear something new in his voice? Wesley felt different. He felt surer of himself, or at least surer of his place here, but would his father notice that? Surely he'd proved himself at least somewhat useful?
Clamping down on the voices that asked him why, what had he accomplished here that someone else couldn't have just as well, or better. He reminded himself that he was working better with the Slayers. Buffy no longer glared at him and Faith--though still nervous around him--had actually laughed at one of his jokes. He was doing some good. Wasn't he?
Sighing, Wesley finally stopped that line of thought, turning his thoughts back to Rupert. The task was easy.
A female scream froze him in place, mind flipping through all the women that might be in the school this late. Buffy and her friends were the only ones that sprang to mind. He blinked, standing in the hallway for what felt an eternity but was likely only half a second. He dropped his briefcase, reaching inside his suit coat for the cross and holy water he kept there.
He was almost certain the scream had come from down the hall and to the right. He turned the corner at a full speed run, slamming into Cordelia Chase and sending them both sprawling. Landing on his arse, Wesley skidded a few feet before coming up, hard, against a wall. He'd managed to keep a hold on his cross, but the holy water was a few feet from him.
He blinked, looking up, glasses askew, to find himself being considered by . . . Willow, her face contorted into a vampiric mask, gold eyes bright.
Oh, dear Lord, no.
She took a step toward him. Wesley raised the cross automatically, grabbing for the holy water and scrambling to his feet. Willow hissed, rearing back slightly and then staring at him, her expression relating boredom rather than fear. He stepped closer, sighing with relief when Miss Chase picked herself up and scrambled behind him. He could have done without her clinging to his shoulders, however, and pressing herself against him was really rather out of line.
"Back foul demon!" Wesley shouted, almost wincing at the way that sounded. It had been rather more intimidating in his head. "Leave this place."
"Yeah!" Cordelia shouted from behind him.
"Don't wanna," Willow pouted.
Wesley changed his grip on the holy water, threatening to throw it. Willow sighed heavily, grumbling something about 'no fun' as she turned and flounced off.
Wesley found himself breathing hard, staring after the girl who, just earlier that day, and been rambling excitedly about some new software. He shook his head, found his chest tight with the thought that that girl was now . . .
"That . . . that was Miss Rosenberg," Wesley said, glancing over to Miss Chase, who undoubtedly knew her better and must be . . . Wesley couldn't even begin to imagine how--
Oh, hell. Rupert. He must be devastated . . . or . . . oh, God. Wesley suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He didn't hear what Cordelia was saying, his mind already scrambling through possibilities, each one leaving him colder than the last.
"Wesley?"
"What?" he asked, shaking off his macabre thoughts. He had to find Rupert.
"So? Are you busy?"
Wesley blinked, unsure what had been asked. Then his mind fitted the pieces together. "Oh, uh, I'll take you home. Uh, but I-I need to find Rupert."
"Oh. Okay. Right, 'cause Willow . . . but, I have a car." Cordelia shrugged, but Wesley barely registered what she was saying.
"You? Oh, yes, of course. I'll walk you to it," Wesley was on autopilot, feeling oddly numb as he and Cordelia made their way out into the parking lot, stopping only to check the library, which was deserted. On the way, Cordelia told him about how she'd found Willow locked in the book cage. It seemed, then, that someone knew what had happened to Willow and hadn't had the heart to stake her. Or there had been something else that needed attending to right away.
They weren't, in fact, parked too far from one another, luckily. After getting Cordelia to her car, Wesley all but ran to his own, his mind cataloguing the places Rupert might be. The library would have been his first thought, had he and Cordelia not already checked there. Rupert's flat, of course. Perhaps Buffy had been the one to cage Willow and she'd gone to get Rupert.
Wesley pulled up to a phone booth, promising himself that, tomorrow, he was getting a mobile. Fumbling for change in his jacket, he almost crowed with relief when he came up with the requisite coins.
Rupert's number spilled easily even from his frantic fingers. One ring. Two. Three. The answerphone picked up. "Rupert? If you're there, please pick up? Oh, God. All right. If you get home, don't go anywhere. I have . . . I have to talk to you."
Hanging up, Wesley sighed, picking up the receiver again and slamming it back onto the carriage to relieve just a bit of his frustration. He was back in the car in moments. Where could he look? Maybe Buffy would know where Rupert was, or . . . if something had happened to him and . . . she needed to know about Willow if she didn't already. She and the others had been going out tonight, he vaguely remembered.
The Bronze? Her home? Xander's? Should he check Rupert's flat first? There might be signs if . . . No, he'd be foolish to go without the Slayer in case . . .
He couldn't even actually bring himself to consider it. Instead, his mind skipped over the thought and he was decided upon looking for Buffy. He drove faster than he should have. The Bronze, however, was closed, at seven fifteen in the evening. He was about to leave when he saw Buffy open one of the doors, Xander following her. He all but leapt from the car and both of them whipped around toward him.
"Oh, God, don't you know not to make sudden moves like that? You could get yourself knocked over the head," Buffy commented, giving him pseudo-glare which he ignored.
"Buffy, I . . . I have some horrible news. Uh, is Rup--" Wesley saw Willow then. He leapt backward, colliding with his car. He was fumbling in his pocket for his cross when the slight smiles finally penetrated his brain, along with the fact that Rupert was there, standing just behind Willow.
"She's not a vampire," Buffy explained. "There's been some, er, confusion, but she's Willow, the real Willow and the vampire Willow's back where she came from."
Wesley gave them all a suspicious look, taking in Willow's outfit with a raised eyebrow. Willow groaned, arms coming up to cover herself. Rupert settled the matter. Pulling a cross from his pocket, he reached over Willow's head and held it a few inches from her face. Willow looked at with a bored pout that wasn't entirely different from the one Wesley had seen earlier on the vampire. However, Willow didn't cringe in the least.
"She's fine, Wesley. We all are."
****
Wesley slumped onto Rupert's sofa, shaking his head. "So, this Anya was trying to recover some sort of power center? Which you, an alternate you, apparently destroyed?"
"Yes, from what I gathered," Rupert answered, taking up a position on the sofa next to Wesley. They both had a glass of wine in hand, both exhausted from their separate emotional roller coasters. "This was certainly not how I'd planned for tonight to go," Rupert grumbled, bringing a fleeting smile to Wesley's face.
"Yes, well, I hardly think either of us could have foreseen this." Leaning into Rupert's side, Wesley yawned. There was one question still nagging him, however, and he wasn't going to be able to relax until he knew. "Why didn't you call me? You could have reached me on the guidance counselor's phone."
Wesley looked up at Rupert for the answer, knowing some of his hurt must have shown on his face when Rupert leaned in to kiss his forehead. "I didn't want to interrupt your interview. The evaluators would have wanted to come along and . . . I didn't want Faith there . . . around all those civilians. I didn't want to tip them off that we were working together. And, honestly, there wasn't much time."
Wesley nodded, digesting all of that. He felt a bit better knowing that Rupert had considered ringing him.
"Are you all right?" He asked softly, his hand moving to Rupert's stomach, picking at the fabric of his shirt.
"Well, uh, I . . . when we'd actually believed Willow was . . . it was horrible, Wesley. I thought . . . I can't even describe it."
"I think I know," Wesley said softly, remembering the mind numbing, literally, thoughts he'd had of Rupert that way, a vampire. Dead. Hurt. He wanted to ask why Rupert hadn't called him then, when he was grieving, but he supposed the answers would be the same, with the addition of the fact that, perhaps, Wesley wasn't the first person Rupert would think of for comfort.
It hurt, but he'd already known it. Rupert had been honest about his motives for this relationship, whatever that meant. Silence fell between them, Wesley still picking at Rupert's shirt and trying not to think about the fear, about the worry and the hurt, trying to simply be for the moment.
"This helps," Rupert said, seemingly out of nowhere.
Wesley looked up, offering Rupert a shy smile. Hearing that eased the hurt a little. He might not be the first person, but he was somewhere on the list, even if it was apparently farther down than he'd have liked. "I'm glad."
"Hungry? I, uh, obviously haven't had time to cook, but we could throw something together."
Wesley nodded against Rupert's shoulder, though neither of them moved for a long moment. Finally, Wesley straightened, putting his wine glass on the coffee table. "That sounds wonderful. I have to admit, I'm starving."
"Side effect of the adrenaline," Rupert said with a snort. "Sending the vampire--" Wesley had noticed that Rupert refused to refer to her as Willow, "--back to her dimension was a bit taxing. I find myself hungry enough to eat almost anything."
"Even Kavis demon marrow?" Wesley asked, smiling as he stood and headed for the pass through. There was only room for one person in the kitchen at a time and, really, Rupert was the better cook.
"Well, if I didn't know what it was, possibly. It actually smells rather appetizing, though it looks . . ." Rupert gave an exaggerated shudder and Wesley laughed.
"Oh, I know. Tastes just like you'd expect something that looked that way to taste, too. Don't know how it came to be considered a delicacy." Rupert raised an eyebrow at him and Wesley shrugged. "Let's just say there was an incident at school and my father turned my arse red for it and leave it at that, shall we?"
Rupert nodded, giving Wesley a speculative look. "I'll pry it out of you later. I think, with the proper incentive, you'll tell me all about it."
Wesley blushed, glancing away though he was smiling, his mouth going dry at the imagined scenarios those words brought to mind. Clearing his throat, Wesley nodded. "Feel free to try," he responded, turning and scanning the books scattered over Rupert's desk. He couldn't help but smile when he saw that his volume of Dryden lay open on one corner. Had Rupert been reading it? Wesley let his fingers skim the page and smiled wider at the thought that Rupert really had missed him, had been reading it because it was his. It was probably silly, but he let himself believe it anyway, just to feel the warmth it caused.
The rest of the books were about the knife, which lay wrapped in a piece of cloth on the edge of the desk. Rupert must have been examining it. Wesley pulled back the edge of the cloth, his eyes scanning the blade. It was a beautiful weapon, really, and in absolutely perfect condition. One would never know where it had been for last century or so.
"Sandwiches?" Rupert's voice called from the kitchen. Wesley turned and nodded
"That's sounds wonderful," he replied before turning back to the knife. He glanced at what Rupert was reading and nodded, recognizing the text. Rupert was working an angle he'd thought of, but put further down his list in importance. It was a good idea, actually. He knew Wesley was investigating where the knife had come from and it only made sense that both of them not cover the same ground.
Moving to push the cloth back over the knife, Wesley's finger grazed the blade and Wesley froze, his finger an inch or so away from it. Had it been his imagination or had the thing been . . . humming? Wesley shook his head, his forehead furrowing.
"Here we are," Rupert said, and Wesley turned to find him setting out their supper on the counter. Wesley smiled, taking the stool next to Rupert.
"Are you going to let me in on your plans for getting me to talk?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Rupert.
"Oh, but then there'd be no surprise." Rupert laughed, his fingers brushing over Wesley's shoulder and Wesley smiled, feeling himself relax completely.
****
Wesley woke with a shout on his lips, his body arching even as he realized a firm grip held down his hips. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing coming in panting gasps. His eyes slid down his own body, landing on Rupert lying between his legs. Rupert stopped lapping at the head of his cock, smiling wickedly.
"Morning. Awake, I see."
"Parts of me more than others," Wesley gasped, swallowing hard as Rupert's fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, stroking him slowly. "Oh, good God." The words came out on a long groan. Rupert chuckled, his hand leaving Wesley's shaft and moving back to his hip. Wesley watched as, without breaking eye contact, Rupert leaned in, his tongue rubbing against Wesley's foreskin.
Wesley had to fight not to buck his hips, though his hands slid automatically to Rupert's shoulder. "Wh-what brought, uh, what . . ." Wesley couldn't find the words to finish the sentence as Rupert's lips slipped over the head of his cock, tight enough to push back his foreskin. Rupert's tongue kept up that lapping motion and Wesley moaned, fingers gripping tighter at Rupert's shoulders.
Rupert buried his nose in Wesley's pubic hair, taking all of Wesley's aching cock into his mouth. Wesley's back arched even as his hips remained almost flat on the bed, Rupert's hand digging into his flesh to keep him down. The sounds coming from Wesley’s throat were almost animal as sharp sparks of pleasure flitted through his cock and out, spreading over his skin.
Rupert swallowed, throat moving around the head of Wesley's prick. Wesley choked back a scream, his grip on Rupert's shoulders so tight it would probably leave bruises. Rupert drew slowly back, his tongue working the shaft again, his lips tight and rubbing from side to side. When both tongue and lips reached the head, Wesley sucked in a breath and then tried to choke out a warning. Rupert began to suck and Wesley's balls drew up hard and he found himself making strangled noises as he came.
Rupert's lips kept moving on him, stretching out the orgasm that already had Wesley's body shuddering. When Rupert finally let Wesley's softening cock fall from his lips, Wesley was half certain he'd died in his sleep and woken up in a very nice level of heaven.
Then Rupert was climbing up his body, their mouths coming together. Wesley nibbled on his lover's lips before parting his own. Tasting himself on Rupert's tongue had him groaning again. He bucked his hips automatically, his spent cock meeting Rupert's erection. The contact sent prickles of sensation through his sensitized shaft.
Wriggling a hand between their bodies, Wesley wrapped it around Rupert's shaft, whimpering slightly at the way his hand was pressed against his own cock as well. He bucked again, squeezing Rupert, his thumb working its way up to the head.
"God, Wesley," Rupert panted, his head flung back, eyes closed. Wesley stared, unable to pull his eyes away from the ecstasy so clear on his lover's features. His hips jerked up again, his cock hardening half-heartedly at first and then more quickly as Rupert began rocking his own hips. Wesley squeezed one last time, loving the groans it pulled from Rupert.
Then he pulled his hand away, almost shouting when Rupert's hard cock met with his own half-hard and extremely sensitive flesh. They rocked together, Wesley wrapping his arms around Rupert as the man pushed himself up on his forearms.
Rupert leaned down to initiate another searing kiss. Wesley thrust with his tongue and hips, the pace becoming feverish as Rupert worked almost frantically against him. Rupert pulled back from the kiss, panting hard, and let his head drop onto Wesley's shoulder. Wesley was hard again, the friction just on the edge between pleasure and pain, even smoothed by saliva and cum.
Wesley clung to Rupert, back arching once again, his balls tightening. He was speaking, as was Rupert, their words only adding to the general buzz of noise Wesley couldn't have made out had he wanted to. He heard his name though, soft and still cutting through the fog and pushing him over the edge, he heard Rupert whisper 'Wesley' as they both came.
Wesley felt every last one of his muscles go lax, though his lungs were still working double time. Rupert was panting against his shoulder, his forearms trembling with the effort to hold himself up and not crush Wesley.
"That . . . uh, that was . . . simply the best wake up call I've ever received," Wesley gasped out.
Rupert rolled onto to his side, smiling languidly, his hands moving over Wesley's chest and stomach. "Also," he said, "perhaps the messiest?"
Wesley looked down and blinked at the semen covering both Rupert at himself. "I'd say a shower is most definitely in order," Wesley said, nodding. "Er, once my body decides it's capable of movement."
Rupert laughed. "Just my way of apologizing for passing out on the sofa last night," he said, answering Wesley unfinished question from what seemed forever ago. Wesley slid closer to Rupert, shaking his head.
"While I most definitely appreciate the effort, there was no need to apologize."
Rupert shrugged, a wicked smile lighting his eyes. "Oh, but I wanted to apologize."
"Far be it from me to be ungracious about an apology, then. I'll, er . . ." Wesley blushed slightly, which he knew was ridiculous after what they'd just done. "I'll have to apologize."
Rupert laughed and shook his head. "Tomorrow, or later tonight, but . . . we have to get to work now."
Wesley groaned, wishing he could bury his head under the pillows and pretend he hadn't heard that. "Why do you always seduce me right before we have to go?"
"Not always," Rupert objected, "but you have to admit it's a much more interesting than coffee as a way to begin a day."
Wesley knew he couldn't refute that. He didn't even bother to try.
Continued here.
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 10/17
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.
He woke early on Monday, hating that he felt so uncomfortable just lying in Rupert's bed. He turned over slowly, so as not to wake Rupert, and watched his lover sleep for a few moments before his uneasiness wouldn't let him stay any longer. Sighing, he eased out of the bed, somehow gratified when Rupert grumbled in his sleep.
He left a note taped to bridge of Rupert's glasses. He would have liked to stay and see the man's expression when he fumbled for them, put them on and found Wesley's note staring him in the face.
Smiling sadly at the thought, Wesley gathered the research materials he'd been using and the few things of his that had somehow wound up at Rupert's flat. Secretly, Wesley liked the thought that there was a piece of him here, or rather, many small pieces. He went to get his volume of Dryden's poetry from the coffee table and then stopped. He stared at it for a moment and then turned, leaving it there.
He wouldn't need it any time soon, and he'd be back for it. Of course he would.
Wesley glanced back up to the loft and then left quietly. He'd driven his own car the day before, thinking it best if he and Rupert--Giles, he should really try to call him Giles while the Council was about--arrived separately.
It was fairly cool for Sunnydale, the sun barely over the horizon. Wesley shivered, though not really from the temperature, and slipped into his car. His flat was as he'd left it. He'd been there only once over the weekend. Given that the children often went to Rupert's flat or called him there, and they'd never actually attempted to contact Wesley, it had seemed better to spend their time together at Rupert’s.
Sighing, Wesley tossed his things onto the couch and went to shower and get ready for the day. It had been a long time since he'd chosen a suit so carefully, since he'd stared at himself in the mirror for so long, since he'd gelled his hair back so forcibly.
He was, of course, the first to arrive at the library. He'd hoped as much, as if setting to work before even the Council team arrived gave him the higher ground. Or perhaps he just wanted to dive into his research so he wouldn't have to think.
Setting himself up in Rupert's office, he pulled out the books he'd been using to look into the knife. There were several references to this horde of demons that had descended upon Sunnydale, and not just the Tes'ri to whom he'd finally linked the knife's style and construction. In fact, a few of them he remembered from his research into the place before he'd arrived. He'd tried to find out everything about this Hellmouth, tried so hard to be prepared. Not that it had worked. Well, in some ways it had. He knew more about local history than almost anyone. He knew a good deal more about Rupert than most, he suspected. Though the references in his records were vague for most of what was discretely called his, 'Rebellious Phase', his years in the British Museum were well documented.
Rupert had been instrumental in the recovery of several important artifacts. His father, whom Wesley had met only once or twice, had pushed for Rupert's assignment to the Slayer. His mother, whom Wesley had never met, was a teacher of some sort. There had been other family records, a whole file on Rupert's father and grandmother, neither of which Wesley had read. That had seemed a bit too intrusive even to his curious mind. Still, even after all the research, what he'd found when he'd arrived and been very different from what he'd expected. He certainly hadn't expected Rupert, for one.
Giles, he reminded himself. Perhaps even, 'Mr. Giles'. Grimacing at that, Wesley forced his mind back to his work, only looking up again when someone cleared their throat from the doorway of the office. He looked up to find two men and a woman, all dressed in suits much like his own, all looking so rigid he thought they might snap if they moved too quickly.
Is that how I looked to Rupert and the others? Did I give off such an air of disapproval?
"Hello. I assume you're here for the evaluations?" Wesley stood and found it all too easy to mimic these people. His posture was always straight, but now he felt as if he should have had his boxers starched.
"Yes, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Are the . . . girls here now?" The man who asked raised both his eyebrows over the world 'girls' as if Wesley wouldn't understand whom he was speaking about otherwise.
"No. Buffy won't be in for another hour or so yet and Faith won't arrive until about noon. We do most of our training in the afternoons, for obvious reasons." Wesley didn't bother to explain. In fact, he liked the slightly puzzled look that received from two of the Watchers, the feeling of superior field knowledge making him a tad bit giddy. He'd learned since he'd been here. One didn't ask a teenager to stay up to all hours and then get up earlier than they absolutely had to, after all.
"Er, yes, of course. Well, I am Mr. Fallow. This is Mrs. Greer, and Mr. Rhodes." Wesley shook each of their hands. "We should discuss the tests through which we'll be putting the girls."
"Yes, of course, come in." Wesley saw Rupert walk into the library and had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. "Good morning, Mr. Giles," he said casually. While he knew Rupert would understand the necessity of his formality, he still regretted it, almost loathed it.
"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I see you'll be appropriating my office once again." There was a sarcastic, slightly bitter edge to Rupert's voice and Wesley had to remind himself that it was false, a farce to keep the Council from the truth of the matter. Wesley still hated it.
The Council team stayed for three days and Wesley thought there had never been a longer three days in all his life. It was a strain to keep up a chilly exterior in regards to Rupert. He found himself watching the other man surreptitiously, daydreaming about how those long fingers had felt on his body, about long nights spent researching, about morning showers and meals spent debating the merits of demon slaying techniques. He found himself daydreaming far too often.
Buffy and Faith performed, though their disdain was obvious, at least to him. He was proud of them, though. Not only did they do what was expected of them, but they kept to a minimum of snark in front of their evaluators. He wasn't allowed to participate in the psychiatric exams, but from what both girls had said, it had gone well. Though Faith seemed less sure of that and far more on edge about the whole process, but that was only natural, considering.
Fallow was with him nearly constantly and Wesley, not being a complete fool, knew that he had been assigned to assess Wesley's performance with the Slayers. For this reason, Wesley trained the girls and Rupert stayed away as much as possible. The tension among them all was . . . well, exactly what they were going for, but still more real than Wesley found comfortable.
Each night, Wesley went back to his flat and tried to research or read, tried to distract himself, and each night he wound up staring at the cold white walls. He was making himself sick, ashamed of his own behavior. He was mooning over Rupert as if it was a year they were spending apart. Three days shouldn't feel so long. He shouldn't spend each night in bed touching himself and thinking of Rupert's hands, Rupert's mouth, Rupert's cock.
Really, he was obsessing. Wasn't he? His thoughts often wandered to what Rupert was doing. Did he think of Wesley? Did he wank to thoughts of Wesley's body? Wesley wanted to believe he did, but only, he told himself, to feel less foolish when he himself thought of Rupert.
When, finally, Mr. Fallow announced they'd be leaving, Wesley found it hard to keep his reply simple, and civil.
"There's only the matter of Mrs. Greer interviewing you and Faith together, as she did with you and Buffy. Then all our evaluations will be complete and we'll be out of your hair."
Sitting at Rupert's desk with Mr. Fallow sitting opposite, sipping tea from Rupert's cups, Wesley was very hard pressed not to stand and dance a jig.
"Of course. When can that be arranged?" Was all Wesley said.
"You and Faith are to meet Mrs. Greer in an hour. I've already taken the liberty of contacting Faith and telling her of the appointment."
Wesley nodded, keeping his face blankly polite, though it was becoming more and more of an effort. The task was not made any easier when Fallow began asking questions about the knife again. Thus far, Wesley had managed to put the man off of seeing it--it was still at Rupert's flat after all--and he'd only told him the barest of details, those recorded in his journal.
False reports, outright lies, a homosexual affair with a disgraced Watcher, wouldn't Father be proud? Hushing that voice, Wesley tried to concentrate on what Fallow was asking.
"I'm not sure of its purpose yet, but I believe I’m getting close. The investigation seems to be pointing toward the person who gave it to the horde leader, for whom I'm still trying to find references." Knowing what the next set of questions would be about, Wesley cut Fallow off at the pass. "As for what the Mayor is up to, I'm working on that puzzle as well. We know he and Mr. Trick were connected and he sent Trick to kill Faith--well, both the Slayers--thus precipitating her . . . uh, disappearance. However, we're unsure, as of yet, why he'd go to the trouble."
Fallow raised an eyebrow at him, but Wesley turned his eyes back to his books. It was a clear dismissal, as, technically, Wesley outranked Fallow, being the Slayers' Watcher. Over the last few days he'd used that, reminded them all of that as often as he could without seeming uncivil. In fact, Wesley thought he should probably feel a tad ashamed at the spark of pleasure that act gave him.
Finally, Fallow excused himself and Wesley sighed his relief. When there was a knock on the door, he almost growled. "Yes?"
Rupert entered, shutting the door behind him. Wesley made a quick check that the blinds were shut and then shot to his feet. He and Rupert met one another halfway, lips and hands tangling immediately. Wesley moaned softly into the kiss, parting his lips and sighing at the feel of Rupert's talented tongue rubbing against his own. The kiss was hungry, heated. Wesley pulled Rupert's shirt from his trousers and thrust his hands underneath, loving the groan the action pulled from Rupert.
"Good Lord, I've missed that," Rupert murmured when they finally had to pull apart in order to breathe. Both of them were panting slightly, neither of them letting go of the other. Wesley leaned his head forehead against Rupert's, breathing deep to pull in the other man's scent.
"I'm thrilled to hear I’m not the only one," Wesley admitted, his fingers still moving over Rupert's skin, reacquainting themselves with firm muscle beneath warm flesh.
Rupert pulled back, giving Wesley an odd, almost hurt, look. "Did you honestly believe I wouldn't miss you at all?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, his eyes flitting down to Rupert's chin as he shrugged. He'd feared it, couldn't possibly see Rupert mooning over him the way he himself had been doing over Rupert. In truth, he'd tried to imagine that often enough to know that the image simply didn't fit.
"Wesley?" Wesley looked up to meet those gorgeous eyes, trying to keep his own hooded. He didn't want Rupert to see the insecurities there. "I missed you," Rupert whispered, smiling gently. "I missed talking to you, missed researching with you, missed feeling you beside me at night, missed touching you."
Wesley didn't let Rupert say anything further, if indeed there was anything left to say. He lunged forward, licking along his lover's lips and groaning when they parted beneath his tongue. Another hungry kiss followed, their bodies rocking against one another, lips and tongues dueling and tasting. Wesley forced himself to pull away, whimpering slightly even as he did.
"We, uh, we should-should stop, or--"
"Or one of us will wind up bent over the desk? Yes, I agree." Rupert leaned his head against Wesley's shoulder and so missed the slightly shocked expression on Wesley face.
Wesley blinked, trying to re-align skewed perceptions. It wasn't the suggestion that they'd wind up having sex in the middle of the office, where anyone could walk in that had him slightly shocked. In fact, that part had Wesley swallowing around a lump in his throat, his cock twitching at the idea. No, it was the suggestion that Wesley might not be the one being bent over that had him blinking.
He’d honestly never considered that option before, and wasn't entirely certain how he felt about it. Wesley pushed the thought aside for the moment. He had a meeting to go to, after all, and showing up with an obvious hard-on would probably lose him a few points.
"I have one final meeting with the evaluators and then, uh, my evening's free. Uh, may I come over?" Wesley hated how nervous he sounded. Rupert had just been saying how much he'd missed him after all, but Wesley still felt it would be rude to assume.
"Of course," Rupert chuckled against his shoulder, pulling away to meet Wesley's gaze. The smile on his face soothed Wesley's uneasiness. "How does seven sound? We can have a late supper?"
Wesley smiled, leaning in to taste Rupert's lips one last time. "It sounds wonderful," he said softly before pulling away entirely. "And now," he said in a tone that was exaggeratedly pompous, "You must excuse me, Mr. Giles. I have a meeting I must attend."
Rupert laughed at him and Wesley felt lighter than he had in days. Three, to be exact.
****
Wesley grumbled to himself as he made his way through the empty school, heading for the parking lot and his car. He wasn't as aggravated as anyone observing him might have assumed. Though he walked through the halls muttering, 'quite adequate, what the bloody hell kind of evaluation is that,' inside he was giddy.
Another half hour and he'd be at Rupert's flat. He let himself smile over that fact, feeling freer than he had since the evaluators had turned up. While, rationally, he knew they hadn't been watching him every second, he'd felt as if they were and he resented the intrusion, both into his work and his private life. He couldn't ignore their presence, however. Not only had his work in Sunnydale been in question, but he knew Mr. Rhodes would be reporting back to his father. The man had made no secret of it. He'd even conveyed several messages from Roger Wyndam-Pryce.
Wesley knew he should call, knew his father wouldn't. While he couldn't exactly say that he thought either of his parents missed him, they'd never done in the past, he did know they'd want him to check in, or perhaps 'report' was the more accurate word. He wondered if his father would see the accomplishments he'd made. The strides he'd taken. Would the man hear something new in his voice? Wesley felt different. He felt surer of himself, or at least surer of his place here, but would his father notice that? Surely he'd proved himself at least somewhat useful?
Clamping down on the voices that asked him why, what had he accomplished here that someone else couldn't have just as well, or better. He reminded himself that he was working better with the Slayers. Buffy no longer glared at him and Faith--though still nervous around him--had actually laughed at one of his jokes. He was doing some good. Wasn't he?
Sighing, Wesley finally stopped that line of thought, turning his thoughts back to Rupert. The task was easy.
A female scream froze him in place, mind flipping through all the women that might be in the school this late. Buffy and her friends were the only ones that sprang to mind. He blinked, standing in the hallway for what felt an eternity but was likely only half a second. He dropped his briefcase, reaching inside his suit coat for the cross and holy water he kept there.
He was almost certain the scream had come from down the hall and to the right. He turned the corner at a full speed run, slamming into Cordelia Chase and sending them both sprawling. Landing on his arse, Wesley skidded a few feet before coming up, hard, against a wall. He'd managed to keep a hold on his cross, but the holy water was a few feet from him.
He blinked, looking up, glasses askew, to find himself being considered by . . . Willow, her face contorted into a vampiric mask, gold eyes bright.
Oh, dear Lord, no.
She took a step toward him. Wesley raised the cross automatically, grabbing for the holy water and scrambling to his feet. Willow hissed, rearing back slightly and then staring at him, her expression relating boredom rather than fear. He stepped closer, sighing with relief when Miss Chase picked herself up and scrambled behind him. He could have done without her clinging to his shoulders, however, and pressing herself against him was really rather out of line.
"Back foul demon!" Wesley shouted, almost wincing at the way that sounded. It had been rather more intimidating in his head. "Leave this place."
"Yeah!" Cordelia shouted from behind him.
"Don't wanna," Willow pouted.
Wesley changed his grip on the holy water, threatening to throw it. Willow sighed heavily, grumbling something about 'no fun' as she turned and flounced off.
Wesley found himself breathing hard, staring after the girl who, just earlier that day, and been rambling excitedly about some new software. He shook his head, found his chest tight with the thought that that girl was now . . .
"That . . . that was Miss Rosenberg," Wesley said, glancing over to Miss Chase, who undoubtedly knew her better and must be . . . Wesley couldn't even begin to imagine how--
Oh, hell. Rupert. He must be devastated . . . or . . . oh, God. Wesley suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He didn't hear what Cordelia was saying, his mind already scrambling through possibilities, each one leaving him colder than the last.
"Wesley?"
"What?" he asked, shaking off his macabre thoughts. He had to find Rupert.
"So? Are you busy?"
Wesley blinked, unsure what had been asked. Then his mind fitted the pieces together. "Oh, uh, I'll take you home. Uh, but I-I need to find Rupert."
"Oh. Okay. Right, 'cause Willow . . . but, I have a car." Cordelia shrugged, but Wesley barely registered what she was saying.
"You? Oh, yes, of course. I'll walk you to it," Wesley was on autopilot, feeling oddly numb as he and Cordelia made their way out into the parking lot, stopping only to check the library, which was deserted. On the way, Cordelia told him about how she'd found Willow locked in the book cage. It seemed, then, that someone knew what had happened to Willow and hadn't had the heart to stake her. Or there had been something else that needed attending to right away.
They weren't, in fact, parked too far from one another, luckily. After getting Cordelia to her car, Wesley all but ran to his own, his mind cataloguing the places Rupert might be. The library would have been his first thought, had he and Cordelia not already checked there. Rupert's flat, of course. Perhaps Buffy had been the one to cage Willow and she'd gone to get Rupert.
Wesley pulled up to a phone booth, promising himself that, tomorrow, he was getting a mobile. Fumbling for change in his jacket, he almost crowed with relief when he came up with the requisite coins.
Rupert's number spilled easily even from his frantic fingers. One ring. Two. Three. The answerphone picked up. "Rupert? If you're there, please pick up? Oh, God. All right. If you get home, don't go anywhere. I have . . . I have to talk to you."
Hanging up, Wesley sighed, picking up the receiver again and slamming it back onto the carriage to relieve just a bit of his frustration. He was back in the car in moments. Where could he look? Maybe Buffy would know where Rupert was, or . . . if something had happened to him and . . . she needed to know about Willow if she didn't already. She and the others had been going out tonight, he vaguely remembered.
The Bronze? Her home? Xander's? Should he check Rupert's flat first? There might be signs if . . . No, he'd be foolish to go without the Slayer in case . . .
He couldn't even actually bring himself to consider it. Instead, his mind skipped over the thought and he was decided upon looking for Buffy. He drove faster than he should have. The Bronze, however, was closed, at seven fifteen in the evening. He was about to leave when he saw Buffy open one of the doors, Xander following her. He all but leapt from the car and both of them whipped around toward him.
"Oh, God, don't you know not to make sudden moves like that? You could get yourself knocked over the head," Buffy commented, giving him pseudo-glare which he ignored.
"Buffy, I . . . I have some horrible news. Uh, is Rup--" Wesley saw Willow then. He leapt backward, colliding with his car. He was fumbling in his pocket for his cross when the slight smiles finally penetrated his brain, along with the fact that Rupert was there, standing just behind Willow.
"She's not a vampire," Buffy explained. "There's been some, er, confusion, but she's Willow, the real Willow and the vampire Willow's back where she came from."
Wesley gave them all a suspicious look, taking in Willow's outfit with a raised eyebrow. Willow groaned, arms coming up to cover herself. Rupert settled the matter. Pulling a cross from his pocket, he reached over Willow's head and held it a few inches from her face. Willow looked at with a bored pout that wasn't entirely different from the one Wesley had seen earlier on the vampire. However, Willow didn't cringe in the least.
"She's fine, Wesley. We all are."
****
Wesley slumped onto Rupert's sofa, shaking his head. "So, this Anya was trying to recover some sort of power center? Which you, an alternate you, apparently destroyed?"
"Yes, from what I gathered," Rupert answered, taking up a position on the sofa next to Wesley. They both had a glass of wine in hand, both exhausted from their separate emotional roller coasters. "This was certainly not how I'd planned for tonight to go," Rupert grumbled, bringing a fleeting smile to Wesley's face.
"Yes, well, I hardly think either of us could have foreseen this." Leaning into Rupert's side, Wesley yawned. There was one question still nagging him, however, and he wasn't going to be able to relax until he knew. "Why didn't you call me? You could have reached me on the guidance counselor's phone."
Wesley looked up at Rupert for the answer, knowing some of his hurt must have shown on his face when Rupert leaned in to kiss his forehead. "I didn't want to interrupt your interview. The evaluators would have wanted to come along and . . . I didn't want Faith there . . . around all those civilians. I didn't want to tip them off that we were working together. And, honestly, there wasn't much time."
Wesley nodded, digesting all of that. He felt a bit better knowing that Rupert had considered ringing him.
"Are you all right?" He asked softly, his hand moving to Rupert's stomach, picking at the fabric of his shirt.
"Well, uh, I . . . when we'd actually believed Willow was . . . it was horrible, Wesley. I thought . . . I can't even describe it."
"I think I know," Wesley said softly, remembering the mind numbing, literally, thoughts he'd had of Rupert that way, a vampire. Dead. Hurt. He wanted to ask why Rupert hadn't called him then, when he was grieving, but he supposed the answers would be the same, with the addition of the fact that, perhaps, Wesley wasn't the first person Rupert would think of for comfort.
It hurt, but he'd already known it. Rupert had been honest about his motives for this relationship, whatever that meant. Silence fell between them, Wesley still picking at Rupert's shirt and trying not to think about the fear, about the worry and the hurt, trying to simply be for the moment.
"This helps," Rupert said, seemingly out of nowhere.
Wesley looked up, offering Rupert a shy smile. Hearing that eased the hurt a little. He might not be the first person, but he was somewhere on the list, even if it was apparently farther down than he'd have liked. "I'm glad."
"Hungry? I, uh, obviously haven't had time to cook, but we could throw something together."
Wesley nodded against Rupert's shoulder, though neither of them moved for a long moment. Finally, Wesley straightened, putting his wine glass on the coffee table. "That sounds wonderful. I have to admit, I'm starving."
"Side effect of the adrenaline," Rupert said with a snort. "Sending the vampire--" Wesley had noticed that Rupert refused to refer to her as Willow, "--back to her dimension was a bit taxing. I find myself hungry enough to eat almost anything."
"Even Kavis demon marrow?" Wesley asked, smiling as he stood and headed for the pass through. There was only room for one person in the kitchen at a time and, really, Rupert was the better cook.
"Well, if I didn't know what it was, possibly. It actually smells rather appetizing, though it looks . . ." Rupert gave an exaggerated shudder and Wesley laughed.
"Oh, I know. Tastes just like you'd expect something that looked that way to taste, too. Don't know how it came to be considered a delicacy." Rupert raised an eyebrow at him and Wesley shrugged. "Let's just say there was an incident at school and my father turned my arse red for it and leave it at that, shall we?"
Rupert nodded, giving Wesley a speculative look. "I'll pry it out of you later. I think, with the proper incentive, you'll tell me all about it."
Wesley blushed, glancing away though he was smiling, his mouth going dry at the imagined scenarios those words brought to mind. Clearing his throat, Wesley nodded. "Feel free to try," he responded, turning and scanning the books scattered over Rupert's desk. He couldn't help but smile when he saw that his volume of Dryden lay open on one corner. Had Rupert been reading it? Wesley let his fingers skim the page and smiled wider at the thought that Rupert really had missed him, had been reading it because it was his. It was probably silly, but he let himself believe it anyway, just to feel the warmth it caused.
The rest of the books were about the knife, which lay wrapped in a piece of cloth on the edge of the desk. Rupert must have been examining it. Wesley pulled back the edge of the cloth, his eyes scanning the blade. It was a beautiful weapon, really, and in absolutely perfect condition. One would never know where it had been for last century or so.
"Sandwiches?" Rupert's voice called from the kitchen. Wesley turned and nodded
"That's sounds wonderful," he replied before turning back to the knife. He glanced at what Rupert was reading and nodded, recognizing the text. Rupert was working an angle he'd thought of, but put further down his list in importance. It was a good idea, actually. He knew Wesley was investigating where the knife had come from and it only made sense that both of them not cover the same ground.
Moving to push the cloth back over the knife, Wesley's finger grazed the blade and Wesley froze, his finger an inch or so away from it. Had it been his imagination or had the thing been . . . humming? Wesley shook his head, his forehead furrowing.
"Here we are," Rupert said, and Wesley turned to find him setting out their supper on the counter. Wesley smiled, taking the stool next to Rupert.
"Are you going to let me in on your plans for getting me to talk?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Rupert.
"Oh, but then there'd be no surprise." Rupert laughed, his fingers brushing over Wesley's shoulder and Wesley smiled, feeling himself relax completely.
****
Wesley woke with a shout on his lips, his body arching even as he realized a firm grip held down his hips. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing coming in panting gasps. His eyes slid down his own body, landing on Rupert lying between his legs. Rupert stopped lapping at the head of his cock, smiling wickedly.
"Morning. Awake, I see."
"Parts of me more than others," Wesley gasped, swallowing hard as Rupert's fingers wrapped around his hard shaft, stroking him slowly. "Oh, good God." The words came out on a long groan. Rupert chuckled, his hand leaving Wesley's shaft and moving back to his hip. Wesley watched as, without breaking eye contact, Rupert leaned in, his tongue rubbing against Wesley's foreskin.
Wesley had to fight not to buck his hips, though his hands slid automatically to Rupert's shoulder. "Wh-what brought, uh, what . . ." Wesley couldn't find the words to finish the sentence as Rupert's lips slipped over the head of his cock, tight enough to push back his foreskin. Rupert's tongue kept up that lapping motion and Wesley moaned, fingers gripping tighter at Rupert's shoulders.
Rupert buried his nose in Wesley's pubic hair, taking all of Wesley's aching cock into his mouth. Wesley's back arched even as his hips remained almost flat on the bed, Rupert's hand digging into his flesh to keep him down. The sounds coming from Wesley’s throat were almost animal as sharp sparks of pleasure flitted through his cock and out, spreading over his skin.
Rupert swallowed, throat moving around the head of Wesley's prick. Wesley choked back a scream, his grip on Rupert's shoulders so tight it would probably leave bruises. Rupert drew slowly back, his tongue working the shaft again, his lips tight and rubbing from side to side. When both tongue and lips reached the head, Wesley sucked in a breath and then tried to choke out a warning. Rupert began to suck and Wesley's balls drew up hard and he found himself making strangled noises as he came.
Rupert's lips kept moving on him, stretching out the orgasm that already had Wesley's body shuddering. When Rupert finally let Wesley's softening cock fall from his lips, Wesley was half certain he'd died in his sleep and woken up in a very nice level of heaven.
Then Rupert was climbing up his body, their mouths coming together. Wesley nibbled on his lover's lips before parting his own. Tasting himself on Rupert's tongue had him groaning again. He bucked his hips automatically, his spent cock meeting Rupert's erection. The contact sent prickles of sensation through his sensitized shaft.
Wriggling a hand between their bodies, Wesley wrapped it around Rupert's shaft, whimpering slightly at the way his hand was pressed against his own cock as well. He bucked again, squeezing Rupert, his thumb working its way up to the head.
"God, Wesley," Rupert panted, his head flung back, eyes closed. Wesley stared, unable to pull his eyes away from the ecstasy so clear on his lover's features. His hips jerked up again, his cock hardening half-heartedly at first and then more quickly as Rupert began rocking his own hips. Wesley squeezed one last time, loving the groans it pulled from Rupert.
Then he pulled his hand away, almost shouting when Rupert's hard cock met with his own half-hard and extremely sensitive flesh. They rocked together, Wesley wrapping his arms around Rupert as the man pushed himself up on his forearms.
Rupert leaned down to initiate another searing kiss. Wesley thrust with his tongue and hips, the pace becoming feverish as Rupert worked almost frantically against him. Rupert pulled back from the kiss, panting hard, and let his head drop onto Wesley's shoulder. Wesley was hard again, the friction just on the edge between pleasure and pain, even smoothed by saliva and cum.
Wesley clung to Rupert, back arching once again, his balls tightening. He was speaking, as was Rupert, their words only adding to the general buzz of noise Wesley couldn't have made out had he wanted to. He heard his name though, soft and still cutting through the fog and pushing him over the edge, he heard Rupert whisper 'Wesley' as they both came.
Wesley felt every last one of his muscles go lax, though his lungs were still working double time. Rupert was panting against his shoulder, his forearms trembling with the effort to hold himself up and not crush Wesley.
"That . . . uh, that was . . . simply the best wake up call I've ever received," Wesley gasped out.
Rupert rolled onto to his side, smiling languidly, his hands moving over Wesley's chest and stomach. "Also," he said, "perhaps the messiest?"
Wesley looked down and blinked at the semen covering both Rupert at himself. "I'd say a shower is most definitely in order," Wesley said, nodding. "Er, once my body decides it's capable of movement."
Rupert laughed. "Just my way of apologizing for passing out on the sofa last night," he said, answering Wesley unfinished question from what seemed forever ago. Wesley slid closer to Rupert, shaking his head.
"While I most definitely appreciate the effort, there was no need to apologize."
Rupert shrugged, a wicked smile lighting his eyes. "Oh, but I wanted to apologize."
"Far be it from me to be ungracious about an apology, then. I'll, er . . ." Wesley blushed slightly, which he knew was ridiculous after what they'd just done. "I'll have to apologize."
Rupert laughed and shook his head. "Tomorrow, or later tonight, but . . . we have to get to work now."
Wesley groaned, wishing he could bury his head under the pillows and pretend he hadn't heard that. "Why do you always seduce me right before we have to go?"
"Not always," Rupert objected, "but you have to admit it's a much more interesting than coffee as a way to begin a day."
Wesley knew he couldn't refute that. He didn't even bother to try.
Continued here.