Fic: Miscommunications, Giles/Wesley, 1/1
Title: Miscommunications
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13, (R for some imagery, maybe? *G*)
Summary: Wesley's got reason to be nervous
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after 'A New Man', but before Wesley is officially a member of the team at AI.
Warnings: None
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Big, huge thanks to coailainn, for the beta magic!
He arrived five minutes early. Wesley stood in the hall, forcing himself not to shuffle nervously. A date. With Giles. How could he not be nervous? He was stunned that Giles--Rupert?--had agreed at all, but he wasn't going to waste this chance simply because he was so nervous his hands were shaking.
Taking a deep breath, Wesley raised his fist to knock. There was no answer and Wesley's heart lurched into his throat, his mind spinning out an endless supply of reasons. Perhaps Giles had changed his mind? Wesley bit his lip, looking to the floor as he tried to decide what to do. It was then he noticed a note taped to the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle.
He blinked, reading his name on the envelope and carefully pulling it free of the tape. He looked at the envelope for a long moment, almost afraid to open it. Taking another deep breath, he pulled out the note card inside and forced his eyes to focus on the words.
Wesley,
Go into the room. Giles should be along in a few minutes. I thought you two might want a neutral place where you could retire after the opera. I told Giles you'd be here.
Johnson
Wesley almost growled, closing his eyes tight until he'd swallowed his annoyance. Combined with the nervousness and, yes, excitement, the annoyance only served to make him a tad light headed.
In the envelope, behind the note, was a key and Wesley assumed it opened the hotel room’s door. He spent a moment looking at it. He hadn't seen an actual key in a hotel in a while. Finally getting himself under control, Wesley opened the door and went inside, closing it behind him before he turned.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and his jaw dropping open. "Bugger."
The room was positively obscene. There was no other word to describe it. Oh, it would have been lovely, without what Wesley was certain were Johnson's additions. There were shackles--actual shackles--laid out on the bed, the chains stretching from wrist shackles to ankle shackles, taking up most of the space. Beside a stand holding an ice bucket, complete with a bottle of champagne, stood riding crops and similar implements of varying size and . . . make.
Wesley swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe evenly and not hyperventilate as his eyes passed over the nightstand on which various sex toys had been laid out. Vibrators, cockrings, things he refused to even recognize. As the last straw there was an inflatable sheep in the corner having unspeakable things done to it by an inflatable man.
A slight choking sound made its way out of Wesley's throat. He stood immobile for a long moment, seriously contemplating mental break down. Finally, a knock at the door pulled him from his stupor.
Giles.
From stupor to panic attack in under three seconds. Wesley's hysterical mind thought that that might well be a new record. He couldn't let Giles in here. God, he couldn't let the man see any of this. What would he think? What would he think Wesley thought?
Swallowing hard, Wesley turned, smiling nervously as he opened the door just enough so that his body blocked the view of the room.
"Bugger," Giles said upon seeing him.
For a moment, Wesley's mind was completely taken away from the state of the hotel room. He saw the disappointment on Giles' face, heard it the man's voice. Finally, his brain began to work again and he found himself saying, "Yes, quite. Giles, what are you doing here? I'm expecting, uh, my-my date." Wesley couldn't quite speak that lie while looking at Giles' face. It wasn't really a lie, he told himself. He had been waiting for his date, except that his date seemed rather disappointed to see him.
"I'm afraid that I seem to be your . . . date." Giles made a gesture to his own tuxedo. Wesley found himself looking, though he knew he shouldn't. His eyes moved over Giles and God but he hoped he didn't look as impressed as he felt. He forced himself to look Giles in the eye once again.
"Bugger," he echoed the man's earlier sentiment, but for different reasons entirely.
"Quite. I'm, uh, sorry. Johnson assured me that it was no one I'd met before and I . . . he had to have known, the man has a memory like an elephant. This is probably his idea of a prank. He owes me one, after all."
Wesley nodded, swallowing hard before he finally found words. "A prank? Uh, Yes. Yes, of course." He knew he was slumping, knew he should straighten up, keep his feelings from being so damnably obvious. One thing was clear. Johnson was going to hurt for this. "Remind me to stick an axe in Johnson's arse."
"Perhaps we'll have something to discuss during the intermission after all," Giles said with a snort. Wesley's head shot up, his eyes meeting Giles', his throat tightening. Giles still wanted to go? With him?
"I'm sorry?" The words slipped out before he could find better ones.
Glancing at his watch, Giles shrugged. "Even if you can scare up another date this close to curtain," Giles gave Wesley a very serious look, "I am not giving up my ticket. Do you know what there is to do in Sunnydale? Bugger. All."
Wesley found himself unable to speak for few seconds. He blinked and then he did have words again, too many words, a few of them repetitious and quite impolite. He settled on, "Right. Of course. I do rather remember that from my short stay. I suppose I shall give up my ticket then, shall I?" He was being sarcastic. He didn't actually mean it, but he thought Giles might be thinking it.
The bastard. The insufferable bastard. Wesley was suddenly having a hard time remembering why he'd ever wanted this to begin with. Rupert Giles hated him just as much as he always had. The only reason he'd come was because he hadn't know Wesley was to be his date. Wesley castigated himself for ever believing Giles might have actually changed an opinion. The stubborn ass.
"Oh, good God, Wesley. Surely you and I can manage not to be too horrible to one another for one night, yes?" Giles said and Wesley felt his eyes narrow at the words. For few seconds, he actually thought Giles might not hate him all that much. He had, after all, admitted that they both tended to react that way to one another. Then Giles had to continue. "It's not as if we actually have to enjoy one another's company."
Wesley glared at Giles, his mouth forming bitter words, which completely bypassed his brain. "Oh, of course, what was I thinking? This sparkling conversation we've been having is surely proof that we should go to the opera together."
"There's a good lad," Giles said with the most unnerving smile Wesley had ever seen, despite its placement on a handsome face. "Come along." Giles turned and headed back toward the lift.
Wesley blinked, swallowed down some of the things he wanted to say, and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind himself. He'd been looking forward to this date--no, this opera he hastily corrected himself--for a week now.
"Insufferable, pigheaded bastard," Wesley muttered lowly enough that he was sure Giles couldn't hear him. He turned to follow and, without his permission, Wesley's eyes slid from those broad shoulders down to Giles' arse. "Has to look good in a tuxedo, too. Stubborn wanker."
Moving to Giles' side, Wesley angrily jabbed at the lift buttons, making certain not to spare the horrible man even a glance. God, this night was going to be a disaster. Wesley considered backing out, but he'd not been out like this for longer than he could remember and, given his financial situation, probably wouldn't be again for sometime. He loved Tosca. Why should he have to miss it because Giles couldn't see that he wasn't the imbecile he'd been in Sunnydale. From the corner of his eye, Wesley saw Giles open his mouth as if to speak.
"Don't," Wesley snapped out, not even looking at Giles as he repeatedly pushed the lift button. "I have the oddest feeling that whatever you're planning on saying is only going to make me want to tear up my ticket and I've been looking forward to this for a week. So . . . please, just don't."
God, what had he gotten himself into?
-------
Companion Story: Technical Difficulties
Author: Lostgirl
Pairing: Giles/Wesley (pre-slash)
Rating: PG-13, (R for some imagery, maybe? *G*)
Summary: Wesley's got reason to be nervous
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after 'A New Man', but before Wesley is officially a member of the team at AI.
Warnings: None
Feedback and Concrit adored: lostgirlslair @ yahoo.com
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
Big, huge thanks to coailainn, for the beta magic!
He arrived five minutes early. Wesley stood in the hall, forcing himself not to shuffle nervously. A date. With Giles. How could he not be nervous? He was stunned that Giles--Rupert?--had agreed at all, but he wasn't going to waste this chance simply because he was so nervous his hands were shaking.
Taking a deep breath, Wesley raised his fist to knock. There was no answer and Wesley's heart lurched into his throat, his mind spinning out an endless supply of reasons. Perhaps Giles had changed his mind? Wesley bit his lip, looking to the floor as he tried to decide what to do. It was then he noticed a note taped to the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle.
He blinked, reading his name on the envelope and carefully pulling it free of the tape. He looked at the envelope for a long moment, almost afraid to open it. Taking another deep breath, he pulled out the note card inside and forced his eyes to focus on the words.
Wesley,
Go into the room. Giles should be along in a few minutes. I thought you two might want a neutral place where you could retire after the opera. I told Giles you'd be here.
Johnson
Wesley almost growled, closing his eyes tight until he'd swallowed his annoyance. Combined with the nervousness and, yes, excitement, the annoyance only served to make him a tad light headed.
In the envelope, behind the note, was a key and Wesley assumed it opened the hotel room’s door. He spent a moment looking at it. He hadn't seen an actual key in a hotel in a while. Finally getting himself under control, Wesley opened the door and went inside, closing it behind him before he turned.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and his jaw dropping open. "Bugger."
The room was positively obscene. There was no other word to describe it. Oh, it would have been lovely, without what Wesley was certain were Johnson's additions. There were shackles--actual shackles--laid out on the bed, the chains stretching from wrist shackles to ankle shackles, taking up most of the space. Beside a stand holding an ice bucket, complete with a bottle of champagne, stood riding crops and similar implements of varying size and . . . make.
Wesley swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe evenly and not hyperventilate as his eyes passed over the nightstand on which various sex toys had been laid out. Vibrators, cockrings, things he refused to even recognize. As the last straw there was an inflatable sheep in the corner having unspeakable things done to it by an inflatable man.
A slight choking sound made its way out of Wesley's throat. He stood immobile for a long moment, seriously contemplating mental break down. Finally, a knock at the door pulled him from his stupor.
Giles.
From stupor to panic attack in under three seconds. Wesley's hysterical mind thought that that might well be a new record. He couldn't let Giles in here. God, he couldn't let the man see any of this. What would he think? What would he think Wesley thought?
Swallowing hard, Wesley turned, smiling nervously as he opened the door just enough so that his body blocked the view of the room.
"Bugger," Giles said upon seeing him.
For a moment, Wesley's mind was completely taken away from the state of the hotel room. He saw the disappointment on Giles' face, heard it the man's voice. Finally, his brain began to work again and he found himself saying, "Yes, quite. Giles, what are you doing here? I'm expecting, uh, my-my date." Wesley couldn't quite speak that lie while looking at Giles' face. It wasn't really a lie, he told himself. He had been waiting for his date, except that his date seemed rather disappointed to see him.
"I'm afraid that I seem to be your . . . date." Giles made a gesture to his own tuxedo. Wesley found himself looking, though he knew he shouldn't. His eyes moved over Giles and God but he hoped he didn't look as impressed as he felt. He forced himself to look Giles in the eye once again.
"Bugger," he echoed the man's earlier sentiment, but for different reasons entirely.
"Quite. I'm, uh, sorry. Johnson assured me that it was no one I'd met before and I . . . he had to have known, the man has a memory like an elephant. This is probably his idea of a prank. He owes me one, after all."
Wesley nodded, swallowing hard before he finally found words. "A prank? Uh, Yes. Yes, of course." He knew he was slumping, knew he should straighten up, keep his feelings from being so damnably obvious. One thing was clear. Johnson was going to hurt for this. "Remind me to stick an axe in Johnson's arse."
"Perhaps we'll have something to discuss during the intermission after all," Giles said with a snort. Wesley's head shot up, his eyes meeting Giles', his throat tightening. Giles still wanted to go? With him?
"I'm sorry?" The words slipped out before he could find better ones.
Glancing at his watch, Giles shrugged. "Even if you can scare up another date this close to curtain," Giles gave Wesley a very serious look, "I am not giving up my ticket. Do you know what there is to do in Sunnydale? Bugger. All."
Wesley found himself unable to speak for few seconds. He blinked and then he did have words again, too many words, a few of them repetitious and quite impolite. He settled on, "Right. Of course. I do rather remember that from my short stay. I suppose I shall give up my ticket then, shall I?" He was being sarcastic. He didn't actually mean it, but he thought Giles might be thinking it.
The bastard. The insufferable bastard. Wesley was suddenly having a hard time remembering why he'd ever wanted this to begin with. Rupert Giles hated him just as much as he always had. The only reason he'd come was because he hadn't know Wesley was to be his date. Wesley castigated himself for ever believing Giles might have actually changed an opinion. The stubborn ass.
"Oh, good God, Wesley. Surely you and I can manage not to be too horrible to one another for one night, yes?" Giles said and Wesley felt his eyes narrow at the words. For few seconds, he actually thought Giles might not hate him all that much. He had, after all, admitted that they both tended to react that way to one another. Then Giles had to continue. "It's not as if we actually have to enjoy one another's company."
Wesley glared at Giles, his mouth forming bitter words, which completely bypassed his brain. "Oh, of course, what was I thinking? This sparkling conversation we've been having is surely proof that we should go to the opera together."
"There's a good lad," Giles said with the most unnerving smile Wesley had ever seen, despite its placement on a handsome face. "Come along." Giles turned and headed back toward the lift.
Wesley blinked, swallowed down some of the things he wanted to say, and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind himself. He'd been looking forward to this date--no, this opera he hastily corrected himself--for a week now.
"Insufferable, pigheaded bastard," Wesley muttered lowly enough that he was sure Giles couldn't hear him. He turned to follow and, without his permission, Wesley's eyes slid from those broad shoulders down to Giles' arse. "Has to look good in a tuxedo, too. Stubborn wanker."
Moving to Giles' side, Wesley angrily jabbed at the lift buttons, making certain not to spare the horrible man even a glance. God, this night was going to be a disaster. Wesley considered backing out, but he'd not been out like this for longer than he could remember and, given his financial situation, probably wouldn't be again for sometime. He loved Tosca. Why should he have to miss it because Giles couldn't see that he wasn't the imbecile he'd been in Sunnydale. From the corner of his eye, Wesley saw Giles open his mouth as if to speak.
"Don't," Wesley snapped out, not even looking at Giles as he repeatedly pushed the lift button. "I have the oddest feeling that whatever you're planning on saying is only going to make me want to tear up my ticket and I've been looking forward to this for a week. So . . . please, just don't."
God, what had he gotten himself into?
-------
Companion Story: Technical Difficulties