Fic: The Fire of Thine Eyes, Giles/Wesley 15/17
Title: The Fire of Thine Eyes (Warmth & Heat Redux)
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 15/17
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 more time Wesley spent in his flat, the more he hated it. Not just disliked it, but loathed every single thing about it. He remembered those three days he's spent in it when the Council had come to town with a certain nostalgia. Then he'd known it was only for a little while.
There were certain similarities to this routine and the one he'd established with Rupert. He still stayed in bed for as long as he could manage, only instead of being warm and wrapped in Rupert's arms, he felt chilled no matter the actual temperature. He'd lie there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how hard it would be today. Would he be able to keep himself from watching Rupert's hands as they turned the pages of a book? Would he find himself daydreaming of stolen kisses in the office, the stacks, anywhere they could get away with it?
He knew the answers, but each day he promised himself he'd stop. He'd stop watching Rupert when the man wasn't looking. He'd stop finding excuses to go into the office, filled with Rupert's things. He'd stop missing the feel of Rupert's chin resting on his shoulder as they both examined a text. He'd stop feeling as if his world was a stack of useless, empty books with no one to share the frustrations.
This, Wesley thought as he tried to make himself get up, get ready, is hell. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he glanced again at the phone. Rupert had called once and only once, that first night. Wesley hadn't been able to answer, to talk to him. Rupert's message and been long, explaining again how he'd felt he had to support Buffy's decision and asking Wesley to please return his call.
Wesley still had no idea what to say to that. He hadn't ever had to come up with anything. The next morning he'd avoided Rupert because he was confused, unable to explain why he felt so off balance, why this mattered so deeply. All he had to offer, beyond his body, had been rejected and he would not be reduced to trading his body for . . . affection, or whatever it was that Rupert had given him.
Shaking his head at himself, Wesley hurried through his morning rituals. He showered quickly, dressing with care so as not to appear as off balance as he felt. He was sure he ate something, though later he couldn’t have said what it was.
He arrived in the library slightly early, so as to be buried in research by the time Rupert arrived. This time he took it one step farther, researching at a small table in the stacks. It was getting harder and harder to look at Rupert, even though he'd sworn he'd stop doing this to himself. He didn't seem capable of keeping that promise.
He heard Rupert enter. Wesley's jacket was hanging in the office and Rupert would know that he had indeed arrived. He wasn't sure whether or not the man would worry should he not find Wesley's jacket there, but Wesley didn't want to find out. He very much feared Rupert wouldn't even notice. Wesley was just beginning to force his mind back into the text when Rupert's footsteps caught his attention. He looked up to find the other man standing there.
"Uh, I just . . ." Rupert licked his lips and Wesley's mouth went dry. Neither of them moved, staring at one another. Rupert glanced away first. "I only came to get the Gertian works," he said, moving off down the row.
Wesley blinked and looked back to his notes, closing his eyes for a moment when the words blurred a little. He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the children arrive, their bright voices setting him on edge. He'd not exactly been reading, but he hadn't exactly been thinking either and that was a plus. Sighing, he began to gather his books and notes. If Buffy had anything to report from last night's patrol, he needed to hear it.
"We, uh, we know the Ascension refers to a human transforming into a demon, the living embodiment of an immortal." Rupert's voice reached him as he came out of the stacks. "And Graduation Day, our Mayor Wilkins is scheduled to do just that."
"Trouble is," Wesley interjected, putting his books on the library table and carefully not glancing in Rupert's direction. "We don't know which demon he is going to become."
"There are thousands of species," Rupert added. Something twisted inside Wesley. He missed this, the easy exchange of thoughts between Rupert and himself. It hurt not to have that any longer.
"So, it's safe to say we shouldn't waste any time of such trifling matters as a school dance," Wesley grumbled, taking a seat.
"Well, that's too bad, because I bet you would look way 007 in a tux," Cordelia put in, choosing the chair beside him.
Wesley shrugged, glancing up at the children. Xander was looking at Cordelia with an appalled expression. Buffy and Willow seemed nervous, their eyes darting toward Rupert, who seemed to be ignoring everything. Even Oz seemed edgy, a sight Wesley was sure he'd never actually witnessed before.
"Except," Wesley said, trying to break the tension, "on the actual night, I will be aiding Rup-Mr. Giles in his chaperoning duties." Wesley winced and forced his eyes to his books. If anything, the tension became even more palpable. Buffy's voice broke the silence, bright and determined.
"We'll get you a dress," she was telling Willow. "You know, we should check April Fools."
"Don't go there! I shop there," Cordelia said, bringing a moment of silence once again.
"I myself am dipping into my road trip fund to procure a shiny new tux, so look for me to dazzle," Xander added.
"And I myself will be wearing pink taffeta as chenille would not go with my complexion," Rupert snapped and Wesley's eyes flew to him. "Can we please talk about the Ascension?"
"Giles, we get it," Buffy's voice was soothing. "Miles to go before we sleep. But especially if we're all gonna vaporize or something on Graduation Day, we deserve a little prommy fun. One night of glory, not to much to ask.
Rupert seemed to give up then, throwing his hands in the air and retreating to his office. Wesley had the urge to follow him, actually almost stood to do so before he remembered. Closing his eyes for a moment, he once again focused on his research.
"He's just . . . tense," Willow said after a moment.
"Yeah," Buffy said, "tense." And why their words suddenly made Wesley feel guilty, he refused to consider. In fact, he refused to think about it most of the day, refused to consider why the children looked at him as if they expected him to do something. The furtive glances were driving him slightly mad and every time one of them whispered to the other, Wesley was certain they were talking about him.
He spent most of his day moving between the table and the stacks. Any time one of the children came in, he felt the need to hide, to avoid those looks. He was, in fact, hiding when he heard Xander and Cordelia's voice, high with excitement or fear or both. Wesley sighed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself before putting his book aside and leaving the stacks to find out what was happening.
Xander was in the middle of describing an attack of some kind when Wesley emerged. The young man was waving a tape around. Willow was just finishing setting up a television and Wesley assumed they'd somehow gotten a video tape of this attack. He tried to be unobtrusive as he joined them, wanting to know what had happened, but not terribly keen on catching any of their eyes.
When the video was cue up, Wesley watched in horror, his mind racing over what he was seeing. He had to squint as he tried to learn as much as he could, tried to identify what they were seeing. The first run through gave him little. He was too busy seeing the whole picture to concentrate on the details. As he watched the attack again, he narrowed his eyes at the grainy image. It was actually a nice change from blurry text.
"Right there. See, it's-it's like he just realized he forgot to put money in the meter or something," Xander was saying.
"You know the part that totally weirded me out?" Cordelia asked, "That thing had good taste. I mean, he chucked Xander and went right for the formal wear."
"That's right. He left behind his copy of Monsters Wear Daily," Xander sniped. Wesley snorted quietly at that.
"I'm serious," Cordelia insisted. "Look at the outfit that Xander's wearing. Now look at the kid that the monster went after. Very smooth lines, 'til he was shredded."
"I don't want to see it again," Buffy said, curling in on herself further.
"Buffy, I know it's horrible, but if you're going to hunt this creature you should study it," Rupert put in.
"Think I got it," Buffy countered.
"She's right," Willow jumped to back up Buffy. "I mean, you've seen one big hairy bringer of death, you've seen 'em all."
"If I'm not mistaken, this is a hellhound." Wesley found himself glancing to Rupert for confirmation without a thought and then cursed himself, looking away.
"Yes." Rupert agreed. "It's particularly vicious. It's sort of a demon foot soldier, bred during the Machash Wars. Trained solely to kill. They feed off the brains of their foes."
"Look!" Cordelia said, pointing excitedly at the television. "Right there, zoom in on that." Which, of course, led to Xander and Cordelia arguing. Wesley sighed, glancing away to find Rupert watching him.
"What's that? Pause it." At Oz's voice Wesley looked away from Rupert, clenching his jaw. Why was this so damned hard? Focusing on the TV once again, he missed whatever Xander had said, but in the paused picture there was boy peering through the shattered shop window. There was something in his hands, but Wesley couldn't make out exactly what it was.
"Hello, hellhound raiser," Xander put in.
"I think I know that guy," Oz said, standing. "Do we have a yearbook?"
A moment later, Willow slid last year’s yearbook before Oz. Wesley leaned on the table, trying to see without having to walk around to where Rupert was standing.
"Tucker Wells. He's in my chem lab," Oz said, point to the picture of the boy.
"Let me guess," Wesley said. "He was quiet, kept to himself, but always seemed like a nice young man."
"He didn't seem the murderous type anyway," Oz answered and shook his head. "Something must have happened to him."
"Oh!" Willow called from her computer, drawing Wesley's attention. "I got into Tucker's e-mail account. Listen to this message Tucker sent to this kid David Metz at school last week. 'The Sunnydale High lemmings have no idea what awaits them. Their big night will be their last night.'"
"So," Rupert summed up with a sigh, "We have a threat against the students on their big night, a hellhound trained to attack people in formal wear . . ."
"Oh, are we all catching up now?" Cordelia interjected.
"Tucker is planning to attack the prom tonight," Rupert finished.
"Once again, the Hellmouth puts the special in special occasion," Oz said, glancing back to the picture in the year book.
"Why do I even buy tickets for these things, I ask you?" Xander tossed a book onto the table, shaking his head.
"Wonder if I can take my dress back?" Willow glanced over at Oz, dangerously close to a pout. Wesley felt rather sympathetic. Not that he was particularly looking forward to the Prom, but he'd been listening to how excited they were for days.
"Don't you dare," Buffy stood, walking toward the table.
"But Tucker is going to . . ." Willow gestured to the screen of her computer.
"No!" Buffy insisted. "You guys are going to have a prom. The kind of prom that everyone should have. I'm going to give you all a nice, fun, normal evening if I have to kill every single person on the face of the earth to do it."
Wesley raised both eyebrows, but it was Xander who took the words out of his mouth.
"Yay?" It wasn't long after that Wesley somehow found himself going to check Tucker's home, with Cordelia in tow. He wasn't sure the day could go any more downhill.
Luckily, he didn't have to spend an inordinate amount of time with Cordelia. It wasn't that she was unpleasant company, really. Under other circumstances, he might have found her forthrightness . . . intriguing, certainly he'd have found it flattering and probably flustering as well. Now, however, it grated on his nerves.
Tucker's home turned up nothing. The boy's parents weren't terribly helpful and, in fact, seemed rather confrontational. Cordelia wasn't willing to spend too long investigating, either. There was the prom to get ready for after all.
Wesley wasn't looking forward to that. He dropped Cordelia off at her car and then drove back to his own flat. As was usually these days, his spirits only deflated when he walked through the door. The place was cold, sterile. He hadn't had the time, or inclination given how much time he'd been spending at Rupert's flat, to do anything with the place. Not that he was even sure what to do. The few things he'd brought with him from home were already put away and still the place looked empty. Given his tenuous position, he wasn't even certain it would be worth it to have more of his things shipped.
Sighing, he forced himself to focus on the tasks at hand, getting his tuxedo and going to take a shower. He made it quick. Showers were always quick these days. Otherwise he ran the risk of thinking of other, less lonely, showers and that was simply a very bad idea.
Wesley stood, dressed only in a towel, before the mirror in his bathroom, studying himself. The mirror was slightly fogged, giving him a fuzzy reflection, but Wesley didn't particularly want to see himself clearly. He was a fool who had given up the one thing that made him feel capable of living in this horrible place. He still couldn't decide what he should say to Rupert, if he would even listen, if it even mattered any longer.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Wesley tried to bring his mind back to the present. The tuxedo he'd bought fit well enough, he supposed, but he was delaying putting it on because he couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with it. Cuffs, collar, tie, over and over again.
Sighing, Wesley put his hands on the sink, leaning forward and closing his eyes. Rupert would look fantastic in a tuxedo. He was sure of it. The thought of seeing him did contradictory things to Wesley. He stomach was tight with anxiety, but other parts of him were tight with quite another feeling.
Closing his eyes tighter, he tried not to remember Rupert's hands on his chest, or . . . sighing Wesley looked up and shook his head at himself. He glanced down at the towel, and the erection it covered, with a sense of dread. How was he going to get through this without begging Rupert to talk to him . . . touch him?
Wesley cock throbbed, rubbing against the rough cotton of the towel and pulling a slight moan from his throat. His breathing picking up, Wesley bit his lip, contemplating doing something he knew from experience would leave him feeling guilty and pathetic. His cock didn't seem to care much about that, however.
Closing his eyes, Wesley let the towel drop to the floor, wrapping his hand around his prick. Squeezing lightly, he let himself moan, remembering when he and Rupert had done something similar. They had just finished a shower and Wesley had been washing off the last of the shaving foam. He'd bent over the sink and suddenly Rupert was there, pressing against him from behind.
Wesley let out a little gasp, squeezing himself tighter, remembering how hard Rupert's cock had been, the feel of it pressed tight against his arse. Rupert's hands had slid over his back. Rupert had thrust his hips forward, his cock wedging between Wesley's arse cheeks. Wesley had braced himself against the sink then, moaning as he pressed backward.
Now he turned and leaned backward against the sink, beginning to stroke slowly along the length of his shaft. He forced himself to keep the rhythm slow as he built the memory up, wanting to get through it all, wanting to relive every whimper and sensation.
Then, Rupert's hands had slipped around to the front, rubbing over Wesley's nipples, his chest, his stomach. They'd settled on his hips for a moment, pulling their bodies even tighter together. Rupert's prick had rubbed against his entrance with every stroke and Wesley had begun making noises he couldn't describe.
Now, Wesley swept his thumb over the head of his cock before pushing back his foreskin, adding it to the long, slow strokes. He tilted his head back, feeling it touch the mirror and hardly caring as he brought his other hand up to roll his balls.
Then, Rupert had teased him, fingers brushing light patterns over Wesley cock, making it twitch and ache. Wesley had pressed back harder, whispering his lover's name. Rupert had scratched lightly down his shaft before letting his fingers close around Wesley's balls. He'd squeezed at them, tugging lightly until Wesley was panting and whimpering. Their bodies had moved together.
Now, Wesley couldn't keep the pace slow any longer. He began to thrust into his hand, hips snapping as he remembered how Rupert's callused fingers had been slicked with precum, sliding smoothly along Wesley cock. He remembered Rupert's cock, rubbing against him hard, faster and faster, both of them losing themselves in the sensations. He remembered Rupert's breath in his ear, the man's lips traveling his neck and shoulder, whispering things no one had ever said to Wesley before.
"I love the way you move, Wes."
"You feel so damn good against me."
"Love to see you so eager, hot for it."
"You're beautiful like this."
Wesley thrust hard into his own tight grip, feeling his balls draw up tight, orgasm rushing through him, lighting sparks along his nerves and fires behind his eyes. He let out a shout as he came over his fingers. What he shouted now was the same as it had been then.
"Rupert!"
****
Wesley didn't know how long he stood there, watching Rupert talk to people, watching him watch. Feeling rather pathetic over his lack of courage, Wesley bit his lip and went over what he wanted to say, how he wanted to start things off. It was far from eloquent, even farther from intelligent. His hope, at this point, was that it was coherent.
Taking a deep breath, Wesley turned toward the door. He couldn't do this, didn't even begin to know how. He came face to face with Buffy.
"Leaving already, Wes?" she asked, looking only curious though there was a craftiness to her eyes that warned Wesley something was afoot.
"I, uh, I thought I'd get some fresh air. Rather stuffy in here," he murmured, moving to step around her. Buffy moved into his way again.
"You're not even going to say 'hi' to Giles before you go?"
"He, uh, he knows that-that I'm here," Wesley said softly, unable to look Buffy in the eyes. What did she think she was playing at?
"Oh, believe me, I know that. But you haven't talked to him, have you?" Buffy gave him a head on stare and Wesley sighed.
"Who I do and do not speak to is no business of yours," he finally said, trying once again to get around Buffy.
"Wesley, you've been staring at him since I got here and Willow says since she got here." Buffy sighed, the innocent façade falling away. "Look, I don't know what happened, but I know you're the one who . . . ended it, I guess. He's moping. He's not himself. I don't want to do this to him again." Wesley glanced up at Buffy's words, feeling his forehead furrow. "Please? Just talk to him?"
"Do what to him?" Wesley couldn't help but ask.
Buffy looked nervous for a moment, then she shrugged, fidgeting with her 'Class Protector Award'. "Uh, when . . . You know about Jenny, right?"
Wesley nodded, motioning for Buffy to continue.
"When we found out that she . . . that she was here to keep an eye on Angel's curse . . . I was so mad and-and I told her to go away and Giles backed me up. He-he stopped seeing her and I know it hurt him to do that. By the time I . . . by the time I realized what it was really doing to him . . ." She shook her head, shuddering faintly. "If I hadn't done that, he and Jenny might, um, might have had more time together before . . ." Buffy shrugged. "Talk to him, okay?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, trying to figure out where to begin. "First," he said, slowly, "I'll talk to him. Second . . . Buffy, this has nothing to do with you. Does Rupert know you blame yourself for--"
"No. And you're not going to tell him," Buffy countered, holding up what he guessed was supposed to be a stern finger. "He doesn't need that. He deserves something good in his life and . . ." Buffy gave him a teasing once over. "Apparently, he likes you, for some reason." The last words were in a more serious tone, but Wesley ignored it, glancing back to where Rupert sat.
Buffy made a shooing motion and Wesley, after a few deep breaths, headed over to Rupert.
"Rupert? I'd like a few moments of your time, if, uh, if you're willing," he said, trying to remember exactly what he'd planned out. He found, however, that now that he had Rupert's attention, he couldn't remember a word of it. He slipped into the seat next to Rupert, forcing himself to meet those gorgeous eyes.
"If you're about to ask me if you should dance with Cordelia, don't." Rupert's face was stony, cold.
"Why, uh, why would you . . ." Wesley shook his head, trying to brush aside his confusion over that statement in order to get to what he wanted to say.
Rupert, however, seemed stuck on the subject. "She's been staring at you all night," Rupert said softly, his eyes now turning back to the couples dancing.
Wesley stared, feeling his mouth drop open. Rupert was . . . jealous? That simply couldn't be right. "Miss Chase is . . . the last thing on my mind," he said, drawing Rupert's eyes again. "Rupert . . . I was hoping you'd come outside with me, uh, to-to talk."
Rupert raised an eyebrow, but nodded. His expression was impossible for Wesley to read, which only served to make Wesley more nervous. Rupert motioned for Wesley to lead the way and they maneuvered through the crowd and then outside.
Neither of them spoke at first, walking side by side along the walkways. Wesley was still trying to word this part, to find just the right way to say . . . whatever he was going to say. His mind was jumbled with his thoughts. He felt useless here.
The translations and research . . . it was nothing. They could have found someone else to do that, Rupert did just fine by himself. He didn't need Wesley's help. Faith . . . Faith had never really needed him. She'd used him, but apparently the things he could help her with were not what she wanted. Buffy certainly didn't need him. Rupert was her Watcher, always would be, and she hardly needed two. At the moment, his only saving grace, as he saw it, was that he was a link to the Council, but soon they'd realize he had no purpose here. Perhaps they'd smarten up and reinstate Rupert. However the Council handled the situation, it would be the last of his usefulness. They would tell him to leave, and he would because he served no purpose here. That didn't mean he didn't want to stay. He did. Rather badly.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" Rupert finally asked, voice hesitant in a way Wesley had never heard before.
He turned to Rupert, making himself look into Rupert's face. Still so many things to say, to explain. He didn't know where to start, which only made him more surprised when words just jumped from his lips. "I miss you."
Rupert's eyes widened and he blinked, his hand coming up to brush lightly down Wesley's cheek. "I miss you too." Rupert's voice was barely a whisper. Wesley leaned into that light touch, his eyes fluttering closed.
And that simply, Wesley knew what he wanted. Just a little more time. The Council would make him leave eventually, probably soon, but until then, he wanted Rupert, wanted to feel comfortable and warm and . . . He opened his eyes, gaze lingering on the small smile on Rupert's lips. He glanced up, meeting Rupert's stare. He couldn't say for certain who moved first, only that they were kissing. Wesley moaned, pressing his body to Rupert's and feeling something inside him, tight and twisted for days now, finally relax.
Rupert and he barely made it through the door. The trip from the car had been difficult, though less so than the ride from the school. Still, navigating stairs without taking his hands or lips from Rupert's body had been challenging, to say the least. Both were lucky not to have bruises to show for the experience.
As soon as the door was closed, Wesley found himself pushed against it, Rupert's body pinning him firmly. He groaned, head tilting back as Rupert's lips worked their way along his throat. Rupert's hands were frantic, tugging at the buttons on his shirt, sending more than one skittering off across the floor.
Wesley cared not at all, clinging to Rupert and taking every opportunity to touch and taste. He'd missed the warm smell of Rupert's skin, the feel of those callused fingers as they moved over him, the sound of Rupert's voice even though the words were muffled because Rupert didn’t seem to want to stop kissing him. Not that Wesley objected. He practically ripped Rupert's vest and shirt in his attempts to get them open.
Jackets, shirts, vests, ties, soon they were scattered around the floor by the doorway, both of them naked from the waist up and unwilling to stop long enough to go to the sofa, or the bed. Rupert's hand slid down his stomach and Wesley gasped, body arching into the touch. When those clever fingers opened his zip and slipped inside to squeeze his cock, Wesley nearly came then and there.
Swallowing hard, he gritted his teeth and stared at the hot look in Rupert's eyes. He thrust into that tight grip, trying to keep his rhythm slow, trying to keep himself from losing control. He didn't want this to be over so soon. He wanted it to last, wanted to savor every moment and stretch them until they snapped and he had to move to the next. Wesley was vaguely aware that he was whimpering, but most of his mind was concentrated on not letting himself--
"Come for me, Wes. Need to watch you, see you." Rupert's whispered words were what finally pushed him over the edge. Wesley bucked hard into Rupert's hand, letting out a long, low groan and shuddering, coming over Rupert's fingers and his own tuxedo trousers.
Wesley gasped, glancing down at the mess and laughing at himself. He looked up to find that intense look still on Rupert's face and his breath caught. Rupert leaned forward and they were kissing again, all lips and teeth and pressure. Wesley was panting hard by the time they pulled apart.
"Tell me what you want," he said softly, moving his lips to Rupert's throat. Only Wesley found that once he began talking, he couldn't stop. "I can feel how hard you are. God, I missed you, missed this. Tell how you want to come."
"Inside you," Rupert groaned, his hands working the button on Wesley's trousers and then pushing them down. "Want to fuck you, Wesley. Press into you. Feel you move."
Wesley felt the breath leaving his body. He nodded mutely against Rupert's shoulder as he kicked off his shoes and socks, stepping out of the trousers and boxers pooled around his feet. "Need you," was all he could work out around the lump in his throat.
"Bed," Rupert ground out, and once again the two of them were stumbling, trying to keep contact and still not fall over. Twice along the way they stopped, forgetting to keep moving. Finally making it up the stairs, Wesley tumbled into the bed. He was already naked and scurried into position on his knees and elbows.
"Turn over," Rupert said and Wesley looked over his shoulder, confused. Rupert was stripping out of the rest of his clothing, but his eyes were fixed on Wesley, his stare so hot and hard it made Wesley shiver.
He turned over, a bit tentative. They'd never used this position before, but with Rupert staring at him that way Wesley was fairly certain he wouldn't have said no to being hung upside down. His eyes ran over Rupert's body, taking in every line. Rupert kicked off his trousers and Wesley's eyes focused on the man's cock, jutting and hard, more than ready. Finally naked, Rupert crawled up the bed toward him, stopping to kiss and lick along Wesley's thighs.
Wesley choked on a gasp, his spent cock twitching as Rupert worked his way up to Wesley's balls. Rupert licked over the sensitized flesh and Wesley arched, a series of inaudible gasps coming from his lips as he watched Rupert. The man's lips pressed against the base of his cock and Wesley had to force himself not to buck his hips as Rupert licked along his shaft, tasting the semen drying there.
Wesley's cock hardened under Rupert's tongue and lips. Wesley reached out, one hand clutching Rupert's shoulder, the other tangling in his hair. Rupert took the head of his cock between his lips and Wesley groaned, tugging lightly on Rupert's hair. "Please," he kept saying, urging Rupert to stop tormenting him. "Want you inside me."
Rupert let Wesley's cock slip from his lips. The look in his eyes when he met Wesley's gaze caused another series of shudders. Rupert reached into the nightstand, grabbing the lube and a condom. Wesley sat up, leaning in for a hard kiss as Rupert rolled on the condom and slicked his fingers.
"Lie back. Pull your knees as close to your chest as you can." Rupert whispered into his ear and Wesley nodded, swallowing hard and doing as Rupert asked. He felt strange that way, exposed.
Rupert didn't move for a long moment, just staring at him. Wesley squirmed a bit and that seemed to call Rupert back to his purpose. He shook his head slightly and Wesley could see his is Adam’s apple bob as Rupert swallowed hard.
"So beautiful," Rupert said, one finger rubbing a circle around Wesley's entrance. "You're so eager, love, always so hot."
Wesley gasped at the feel of it, but it was the endearment that had him shutting his eyes, wishing he had the leverage to push back against that teasing finger. He groaned when Rupert finally pushed inside, welcoming the slight pain and slow burn as Rupert began to work in and out. His hips bucked as much as was possible, asking for more when Wesley could not find the words.
Rupert pressed another finger inside him and Wesley groaned, throwing his head back and watching through slitted eyes. Rupert's gaze still held that intense quality, almost burning Wesley as Rupert took in his every moment. The position that had made him feel so vulnerable only moments before now made him feel somehow erotic. Rupert's eyes on him that way, the want so openly visible on the man's face. Wesley shuddered, gasping as a third finger pushed into him, brushing his prostate and setting off sparks along his nerve endings.
He groaned, rocking into Rupert's hand as much as the position would allow, trying to speed up the slow, steady rhythm Rupert had established.
"Rupert . . . I need . . . please." Wesley panted out the words, his cock twitching at the heat on his lover's face. Rupert nodded, slowly withdrawing his fingers. There was a slightly wicked smile on his face as he brushed Wesley's prostate one last time.
Wesley moaned, his head thrown back and eyes closed tight, savoring the series of sparks that raced through him. Then he felt Rupert shift closer, felt the head of the man's cock press against his entrance. He snapped his eyes opened, wanting to see Rupert's face as he pushed inside.
Rupert entered slowly and Wesley found it hard to keep his eyes open with all the sensation running through his body. The burn picked up, filling him only for a moment before stabilizing into a background throb, easily ignored when Rupert was pressing inside him, filling him. Once fully inside, Rupert's head dropped forward. Wesley almost whimpered, rocking himself slightly against his partner, needing more, just a little more. His cock, already aching, was now making it hard to think about anything but getting Rupert to move inside him.
"Wrap, uh . . . Wrap your legs around me," Rupert said, voice hoarse. He lifted his head, meeting Wesley's eyes and Wesley found his breath catching at the sight. Rupert leaned forward on his forearms, letting out a low groan.
"God, Rupert . . ." Wesley whispered as he did as Rupert asked. The angle changed and suddenly Rupert's cock was pressed against his prostate. Gasping, Wesley moved his hands to Rupert's arms, gripping them hard as Rupert began to move.
The pace was slow at first and Wesley found himself using the leverage of his legs to speed it up. Every second or third stroke, Rupert's cock would brush his prostate and Wesley would gasp as his body flushed and tingled. Their rhythm quickly picked up, both of them moving faster, harder.
"Wes . . . touch yourself for me?"
Wesley gasped, nodding. Prying one hand from Rupert's arm, he skimmed it across his stomach and wrapped it around his cock. Rupert's eyes grew darker, his pace speeding up as Wesley began to stroke himself, fast and hard, almost desperate. Rupert slammed into him and Wesley shouted, knowing that Rupert was watching him, pushed Wesley straight over the edge.
His balls drew up hard and fast, orgasm pouring over him. He bucked against Rupert, gasping and writhing, clenching tight around his lover's cock. Rupert groaned loudly, pushing in him and going still. Wesley milked his own orgasm, watching as Rupert came as well.
Rupert collapsed, holding himself up on shaking forearms, his face pressed against Wesley's stomach. Both of them were panting, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"God, I missed you," Wesley said and then bit his lip, worried both that he shouldn't have said it and that Rupert would think Wesley only meant it because of the sex. Rupert just laughed, lifting his head to smile and then leaning down to kiss Wesley's stomach.
"And I, you."
Continued here.
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley
Rating: NC-17 (overall rating)
Part: 15/17
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 more time Wesley spent in his flat, the more he hated it. Not just disliked it, but loathed every single thing about it. He remembered those three days he's spent in it when the Council had come to town with a certain nostalgia. Then he'd known it was only for a little while.
There were certain similarities to this routine and the one he'd established with Rupert. He still stayed in bed for as long as he could manage, only instead of being warm and wrapped in Rupert's arms, he felt chilled no matter the actual temperature. He'd lie there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how hard it would be today. Would he be able to keep himself from watching Rupert's hands as they turned the pages of a book? Would he find himself daydreaming of stolen kisses in the office, the stacks, anywhere they could get away with it?
He knew the answers, but each day he promised himself he'd stop. He'd stop watching Rupert when the man wasn't looking. He'd stop finding excuses to go into the office, filled with Rupert's things. He'd stop missing the feel of Rupert's chin resting on his shoulder as they both examined a text. He'd stop feeling as if his world was a stack of useless, empty books with no one to share the frustrations.
This, Wesley thought as he tried to make himself get up, get ready, is hell. Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he glanced again at the phone. Rupert had called once and only once, that first night. Wesley hadn't been able to answer, to talk to him. Rupert's message and been long, explaining again how he'd felt he had to support Buffy's decision and asking Wesley to please return his call.
Wesley still had no idea what to say to that. He hadn't ever had to come up with anything. The next morning he'd avoided Rupert because he was confused, unable to explain why he felt so off balance, why this mattered so deeply. All he had to offer, beyond his body, had been rejected and he would not be reduced to trading his body for . . . affection, or whatever it was that Rupert had given him.
Shaking his head at himself, Wesley hurried through his morning rituals. He showered quickly, dressing with care so as not to appear as off balance as he felt. He was sure he ate something, though later he couldn’t have said what it was.
He arrived in the library slightly early, so as to be buried in research by the time Rupert arrived. This time he took it one step farther, researching at a small table in the stacks. It was getting harder and harder to look at Rupert, even though he'd sworn he'd stop doing this to himself. He didn't seem capable of keeping that promise.
He heard Rupert enter. Wesley's jacket was hanging in the office and Rupert would know that he had indeed arrived. He wasn't sure whether or not the man would worry should he not find Wesley's jacket there, but Wesley didn't want to find out. He very much feared Rupert wouldn't even notice. Wesley was just beginning to force his mind back into the text when Rupert's footsteps caught his attention. He looked up to find the other man standing there.
"Uh, I just . . ." Rupert licked his lips and Wesley's mouth went dry. Neither of them moved, staring at one another. Rupert glanced away first. "I only came to get the Gertian works," he said, moving off down the row.
Wesley blinked and looked back to his notes, closing his eyes for a moment when the words blurred a little. He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the children arrive, their bright voices setting him on edge. He'd not exactly been reading, but he hadn't exactly been thinking either and that was a plus. Sighing, he began to gather his books and notes. If Buffy had anything to report from last night's patrol, he needed to hear it.
"We, uh, we know the Ascension refers to a human transforming into a demon, the living embodiment of an immortal." Rupert's voice reached him as he came out of the stacks. "And Graduation Day, our Mayor Wilkins is scheduled to do just that."
"Trouble is," Wesley interjected, putting his books on the library table and carefully not glancing in Rupert's direction. "We don't know which demon he is going to become."
"There are thousands of species," Rupert added. Something twisted inside Wesley. He missed this, the easy exchange of thoughts between Rupert and himself. It hurt not to have that any longer.
"So, it's safe to say we shouldn't waste any time of such trifling matters as a school dance," Wesley grumbled, taking a seat.
"Well, that's too bad, because I bet you would look way 007 in a tux," Cordelia put in, choosing the chair beside him.
Wesley shrugged, glancing up at the children. Xander was looking at Cordelia with an appalled expression. Buffy and Willow seemed nervous, their eyes darting toward Rupert, who seemed to be ignoring everything. Even Oz seemed edgy, a sight Wesley was sure he'd never actually witnessed before.
"Except," Wesley said, trying to break the tension, "on the actual night, I will be aiding Rup-Mr. Giles in his chaperoning duties." Wesley winced and forced his eyes to his books. If anything, the tension became even more palpable. Buffy's voice broke the silence, bright and determined.
"We'll get you a dress," she was telling Willow. "You know, we should check April Fools."
"Don't go there! I shop there," Cordelia said, bringing a moment of silence once again.
"I myself am dipping into my road trip fund to procure a shiny new tux, so look for me to dazzle," Xander added.
"And I myself will be wearing pink taffeta as chenille would not go with my complexion," Rupert snapped and Wesley's eyes flew to him. "Can we please talk about the Ascension?"
"Giles, we get it," Buffy's voice was soothing. "Miles to go before we sleep. But especially if we're all gonna vaporize or something on Graduation Day, we deserve a little prommy fun. One night of glory, not to much to ask.
Rupert seemed to give up then, throwing his hands in the air and retreating to his office. Wesley had the urge to follow him, actually almost stood to do so before he remembered. Closing his eyes for a moment, he once again focused on his research.
"He's just . . . tense," Willow said after a moment.
"Yeah," Buffy said, "tense." And why their words suddenly made Wesley feel guilty, he refused to consider. In fact, he refused to think about it most of the day, refused to consider why the children looked at him as if they expected him to do something. The furtive glances were driving him slightly mad and every time one of them whispered to the other, Wesley was certain they were talking about him.
He spent most of his day moving between the table and the stacks. Any time one of the children came in, he felt the need to hide, to avoid those looks. He was, in fact, hiding when he heard Xander and Cordelia's voice, high with excitement or fear or both. Wesley sighed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady himself before putting his book aside and leaving the stacks to find out what was happening.
Xander was in the middle of describing an attack of some kind when Wesley emerged. The young man was waving a tape around. Willow was just finishing setting up a television and Wesley assumed they'd somehow gotten a video tape of this attack. He tried to be unobtrusive as he joined them, wanting to know what had happened, but not terribly keen on catching any of their eyes.
When the video was cue up, Wesley watched in horror, his mind racing over what he was seeing. He had to squint as he tried to learn as much as he could, tried to identify what they were seeing. The first run through gave him little. He was too busy seeing the whole picture to concentrate on the details. As he watched the attack again, he narrowed his eyes at the grainy image. It was actually a nice change from blurry text.
"Right there. See, it's-it's like he just realized he forgot to put money in the meter or something," Xander was saying.
"You know the part that totally weirded me out?" Cordelia asked, "That thing had good taste. I mean, he chucked Xander and went right for the formal wear."
"That's right. He left behind his copy of Monsters Wear Daily," Xander sniped. Wesley snorted quietly at that.
"I'm serious," Cordelia insisted. "Look at the outfit that Xander's wearing. Now look at the kid that the monster went after. Very smooth lines, 'til he was shredded."
"I don't want to see it again," Buffy said, curling in on herself further.
"Buffy, I know it's horrible, but if you're going to hunt this creature you should study it," Rupert put in.
"Think I got it," Buffy countered.
"She's right," Willow jumped to back up Buffy. "I mean, you've seen one big hairy bringer of death, you've seen 'em all."
"If I'm not mistaken, this is a hellhound." Wesley found himself glancing to Rupert for confirmation without a thought and then cursed himself, looking away.
"Yes." Rupert agreed. "It's particularly vicious. It's sort of a demon foot soldier, bred during the Machash Wars. Trained solely to kill. They feed off the brains of their foes."
"Look!" Cordelia said, pointing excitedly at the television. "Right there, zoom in on that." Which, of course, led to Xander and Cordelia arguing. Wesley sighed, glancing away to find Rupert watching him.
"What's that? Pause it." At Oz's voice Wesley looked away from Rupert, clenching his jaw. Why was this so damned hard? Focusing on the TV once again, he missed whatever Xander had said, but in the paused picture there was boy peering through the shattered shop window. There was something in his hands, but Wesley couldn't make out exactly what it was.
"Hello, hellhound raiser," Xander put in.
"I think I know that guy," Oz said, standing. "Do we have a yearbook?"
A moment later, Willow slid last year’s yearbook before Oz. Wesley leaned on the table, trying to see without having to walk around to where Rupert was standing.
"Tucker Wells. He's in my chem lab," Oz said, point to the picture of the boy.
"Let me guess," Wesley said. "He was quiet, kept to himself, but always seemed like a nice young man."
"He didn't seem the murderous type anyway," Oz answered and shook his head. "Something must have happened to him."
"Oh!" Willow called from her computer, drawing Wesley's attention. "I got into Tucker's e-mail account. Listen to this message Tucker sent to this kid David Metz at school last week. 'The Sunnydale High lemmings have no idea what awaits them. Their big night will be their last night.'"
"So," Rupert summed up with a sigh, "We have a threat against the students on their big night, a hellhound trained to attack people in formal wear . . ."
"Oh, are we all catching up now?" Cordelia interjected.
"Tucker is planning to attack the prom tonight," Rupert finished.
"Once again, the Hellmouth puts the special in special occasion," Oz said, glancing back to the picture in the year book.
"Why do I even buy tickets for these things, I ask you?" Xander tossed a book onto the table, shaking his head.
"Wonder if I can take my dress back?" Willow glanced over at Oz, dangerously close to a pout. Wesley felt rather sympathetic. Not that he was particularly looking forward to the Prom, but he'd been listening to how excited they were for days.
"Don't you dare," Buffy stood, walking toward the table.
"But Tucker is going to . . ." Willow gestured to the screen of her computer.
"No!" Buffy insisted. "You guys are going to have a prom. The kind of prom that everyone should have. I'm going to give you all a nice, fun, normal evening if I have to kill every single person on the face of the earth to do it."
Wesley raised both eyebrows, but it was Xander who took the words out of his mouth.
"Yay?" It wasn't long after that Wesley somehow found himself going to check Tucker's home, with Cordelia in tow. He wasn't sure the day could go any more downhill.
Luckily, he didn't have to spend an inordinate amount of time with Cordelia. It wasn't that she was unpleasant company, really. Under other circumstances, he might have found her forthrightness . . . intriguing, certainly he'd have found it flattering and probably flustering as well. Now, however, it grated on his nerves.
Tucker's home turned up nothing. The boy's parents weren't terribly helpful and, in fact, seemed rather confrontational. Cordelia wasn't willing to spend too long investigating, either. There was the prom to get ready for after all.
Wesley wasn't looking forward to that. He dropped Cordelia off at her car and then drove back to his own flat. As was usually these days, his spirits only deflated when he walked through the door. The place was cold, sterile. He hadn't had the time, or inclination given how much time he'd been spending at Rupert's flat, to do anything with the place. Not that he was even sure what to do. The few things he'd brought with him from home were already put away and still the place looked empty. Given his tenuous position, he wasn't even certain it would be worth it to have more of his things shipped.
Sighing, he forced himself to focus on the tasks at hand, getting his tuxedo and going to take a shower. He made it quick. Showers were always quick these days. Otherwise he ran the risk of thinking of other, less lonely, showers and that was simply a very bad idea.
Wesley stood, dressed only in a towel, before the mirror in his bathroom, studying himself. The mirror was slightly fogged, giving him a fuzzy reflection, but Wesley didn't particularly want to see himself clearly. He was a fool who had given up the one thing that made him feel capable of living in this horrible place. He still couldn't decide what he should say to Rupert, if he would even listen, if it even mattered any longer.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Wesley tried to bring his mind back to the present. The tuxedo he'd bought fit well enough, he supposed, but he was delaying putting it on because he couldn't seem to stop fidgeting with it. Cuffs, collar, tie, over and over again.
Sighing, Wesley put his hands on the sink, leaning forward and closing his eyes. Rupert would look fantastic in a tuxedo. He was sure of it. The thought of seeing him did contradictory things to Wesley. He stomach was tight with anxiety, but other parts of him were tight with quite another feeling.
Closing his eyes tighter, he tried not to remember Rupert's hands on his chest, or . . . sighing Wesley looked up and shook his head at himself. He glanced down at the towel, and the erection it covered, with a sense of dread. How was he going to get through this without begging Rupert to talk to him . . . touch him?
Wesley cock throbbed, rubbing against the rough cotton of the towel and pulling a slight moan from his throat. His breathing picking up, Wesley bit his lip, contemplating doing something he knew from experience would leave him feeling guilty and pathetic. His cock didn't seem to care much about that, however.
Closing his eyes, Wesley let the towel drop to the floor, wrapping his hand around his prick. Squeezing lightly, he let himself moan, remembering when he and Rupert had done something similar. They had just finished a shower and Wesley had been washing off the last of the shaving foam. He'd bent over the sink and suddenly Rupert was there, pressing against him from behind.
Wesley let out a little gasp, squeezing himself tighter, remembering how hard Rupert's cock had been, the feel of it pressed tight against his arse. Rupert's hands had slid over his back. Rupert had thrust his hips forward, his cock wedging between Wesley's arse cheeks. Wesley had braced himself against the sink then, moaning as he pressed backward.
Now he turned and leaned backward against the sink, beginning to stroke slowly along the length of his shaft. He forced himself to keep the rhythm slow as he built the memory up, wanting to get through it all, wanting to relive every whimper and sensation.
Then, Rupert's hands had slipped around to the front, rubbing over Wesley's nipples, his chest, his stomach. They'd settled on his hips for a moment, pulling their bodies even tighter together. Rupert's prick had rubbed against his entrance with every stroke and Wesley had begun making noises he couldn't describe.
Now, Wesley swept his thumb over the head of his cock before pushing back his foreskin, adding it to the long, slow strokes. He tilted his head back, feeling it touch the mirror and hardly caring as he brought his other hand up to roll his balls.
Then, Rupert had teased him, fingers brushing light patterns over Wesley cock, making it twitch and ache. Wesley had pressed back harder, whispering his lover's name. Rupert had scratched lightly down his shaft before letting his fingers close around Wesley's balls. He'd squeezed at them, tugging lightly until Wesley was panting and whimpering. Their bodies had moved together.
Now, Wesley couldn't keep the pace slow any longer. He began to thrust into his hand, hips snapping as he remembered how Rupert's callused fingers had been slicked with precum, sliding smoothly along Wesley cock. He remembered Rupert's cock, rubbing against him hard, faster and faster, both of them losing themselves in the sensations. He remembered Rupert's breath in his ear, the man's lips traveling his neck and shoulder, whispering things no one had ever said to Wesley before.
"I love the way you move, Wes."
"You feel so damn good against me."
"Love to see you so eager, hot for it."
"You're beautiful like this."
Wesley thrust hard into his own tight grip, feeling his balls draw up tight, orgasm rushing through him, lighting sparks along his nerves and fires behind his eyes. He let out a shout as he came over his fingers. What he shouted now was the same as it had been then.
"Rupert!"
****
Wesley didn't know how long he stood there, watching Rupert talk to people, watching him watch. Feeling rather pathetic over his lack of courage, Wesley bit his lip and went over what he wanted to say, how he wanted to start things off. It was far from eloquent, even farther from intelligent. His hope, at this point, was that it was coherent.
Taking a deep breath, Wesley turned toward the door. He couldn't do this, didn't even begin to know how. He came face to face with Buffy.
"Leaving already, Wes?" she asked, looking only curious though there was a craftiness to her eyes that warned Wesley something was afoot.
"I, uh, I thought I'd get some fresh air. Rather stuffy in here," he murmured, moving to step around her. Buffy moved into his way again.
"You're not even going to say 'hi' to Giles before you go?"
"He, uh, he knows that-that I'm here," Wesley said softly, unable to look Buffy in the eyes. What did she think she was playing at?
"Oh, believe me, I know that. But you haven't talked to him, have you?" Buffy gave him a head on stare and Wesley sighed.
"Who I do and do not speak to is no business of yours," he finally said, trying once again to get around Buffy.
"Wesley, you've been staring at him since I got here and Willow says since she got here." Buffy sighed, the innocent façade falling away. "Look, I don't know what happened, but I know you're the one who . . . ended it, I guess. He's moping. He's not himself. I don't want to do this to him again." Wesley glanced up at Buffy's words, feeling his forehead furrow. "Please? Just talk to him?"
"Do what to him?" Wesley couldn't help but ask.
Buffy looked nervous for a moment, then she shrugged, fidgeting with her 'Class Protector Award'. "Uh, when . . . You know about Jenny, right?"
Wesley nodded, motioning for Buffy to continue.
"When we found out that she . . . that she was here to keep an eye on Angel's curse . . . I was so mad and-and I told her to go away and Giles backed me up. He-he stopped seeing her and I know it hurt him to do that. By the time I . . . by the time I realized what it was really doing to him . . ." She shook her head, shuddering faintly. "If I hadn't done that, he and Jenny might, um, might have had more time together before . . ." Buffy shrugged. "Talk to him, okay?"
Wesley opened his mouth and then shut it, trying to figure out where to begin. "First," he said, slowly, "I'll talk to him. Second . . . Buffy, this has nothing to do with you. Does Rupert know you blame yourself for--"
"No. And you're not going to tell him," Buffy countered, holding up what he guessed was supposed to be a stern finger. "He doesn't need that. He deserves something good in his life and . . ." Buffy gave him a teasing once over. "Apparently, he likes you, for some reason." The last words were in a more serious tone, but Wesley ignored it, glancing back to where Rupert sat.
Buffy made a shooing motion and Wesley, after a few deep breaths, headed over to Rupert.
"Rupert? I'd like a few moments of your time, if, uh, if you're willing," he said, trying to remember exactly what he'd planned out. He found, however, that now that he had Rupert's attention, he couldn't remember a word of it. He slipped into the seat next to Rupert, forcing himself to meet those gorgeous eyes.
"If you're about to ask me if you should dance with Cordelia, don't." Rupert's face was stony, cold.
"Why, uh, why would you . . ." Wesley shook his head, trying to brush aside his confusion over that statement in order to get to what he wanted to say.
Rupert, however, seemed stuck on the subject. "She's been staring at you all night," Rupert said softly, his eyes now turning back to the couples dancing.
Wesley stared, feeling his mouth drop open. Rupert was . . . jealous? That simply couldn't be right. "Miss Chase is . . . the last thing on my mind," he said, drawing Rupert's eyes again. "Rupert . . . I was hoping you'd come outside with me, uh, to-to talk."
Rupert raised an eyebrow, but nodded. His expression was impossible for Wesley to read, which only served to make Wesley more nervous. Rupert motioned for Wesley to lead the way and they maneuvered through the crowd and then outside.
Neither of them spoke at first, walking side by side along the walkways. Wesley was still trying to word this part, to find just the right way to say . . . whatever he was going to say. His mind was jumbled with his thoughts. He felt useless here.
The translations and research . . . it was nothing. They could have found someone else to do that, Rupert did just fine by himself. He didn't need Wesley's help. Faith . . . Faith had never really needed him. She'd used him, but apparently the things he could help her with were not what she wanted. Buffy certainly didn't need him. Rupert was her Watcher, always would be, and she hardly needed two. At the moment, his only saving grace, as he saw it, was that he was a link to the Council, but soon they'd realize he had no purpose here. Perhaps they'd smarten up and reinstate Rupert. However the Council handled the situation, it would be the last of his usefulness. They would tell him to leave, and he would because he served no purpose here. That didn't mean he didn't want to stay. He did. Rather badly.
"What did you want to speak to me about?" Rupert finally asked, voice hesitant in a way Wesley had never heard before.
He turned to Rupert, making himself look into Rupert's face. Still so many things to say, to explain. He didn't know where to start, which only made him more surprised when words just jumped from his lips. "I miss you."
Rupert's eyes widened and he blinked, his hand coming up to brush lightly down Wesley's cheek. "I miss you too." Rupert's voice was barely a whisper. Wesley leaned into that light touch, his eyes fluttering closed.
And that simply, Wesley knew what he wanted. Just a little more time. The Council would make him leave eventually, probably soon, but until then, he wanted Rupert, wanted to feel comfortable and warm and . . . He opened his eyes, gaze lingering on the small smile on Rupert's lips. He glanced up, meeting Rupert's stare. He couldn't say for certain who moved first, only that they were kissing. Wesley moaned, pressing his body to Rupert's and feeling something inside him, tight and twisted for days now, finally relax.
Rupert and he barely made it through the door. The trip from the car had been difficult, though less so than the ride from the school. Still, navigating stairs without taking his hands or lips from Rupert's body had been challenging, to say the least. Both were lucky not to have bruises to show for the experience.
As soon as the door was closed, Wesley found himself pushed against it, Rupert's body pinning him firmly. He groaned, head tilting back as Rupert's lips worked their way along his throat. Rupert's hands were frantic, tugging at the buttons on his shirt, sending more than one skittering off across the floor.
Wesley cared not at all, clinging to Rupert and taking every opportunity to touch and taste. He'd missed the warm smell of Rupert's skin, the feel of those callused fingers as they moved over him, the sound of Rupert's voice even though the words were muffled because Rupert didn’t seem to want to stop kissing him. Not that Wesley objected. He practically ripped Rupert's vest and shirt in his attempts to get them open.
Jackets, shirts, vests, ties, soon they were scattered around the floor by the doorway, both of them naked from the waist up and unwilling to stop long enough to go to the sofa, or the bed. Rupert's hand slid down his stomach and Wesley gasped, body arching into the touch. When those clever fingers opened his zip and slipped inside to squeeze his cock, Wesley nearly came then and there.
Swallowing hard, he gritted his teeth and stared at the hot look in Rupert's eyes. He thrust into that tight grip, trying to keep his rhythm slow, trying to keep himself from losing control. He didn't want this to be over so soon. He wanted it to last, wanted to savor every moment and stretch them until they snapped and he had to move to the next. Wesley was vaguely aware that he was whimpering, but most of his mind was concentrated on not letting himself--
"Come for me, Wes. Need to watch you, see you." Rupert's whispered words were what finally pushed him over the edge. Wesley bucked hard into Rupert's hand, letting out a long, low groan and shuddering, coming over Rupert's fingers and his own tuxedo trousers.
Wesley gasped, glancing down at the mess and laughing at himself. He looked up to find that intense look still on Rupert's face and his breath caught. Rupert leaned forward and they were kissing again, all lips and teeth and pressure. Wesley was panting hard by the time they pulled apart.
"Tell me what you want," he said softly, moving his lips to Rupert's throat. Only Wesley found that once he began talking, he couldn't stop. "I can feel how hard you are. God, I missed you, missed this. Tell how you want to come."
"Inside you," Rupert groaned, his hands working the button on Wesley's trousers and then pushing them down. "Want to fuck you, Wesley. Press into you. Feel you move."
Wesley felt the breath leaving his body. He nodded mutely against Rupert's shoulder as he kicked off his shoes and socks, stepping out of the trousers and boxers pooled around his feet. "Need you," was all he could work out around the lump in his throat.
"Bed," Rupert ground out, and once again the two of them were stumbling, trying to keep contact and still not fall over. Twice along the way they stopped, forgetting to keep moving. Finally making it up the stairs, Wesley tumbled into the bed. He was already naked and scurried into position on his knees and elbows.
"Turn over," Rupert said and Wesley looked over his shoulder, confused. Rupert was stripping out of the rest of his clothing, but his eyes were fixed on Wesley, his stare so hot and hard it made Wesley shiver.
He turned over, a bit tentative. They'd never used this position before, but with Rupert staring at him that way Wesley was fairly certain he wouldn't have said no to being hung upside down. His eyes ran over Rupert's body, taking in every line. Rupert kicked off his trousers and Wesley's eyes focused on the man's cock, jutting and hard, more than ready. Finally naked, Rupert crawled up the bed toward him, stopping to kiss and lick along Wesley's thighs.
Wesley choked on a gasp, his spent cock twitching as Rupert worked his way up to Wesley's balls. Rupert licked over the sensitized flesh and Wesley arched, a series of inaudible gasps coming from his lips as he watched Rupert. The man's lips pressed against the base of his cock and Wesley had to force himself not to buck his hips as Rupert licked along his shaft, tasting the semen drying there.
Wesley's cock hardened under Rupert's tongue and lips. Wesley reached out, one hand clutching Rupert's shoulder, the other tangling in his hair. Rupert took the head of his cock between his lips and Wesley groaned, tugging lightly on Rupert's hair. "Please," he kept saying, urging Rupert to stop tormenting him. "Want you inside me."
Rupert let Wesley's cock slip from his lips. The look in his eyes when he met Wesley's gaze caused another series of shudders. Rupert reached into the nightstand, grabbing the lube and a condom. Wesley sat up, leaning in for a hard kiss as Rupert rolled on the condom and slicked his fingers.
"Lie back. Pull your knees as close to your chest as you can." Rupert whispered into his ear and Wesley nodded, swallowing hard and doing as Rupert asked. He felt strange that way, exposed.
Rupert didn't move for a long moment, just staring at him. Wesley squirmed a bit and that seemed to call Rupert back to his purpose. He shook his head slightly and Wesley could see his is Adam’s apple bob as Rupert swallowed hard.
"So beautiful," Rupert said, one finger rubbing a circle around Wesley's entrance. "You're so eager, love, always so hot."
Wesley gasped at the feel of it, but it was the endearment that had him shutting his eyes, wishing he had the leverage to push back against that teasing finger. He groaned when Rupert finally pushed inside, welcoming the slight pain and slow burn as Rupert began to work in and out. His hips bucked as much as was possible, asking for more when Wesley could not find the words.
Rupert pressed another finger inside him and Wesley groaned, throwing his head back and watching through slitted eyes. Rupert's gaze still held that intense quality, almost burning Wesley as Rupert took in his every moment. The position that had made him feel so vulnerable only moments before now made him feel somehow erotic. Rupert's eyes on him that way, the want so openly visible on the man's face. Wesley shuddered, gasping as a third finger pushed into him, brushing his prostate and setting off sparks along his nerve endings.
He groaned, rocking into Rupert's hand as much as the position would allow, trying to speed up the slow, steady rhythm Rupert had established.
"Rupert . . . I need . . . please." Wesley panted out the words, his cock twitching at the heat on his lover's face. Rupert nodded, slowly withdrawing his fingers. There was a slightly wicked smile on his face as he brushed Wesley's prostate one last time.
Wesley moaned, his head thrown back and eyes closed tight, savoring the series of sparks that raced through him. Then he felt Rupert shift closer, felt the head of the man's cock press against his entrance. He snapped his eyes opened, wanting to see Rupert's face as he pushed inside.
Rupert entered slowly and Wesley found it hard to keep his eyes open with all the sensation running through his body. The burn picked up, filling him only for a moment before stabilizing into a background throb, easily ignored when Rupert was pressing inside him, filling him. Once fully inside, Rupert's head dropped forward. Wesley almost whimpered, rocking himself slightly against his partner, needing more, just a little more. His cock, already aching, was now making it hard to think about anything but getting Rupert to move inside him.
"Wrap, uh . . . Wrap your legs around me," Rupert said, voice hoarse. He lifted his head, meeting Wesley's eyes and Wesley found his breath catching at the sight. Rupert leaned forward on his forearms, letting out a low groan.
"God, Rupert . . ." Wesley whispered as he did as Rupert asked. The angle changed and suddenly Rupert's cock was pressed against his prostate. Gasping, Wesley moved his hands to Rupert's arms, gripping them hard as Rupert began to move.
The pace was slow at first and Wesley found himself using the leverage of his legs to speed it up. Every second or third stroke, Rupert's cock would brush his prostate and Wesley would gasp as his body flushed and tingled. Their rhythm quickly picked up, both of them moving faster, harder.
"Wes . . . touch yourself for me?"
Wesley gasped, nodding. Prying one hand from Rupert's arm, he skimmed it across his stomach and wrapped it around his cock. Rupert's eyes grew darker, his pace speeding up as Wesley began to stroke himself, fast and hard, almost desperate. Rupert slammed into him and Wesley shouted, knowing that Rupert was watching him, pushed Wesley straight over the edge.
His balls drew up hard and fast, orgasm pouring over him. He bucked against Rupert, gasping and writhing, clenching tight around his lover's cock. Rupert groaned loudly, pushing in him and going still. Wesley milked his own orgasm, watching as Rupert came as well.
Rupert collapsed, holding himself up on shaking forearms, his face pressed against Wesley's stomach. Both of them were panting, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"God, I missed you," Wesley said and then bit his lip, worried both that he shouldn't have said it and that Rupert would think Wesley only meant it because of the sex. Rupert just laughed, lifting his head to smile and then leaning down to kiss Wesley's stomach.
"And I, you."
Continued here.