(fic) A Bit of Life - Wes/Giles, NC-17, slight non-con, dark!fic, Spoilers through Sleep Tight
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Title: A Bit of Life
Author: Margie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wes/Giles
Spoilers: Through Sleep Tight
WARNINGS: Angst, slight non-con
Summary: Giles helps Wesley feel, at least for a little while.
Author's Note: Written for the_fund for psychoadept. Thanks to rayne_y_daze for the beta!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Joss owns it all, damn him!
Feedback: Yes please! margaritagomez1@msn.com
Archive: If you want it just email me to tell me where it's going.
~~
Wesley closed his eyes and lost himself in Giles; Giles above him, around him, inside him. It was curious how difficult it was for him to feel anymore. Sometimes, Wesley thought, the only time he felt anything at all was when Giles was fucking him. The burn of Giles’ cock as it breached him, the heavy weight of Giles’ body as he buggered Wesley roughly. And it was always rough. Giles had tried to be gentle and loving . . . once. But when Wesley didn’t come, when he continued to lie limp and numb in Giles’ arms, Giles gave up. He never objected again when Wesley asked for the pain of it.
~~
6 Months Earlier
Afterwards, Giles could never explain exactly what it was that had made him seek Wesley out in person. He thinks that it might have been the fact that he’d already had significant troubles with the prophecy; that every other person he’d tried to enlist assistance from had refused without even a by-your-leave. He didn’t have the luxury of getting the same from Wesley.
But something inside Giles told him that there was another reason he’d come to stand here on Wesley’s stoop. Something that had more to do with the reticence Angel and the others shared when Giles had asked for Wesley’s whereabouts. Something about the way they didn’t wish to speak of him, the way they couldn’t explain his absence. Something that had caused a pang of unease to bloom in Giles’ chest.
“Good Lord, Wesley. What happened?” Giles couldn’t help blurting when the door swung open to reveal an injured and disheveled Wesley. There was a deep ragged scar running the length of Wesley’s throat, though it was difficult to see through the uneven stubble. Wesley looked as if he hadn’t had a bath in several days, possibly weeks. He reeked of stale air and sweat. “Wes?”
Wesley blinked, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was awake. Instead of answering or even acknowledging Giles’ presence, he stepped aside and the let the door begin to swing shut once more. Giles stepped forward, his right palm slapping against the hard wood. He didn’t wait for an invitation, but entered right behind the ghostly apparition that was Wesley.
Giles pulled the scroll from his bag and followed Wesley into the small kitchen where he was stirring a dollop of honey into a cup of tea. He still hadn’t spoken a word, and Giles began to wonder whether he’d lost the ability to speak completely. The scar was ugly and it was obvious that Wesley could easily have died from it.
“Wesley?” Giles tried again, holding the scroll out when Wesley turned, no surprise showing in his features whatsoever. “I need your help.” He said when Wes finally took the offering. “It’s an obscure dialect of jenshuti and I’m afraid I’ve tried to decipher the language myself with no luck. I’ve already been to several others, none of whom could help.”
Wesley nodded, and spread the scroll on the table. He reached toward the counter and brought down a small pad of paper. The section Giles needed was clearly marked, and Wesley immediately went to work.
The silence made Giles extremely uneasy. There was something deeply disturbing about the way Wesley moved about, the quiet, the darkness; almost as if all the life had been sucked out of the room, perhaps even out of Wesley. Giles shook himself. He chided himself for being overly dramatic, but he couldn’t shake the chills that thought brought forth.
Over an hour later and Wesley still hadn’t looked up from his work. Giles had helped himself to a cup of a tea and a biscuit he’d found in the cupboard. He didn’t feel right moving about the flat without Wesley’s permission so he waited, a bit impatiently, in the chair opposite Wesley’s at the table.
Finally, Wesley looked up and pushed the tablet towards him. Giles immediately called Buffy and the others, sure now that he had been right and that they could easily avoid the danger if Buffy were able to destroy the talisman before the next full moon. He watched Wesley as he spoke on the phone, noting how the ex-Watcher went about preparing another cup of tea as if Giles hadn’t been there. As if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place that afternoon.
After he hung up he’d meant to thank Wesley and go, but somehow he ended up right back at the small round table, taking the seat opposite Wesley once more. “Wes? Did . . . did the attack render you mute?” He asked as tactfully as he could, gesturing rather ineffectually at the large, angry scar. Wesley stared back, expression completely devoid of any emotion, and Giles began to wonder if he shouldn’t have left after all.
“No.” A hoarse, scratchy whisper and Giles found himself making plans to call Buffy, to explain his delay.
~~
The first time Giles fucked Wesley was a month after he’d appeared on Wesley’s doorstep. He hadn’t meant for them to end up as they did, but since the day he’d arrived Giles couldn’t seem to control his own actions. He found himself reacting to Wesley’s strange silences, to the haunting looks that graced his pale face and the obvious pain that hid behind dark violet eyes.
A month and Wesley still hadn’t told him exactly what had occurred. Only that he’d had a falling out with the others, that he’d made some grave error, apparently an unforgivable one. Giles didn’t understand. Didn’t understand how the others could so completely abandon Wesley, and didn’t understand how it all tied together with the scar marring his throat.
“Wes, please, I need to understand . . . I want to help.” Giles practically begged, unable to reason any longer.
“Why?” A month and Wesley’s voice, so rarely used, still came out sounding achy and raw.
“I told you, because I want to help. Because I don’t like seeing you, seeing anyone, like this.” He gestured in frustration toward Wesley, unsure how to describe exactly what he was feeling.
Wesley stared for a moment then stood up to leave the room. “Damn it, Wes, talk to me!” Giles moved without thinking, pinning Wesley to the wall.
“Why?” Wesley said again, honest bewilderment coloring his voice.
And Giles found himself staring down into wide, blinking eyes. Found the sight of Wesley’s scar, peeking out from beneath the angle of his jaw too much to bear. He swooped down and took Wesley’s mouth in a desperate kiss. And even as he did it, even as he tasted Wes for the first time, Giles knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He moved, tracing a line from Wesley’s lips down to his scar with the tip of his tongue. He pressed soft kisses to Wesley’s scar, only to have Wesley push at him, try to force him away. And it dawned on Giles then, that Wesley didn’t want this, didn’t want Giles touching him so familiarly. And again, Giles couldn’t stop himself.
He pushed back, and continued to kiss across the jagged line. He pressed even closer, insinuating his leg between Wesley’s thighs and rubbing him until he could feel Wesley’s cock hard and pulsing against him. Wesley’s body went limp, his forehead dropping against Giles’ shoulder as he finally gave in.
Giles was hard, aching to bury himself in the tight silkiness of Wesley’s body. Wesley’s hips were moving against him now, a wet patch growing at his crotch. “Yes, let me make you feel good, Wes.” Giles offered, dropping to his knees as he reached for the clasp of Wesley’s trousers.
“Just want to feel.” Wesley answered feebly.
And finally, for the first time since he’d arrived, Giles felt as if he were helping. He pulled Wesley’s erection free, happy to find it swollen and wet. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the tip, letting his tongue sneak out to lick at the slit. Wesley jerked back, hitting his head against the wall. He shook his head violently as he stared down at Giles.
“Fuck me.” And now Giles could pretend that it was desire and lust making Wesley’s voice so raspy. He tried to take Wesley into his mouth but was again rebuffed. “Just fuck me.”
He nodded, admitting defeat. He glanced around the room as he quickly undressed, not wanting to take Wesley dry. “Don’t move.” He finally said, hoping that Wesley would obey as he ran to the bathroom for the hand lotion. When he returned Wesley was still slumped against the wall, his cock protruding thickly from his groin, and his chest heaving slightly.
Giles moved forward, throwing one of Wesley’s legs up to hook over his hip. He pressed one slick finger to Wesley’s opening and pushed, watching as Wesley grimaced at the intrusion. “Tell me if it’s too much.” Giles said.
“Not enough.” Wesley answered, economy in every sentence.
Giles frowned, but continued to thrust in and out, stretching Wesley until a second finger could be added.
“Your cock.” Wesley murmured. “Fuck me.”
“It’s too soon. You’re not ready.” Giles argued, but his cock jerked at the thought of being encased by Wesley’s tight heat.
“Good enough.” Wesley groaned, hitching his leg higher to give Giles better access. “Inside me.”
Giles groaned, his body arching when Wesley lowered the zip of his trousers and reached in to encircle the base of his cock with ink stained fingers. He didn’t have the strength to say no when he felt Wesley guide him to the puckered opening, pressing his sensitive head to the hole. “Ungh!” He grunted, thrusting up just enough to breach the entrance with his mushroom head.
“Yes! Harder!” Wesley fairly shouted, the strongest Giles had heard his voice sound in the last month. Then Giles was crying out his name as Wesley used the angle and his weight to sink himself atop Giles’ cock.
All sense lost, Giles began to fuck Wesley against the wall. He could hear the slap of his skin against Wes’, could feel each grunt as Wesley’s body slammed hard against the wall behind him. And Wesley was still urging him on, asking for it rougher, harder, faster. And Giles was helpless to deny him.
“Fuck me!” Wesley groaned as he writhed against Giles. “Make me feel.” He said on a whistling breath.
Giles lifted both of Wesley’s legs until the other man was wrapped around him, his cock still firmly embedded in Wesley’s arse. He could feel his knees beginning to buckle, his balls tightening painfully close to orgasm. He pounded Wesley against the wall hard, not caring whether the position was comfortable for Wesley or not, too lost in his own desperate need to climax.
“Wes, Christ!” Giles shouted, coming in hard, jerking spurts inside Wesley’s trembling body. He was still spasming when he finally remembered to reach for Wesley’s cock.
Wesley made a feeble attempt to push his hand away, but Giles would have none of it. He stroked Wesley until he came, moving faster and tightening his fist when Wesley demanded a firmer grip.
Afterwards, Giles felt sick at what he’d done. Felt horrified that he’d forced himself, painfully, onto the other man. He stumbled to the bathroom and vomited. Unsure what had prompted him to treat Wesley thusly, unsure what kind of man that made him. He wanted to pretend that Wesley had wanted him completely, that Wesley had never attempted to get away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deny that Wesley had pushed him away. That he’d fucked Wesley against a wall, with no thought of the other man’s comfort.
Giles couldn’t explain it. Didn’t understand what had made him react so violently to Wesley’s dismissal of his offer of assistance. Giles rinsed out his mouth and decided then and there to finally leave. He wasn’t doing any good. And after today he was quite positive he’d done irrevocable harm.
But when he returned, he found Wesley, slumped on the floor with his back to the wall and his eyes closed. When he got closer, he realized that Wesley had fallen asleep. And the steady, even breaths indicated a deep sleep. The kind he hadn’t seen Wesley fall into since he’d arrived.
Carefully, a little afraid of the darkness simmering inside him, Giles slid his hands beneath the sleeping figure and lifted Wesley into his arms. It was a measure of Wesley’s exhaustion that he didn’t stir as he was carried into the bedroom and placed gently beneath the covers. Giles returned to the bathroom for a wet cloth and cleaned Wesley as best he could, wincing at the small smattering of blood that indicated an even rougher bout of sex than Giles had imagined it had been.
But afterwards, instead of packing and slipping away as he’d intended, he stayed and sat at Wesley’s bedside. And then, two nights later when it was Wesley that approached him, Giles couldn’t say no. He fucked Wesley just as hard and long and rough as was demanded. And he learned quickly that that was the only way Wesley would take it. The only way he wanted it.
No matter that Giles’ frustration and anger had morphed into concern and a caring he never thought he’d feel for another. No matter that each time they fucked, for Giles could never call it ‘making love,’ Giles felt guiltier and dirtier than the time before. He couldn’t stop. Not while Wesley still wanted it. Not when Wesley still begged for it.
~~
Wesley groaned, gripping Giles’ hips and arching up to meet Giles’ thrusts. “Harder!” He begged, eyes watering with the need to feel something, anything; to feel Giles taking him wildly, roughly. Giles’ lips were on his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as his orgasm approached and he felt light, butterfly kisses against his closed lids. He wanted to sigh, wanted to feel warmth at the touch, but he didn’t. He felt numb, and cold, everywhere. Everywhere but where Giles’ cock burned and stretched and filled him to painful excess.
He heard the tiny whimper that signaled Giles’ release, felt the splash of hot come inside him, and bucked up, filling himself with Giles’ pulsing cock. He came even before Giles could touch him, before he felt anything other than the throbbing fullness of Giles’ orgasm spilling into him.
Then he heard it. A soft whisper that he wasn’t even sure Giles knew he’d uttered.
“I love you.”
And he wanted to sob then. Wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all. Wanted to scream at Giles for ruining the one bit of life left to him.
Instead, he let Giles pull out of him and pad over to the washroom and grab a wet cloth as was his wont. He rolled away, giving Giles his back, while the numbness took over. Wanting to feel again, and knowing that he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t.
Because . . . Giles loved him.
THE END.
Title: A Bit of Life
Author: Margie
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wes/Giles
Spoilers: Through Sleep Tight
WARNINGS: Angst, slight non-con
Summary: Giles helps Wesley feel, at least for a little while.
Author's Note: Written for the_fund for psychoadept. Thanks to rayne_y_daze for the beta!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Joss owns it all, damn him!
Feedback: Yes please! margaritagomez1@msn.com
Archive: If you want it just email me to tell me where it's going.
~~
Wesley closed his eyes and lost himself in Giles; Giles above him, around him, inside him. It was curious how difficult it was for him to feel anymore. Sometimes, Wesley thought, the only time he felt anything at all was when Giles was fucking him. The burn of Giles’ cock as it breached him, the heavy weight of Giles’ body as he buggered Wesley roughly. And it was always rough. Giles had tried to be gentle and loving . . . once. But when Wesley didn’t come, when he continued to lie limp and numb in Giles’ arms, Giles gave up. He never objected again when Wesley asked for the pain of it.
~~
6 Months Earlier
Afterwards, Giles could never explain exactly what it was that had made him seek Wesley out in person. He thinks that it might have been the fact that he’d already had significant troubles with the prophecy; that every other person he’d tried to enlist assistance from had refused without even a by-your-leave. He didn’t have the luxury of getting the same from Wesley.
But something inside Giles told him that there was another reason he’d come to stand here on Wesley’s stoop. Something that had more to do with the reticence Angel and the others shared when Giles had asked for Wesley’s whereabouts. Something about the way they didn’t wish to speak of him, the way they couldn’t explain his absence. Something that had caused a pang of unease to bloom in Giles’ chest.
“Good Lord, Wesley. What happened?” Giles couldn’t help blurting when the door swung open to reveal an injured and disheveled Wesley. There was a deep ragged scar running the length of Wesley’s throat, though it was difficult to see through the uneven stubble. Wesley looked as if he hadn’t had a bath in several days, possibly weeks. He reeked of stale air and sweat. “Wes?”
Wesley blinked, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was awake. Instead of answering or even acknowledging Giles’ presence, he stepped aside and the let the door begin to swing shut once more. Giles stepped forward, his right palm slapping against the hard wood. He didn’t wait for an invitation, but entered right behind the ghostly apparition that was Wesley.
Giles pulled the scroll from his bag and followed Wesley into the small kitchen where he was stirring a dollop of honey into a cup of tea. He still hadn’t spoken a word, and Giles began to wonder whether he’d lost the ability to speak completely. The scar was ugly and it was obvious that Wesley could easily have died from it.
“Wesley?” Giles tried again, holding the scroll out when Wesley turned, no surprise showing in his features whatsoever. “I need your help.” He said when Wes finally took the offering. “It’s an obscure dialect of jenshuti and I’m afraid I’ve tried to decipher the language myself with no luck. I’ve already been to several others, none of whom could help.”
Wesley nodded, and spread the scroll on the table. He reached toward the counter and brought down a small pad of paper. The section Giles needed was clearly marked, and Wesley immediately went to work.
The silence made Giles extremely uneasy. There was something deeply disturbing about the way Wesley moved about, the quiet, the darkness; almost as if all the life had been sucked out of the room, perhaps even out of Wesley. Giles shook himself. He chided himself for being overly dramatic, but he couldn’t shake the chills that thought brought forth.
Over an hour later and Wesley still hadn’t looked up from his work. Giles had helped himself to a cup of a tea and a biscuit he’d found in the cupboard. He didn’t feel right moving about the flat without Wesley’s permission so he waited, a bit impatiently, in the chair opposite Wesley’s at the table.
Finally, Wesley looked up and pushed the tablet towards him. Giles immediately called Buffy and the others, sure now that he had been right and that they could easily avoid the danger if Buffy were able to destroy the talisman before the next full moon. He watched Wesley as he spoke on the phone, noting how the ex-Watcher went about preparing another cup of tea as if Giles hadn’t been there. As if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place that afternoon.
After he hung up he’d meant to thank Wesley and go, but somehow he ended up right back at the small round table, taking the seat opposite Wesley once more. “Wes? Did . . . did the attack render you mute?” He asked as tactfully as he could, gesturing rather ineffectually at the large, angry scar. Wesley stared back, expression completely devoid of any emotion, and Giles began to wonder if he shouldn’t have left after all.
“No.” A hoarse, scratchy whisper and Giles found himself making plans to call Buffy, to explain his delay.
~~
The first time Giles fucked Wesley was a month after he’d appeared on Wesley’s doorstep. He hadn’t meant for them to end up as they did, but since the day he’d arrived Giles couldn’t seem to control his own actions. He found himself reacting to Wesley’s strange silences, to the haunting looks that graced his pale face and the obvious pain that hid behind dark violet eyes.
A month and Wesley still hadn’t told him exactly what had occurred. Only that he’d had a falling out with the others, that he’d made some grave error, apparently an unforgivable one. Giles didn’t understand. Didn’t understand how the others could so completely abandon Wesley, and didn’t understand how it all tied together with the scar marring his throat.
“Wes, please, I need to understand . . . I want to help.” Giles practically begged, unable to reason any longer.
“Why?” A month and Wesley’s voice, so rarely used, still came out sounding achy and raw.
“I told you, because I want to help. Because I don’t like seeing you, seeing anyone, like this.” He gestured in frustration toward Wesley, unsure how to describe exactly what he was feeling.
Wesley stared for a moment then stood up to leave the room. “Damn it, Wes, talk to me!” Giles moved without thinking, pinning Wesley to the wall.
“Why?” Wesley said again, honest bewilderment coloring his voice.
And Giles found himself staring down into wide, blinking eyes. Found the sight of Wesley’s scar, peeking out from beneath the angle of his jaw too much to bear. He swooped down and took Wesley’s mouth in a desperate kiss. And even as he did it, even as he tasted Wes for the first time, Giles knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He moved, tracing a line from Wesley’s lips down to his scar with the tip of his tongue. He pressed soft kisses to Wesley’s scar, only to have Wesley push at him, try to force him away. And it dawned on Giles then, that Wesley didn’t want this, didn’t want Giles touching him so familiarly. And again, Giles couldn’t stop himself.
He pushed back, and continued to kiss across the jagged line. He pressed even closer, insinuating his leg between Wesley’s thighs and rubbing him until he could feel Wesley’s cock hard and pulsing against him. Wesley’s body went limp, his forehead dropping against Giles’ shoulder as he finally gave in.
Giles was hard, aching to bury himself in the tight silkiness of Wesley’s body. Wesley’s hips were moving against him now, a wet patch growing at his crotch. “Yes, let me make you feel good, Wes.” Giles offered, dropping to his knees as he reached for the clasp of Wesley’s trousers.
“Just want to feel.” Wesley answered feebly.
And finally, for the first time since he’d arrived, Giles felt as if he were helping. He pulled Wesley’s erection free, happy to find it swollen and wet. Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the tip, letting his tongue sneak out to lick at the slit. Wesley jerked back, hitting his head against the wall. He shook his head violently as he stared down at Giles.
“Fuck me.” And now Giles could pretend that it was desire and lust making Wesley’s voice so raspy. He tried to take Wesley into his mouth but was again rebuffed. “Just fuck me.”
He nodded, admitting defeat. He glanced around the room as he quickly undressed, not wanting to take Wesley dry. “Don’t move.” He finally said, hoping that Wesley would obey as he ran to the bathroom for the hand lotion. When he returned Wesley was still slumped against the wall, his cock protruding thickly from his groin, and his chest heaving slightly.
Giles moved forward, throwing one of Wesley’s legs up to hook over his hip. He pressed one slick finger to Wesley’s opening and pushed, watching as Wesley grimaced at the intrusion. “Tell me if it’s too much.” Giles said.
“Not enough.” Wesley answered, economy in every sentence.
Giles frowned, but continued to thrust in and out, stretching Wesley until a second finger could be added.
“Your cock.” Wesley murmured. “Fuck me.”
“It’s too soon. You’re not ready.” Giles argued, but his cock jerked at the thought of being encased by Wesley’s tight heat.
“Good enough.” Wesley groaned, hitching his leg higher to give Giles better access. “Inside me.”
Giles groaned, his body arching when Wesley lowered the zip of his trousers and reached in to encircle the base of his cock with ink stained fingers. He didn’t have the strength to say no when he felt Wesley guide him to the puckered opening, pressing his sensitive head to the hole. “Ungh!” He grunted, thrusting up just enough to breach the entrance with his mushroom head.
“Yes! Harder!” Wesley fairly shouted, the strongest Giles had heard his voice sound in the last month. Then Giles was crying out his name as Wesley used the angle and his weight to sink himself atop Giles’ cock.
All sense lost, Giles began to fuck Wesley against the wall. He could hear the slap of his skin against Wes’, could feel each grunt as Wesley’s body slammed hard against the wall behind him. And Wesley was still urging him on, asking for it rougher, harder, faster. And Giles was helpless to deny him.
“Fuck me!” Wesley groaned as he writhed against Giles. “Make me feel.” He said on a whistling breath.
Giles lifted both of Wesley’s legs until the other man was wrapped around him, his cock still firmly embedded in Wesley’s arse. He could feel his knees beginning to buckle, his balls tightening painfully close to orgasm. He pounded Wesley against the wall hard, not caring whether the position was comfortable for Wesley or not, too lost in his own desperate need to climax.
“Wes, Christ!” Giles shouted, coming in hard, jerking spurts inside Wesley’s trembling body. He was still spasming when he finally remembered to reach for Wesley’s cock.
Wesley made a feeble attempt to push his hand away, but Giles would have none of it. He stroked Wesley until he came, moving faster and tightening his fist when Wesley demanded a firmer grip.
Afterwards, Giles felt sick at what he’d done. Felt horrified that he’d forced himself, painfully, onto the other man. He stumbled to the bathroom and vomited. Unsure what had prompted him to treat Wesley thusly, unsure what kind of man that made him. He wanted to pretend that Wesley had wanted him completely, that Wesley had never attempted to get away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deny that Wesley had pushed him away. That he’d fucked Wesley against a wall, with no thought of the other man’s comfort.
Giles couldn’t explain it. Didn’t understand what had made him react so violently to Wesley’s dismissal of his offer of assistance. Giles rinsed out his mouth and decided then and there to finally leave. He wasn’t doing any good. And after today he was quite positive he’d done irrevocable harm.
But when he returned, he found Wesley, slumped on the floor with his back to the wall and his eyes closed. When he got closer, he realized that Wesley had fallen asleep. And the steady, even breaths indicated a deep sleep. The kind he hadn’t seen Wesley fall into since he’d arrived.
Carefully, a little afraid of the darkness simmering inside him, Giles slid his hands beneath the sleeping figure and lifted Wesley into his arms. It was a measure of Wesley’s exhaustion that he didn’t stir as he was carried into the bedroom and placed gently beneath the covers. Giles returned to the bathroom for a wet cloth and cleaned Wesley as best he could, wincing at the small smattering of blood that indicated an even rougher bout of sex than Giles had imagined it had been.
But afterwards, instead of packing and slipping away as he’d intended, he stayed and sat at Wesley’s bedside. And then, two nights later when it was Wesley that approached him, Giles couldn’t say no. He fucked Wesley just as hard and long and rough as was demanded. And he learned quickly that that was the only way Wesley would take it. The only way he wanted it.
No matter that Giles’ frustration and anger had morphed into concern and a caring he never thought he’d feel for another. No matter that each time they fucked, for Giles could never call it ‘making love,’ Giles felt guiltier and dirtier than the time before. He couldn’t stop. Not while Wesley still wanted it. Not when Wesley still begged for it.
~~
Wesley groaned, gripping Giles’ hips and arching up to meet Giles’ thrusts. “Harder!” He begged, eyes watering with the need to feel something, anything; to feel Giles taking him wildly, roughly. Giles’ lips were on his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed as his orgasm approached and he felt light, butterfly kisses against his closed lids. He wanted to sigh, wanted to feel warmth at the touch, but he didn’t. He felt numb, and cold, everywhere. Everywhere but where Giles’ cock burned and stretched and filled him to painful excess.
He heard the tiny whimper that signaled Giles’ release, felt the splash of hot come inside him, and bucked up, filling himself with Giles’ pulsing cock. He came even before Giles could touch him, before he felt anything other than the throbbing fullness of Giles’ orgasm spilling into him.
Then he heard it. A soft whisper that he wasn’t even sure Giles knew he’d uttered.
“I love you.”
And he wanted to sob then. Wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all. Wanted to scream at Giles for ruining the one bit of life left to him.
Instead, he let Giles pull out of him and pad over to the washroom and grab a wet cloth as was his wont. He rolled away, giving Giles his back, while the numbness took over. Wanting to feel again, and knowing that he wouldn’t. That he couldn’t.
Because . . . Giles loved him.
THE END.