Mulled 1/1 (Giles/Xander)
Mulled
by Dr Squidlove
@livejournal.com
Summary: Xander looked happy. More unguarded than he'd been in months. Years, perhaps. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the short trip from the cab, eye shining. Giles couldn't look away. He was going to kiss him, tonight.
Giles/Xander. Total fluff.
Written for the Drunken!Giles-athon. I am honoured to write for wesleysgirl. Best I could do was tipsy, ma'am. Hope that's soused enough.
Rated PG, for vague sexual references.
Wordcount: 3147
All my blings belong to Joss.
References to non-Christmas Christmas traditions are based on half-arsed tours through wikipedia and the first screen of the first page of google searches. No claims are made as to accuracy.
Mulled
by drsquidlove
"Wow. You really got into the Christmas spirit, didn't you?" Xander's eyes moved from the wreath on the door into the garland-bedecked hall. "Did you ever even have a tree in Sunnydale?"
"Get inside, out of the cold." Giles pushed him forward, so he could close the door.
Xander noticed the stand, and dumped his coat on it, made it as far as the front room before he stopped in front of the tree. It was the biggest, thickest one Giles had been able to drag in on his own, drowned in every ornament Giles had found in his family stores. Xander was turning, grinning, as he unwound his scarf, taking in the candles, the holly, the tinsel along the mantel. Giles had even found the Christmas blanket his mother crocheted before he was born, and tossed it over the couch.
Xander looked happy. More unguarded than he'd been in months. Years, perhaps. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the short trip from the cab, eye shining. Giles couldn't look away. He was going to kiss him, tonight.
"Seriously, Giles, we are going to Spain tomorrow, right? Christmas in sunny Almeria? 'Cos if we don't, Buffy and Willow and Dawn are gonna-"
"Tickets are on the fridge."
"So you did all this for the hell of it?"
He should have expected questions about the extravagance, but he found himself squirming, anyway. "You've never had a traditional Christmas."
Xander looked perplexed. "Santa? Tree? Presents?"
"Those you may have in Spain. I meant you should have snow. Mulled wine. Fire."
Xander's smile slipped a little. "Well, there was snow that time the weather decided Angel shouldn't get fried. Wine is totally a Harris tradition. Fire? Sure, that one year Uncle Rory dropped his cigar in the trash."
Giles started pulling off his own jacket and scarf. "I was thinking a little more traditional than that. The radio suggested we may even have a fresh fall tonight."
Xander had the eyebrow over his one eye raised now, but he didn't say anything. Just pulled off his gloves and did another turn. Giles watched, inordinately pleased with the pleasure that was washing away Xander's suspicion.
He'd been sorting through his parents' attic, and he'd found the family decorations tucked in a back corner. As soon as he peeled off the tape the scent of napthalene dragged up the memories, vivid as yesterday. Stripping the wrapping from gifts, Uncle Reginald's booming carols, pulling crackers at the children's table and wishing he could sit with the grown-ups.
He'd picked through the cartons for hours. In amongst the baubles and candles he found a card, a pencil-coloured Santa with a cotton ball beard, and 'To mommy and dady love Rupert.' They'd kept it all these years. There was a bittersweet ache in his gut, as he brushed his fingers over the crushed cotton balls. And he'd wondered, did Xander's parents keep his infants-school artwork tucked away in boxes? That was where the idea was born.
Giles drew a deep breath. "Go on upstairs and change. Dinner should be ready, soon."
"Giant turkey and all the trimmings?"
"Just a mince pie, I'm afraid. My mother's recipe."
Xander watched him thoughtfully, for a minute, and then picked up his bag, and headed upstairs.
Giles pushed up his sleeves. He'd check on the pie, then get the fire and some music going. When Xander came downstairs, he'd have the scene set. He'd only have to kiss Xander until they were sprawled across the couch with their clothes in disarray before he'd declare it very much a perfect Christmas.
Right. He headed to the kitchen and poured a quick brandy as he rekindled the stove under the wine. He could do this. He'd felt Xander's looks these last few months. They'd become close, since Xander came back from Zaire, but there was more than a renewed friendship at work, Giles was sure. Fairly sure. He tossed back his brandy, and poured another half-measure.
The pie was nearly done, potatoes brown. He heated water for peas, and checked the wine, and then headed back to get the fire going. The air was a little crisp but it would heat up soon enough.
"You know, there's a lot to be said for an African summer Christmas." Xander was in the doorway in a thick-knit grey sweater, arms folded against the chill air. He looked edible.
Giles put down the poker, satisfied that it would burn. He stood, savouring the anticipation dancing deep in his belly. "That isn't Christmas. Christmas has snow."
"Mulled wine. Fire."
"Exactly." Two steps, and he'd have him.
"Good friends."
"Quite."
Xander watched him with that look he'd had recently, that made Giles sure he wasn't mistaken. If he was, well, there'd be plenty of distraction tomorrow. If there was one thing Giles had grown sure of, these last few years, it was that you should seize happiness where you could. He was going to seize Xander.
Giles took a long pull from his brandy. "Mulled wine?"
"I'll try anything once."
Anything, indeed.
Giles screwed up his courage and stepped towards him. Xander stepped back to let him pass, and the moment was gone. Giles wavered for a moment, wondering if he could save it, and then shook it off and led the way to the kitchen. They had the entire evening, and a glass of wine to relax them wouldn't hurt. He ladled out a glass each. He closed his eyes as he tasted it, warm and potent. Perfect. This would certainly make his evening's mission easier.
For dinner, Giles had decided to forego the traditional table for warmth, and the chance to sit close. Watching Xander across the table had its appeal, but nothing on cosying up under a blanket together, bumping elbows as they ate from trays on their laps, in front of the fire. Xander ate, at least; he siphoned down three generous slices of the pie, wondering all the while where mince pie had been all his life. 'In England,' Giles told him, pleased he liked it.
Giles barely touched his own. He was too nervous to eat. His wine disappeared somewhat more efficiently, as he wondered if it would be best to lean over right now... except Xander was talking any time he wasn't shovelling food into his mouth, and there didn't seem an opportunity to interrupt. Giles could barely look away from Xander's mouth, watching the pie disappear with a speed that should have been impolite, but Giles had never enjoyed watching someone eat quite so much, the shapes his jaw made as he chewed, his tongue darting out to check for crumbs. Giles wanted to know how he tasted. He would find out, tonight. Find out how Xander felt, under that sweater, what noises he made for a lover.
He'd been wondering a long time, now - since he stumbled back into Sunnydale with the first batch of potentials, and found Xander was altogether different from before the failed wedding and Willow's breakdown and whatever else had happened in Giles' absence. It was in Cleveland that Giles noticed Xander's head turned for men as often as it did for women. It was since Xander rented a flat in Southgate and started putting in time at HQ that Giles had begun to feel those eyes on him.
His first instinct had been to step back, hope for Xander's attention to move on, but... he didn't want it to.
Giles' life was a parade of missed opportunities, and this wasn't going to be another. Fear was perhaps not the best motivation for making a pass at a friend, but on some deep, instinctual level born of experience, Giles was sure that if he waited, something would happen. Xander would be taken away from him, by death, or Giles' own fear, or perhaps simply by someone else, someone younger and easier than himself. So it had to be tonight. Before pudding. He'd need a little more wine.
"So what did you get the girls?" Xander asked as Giles returned with their charged glasses. "Very old books? In very old languages?" His eyes were alight.
I'm going to kiss you, Giles thought. He wanted to slide his hands under Xander's thick sweater and feel the heat of his skin, smooth over the lines of his muscles. Yes, he'd noticed those, too. He was feeling rather light-headed.
"Giles?"
"Sorry?"
"Very old books?"
It took a few moments to hunt back to the thread of conversation "For Willow. And Dawn. And a rather nice sword for Buffy."
"And for me?"
"Never you mind." He had two gifts for Xander. A weekend in the Lakes District, if tonight went well. A set of hand-carving tools, if it all went disastrously wrong.
"I was ahead of it, this year. Got all mine done in Africa."
"A very old book for me?"
"Never you mind." Xander smiled conspiratorially over his wine glass.
That was flirting, without question. Xander was as eager as he, and this was their moment. The simmer in the room grew to a boil. Giles put his plate aside, brushing a hand over his mouth to check for crumbs, and turned to face Xander better. He peeled off his glasses, laying them aside, ready. Unless that was simply Xander, a rejoinder for every occasion, not flirting at all. He hesitated, and took a long pull from his wine glass.
"We don't have to go to church, do we?"
"Church?" What in blast did the church have to do with anything?
"The whole traditional thing you've got going?"
Giles was miles behind. "I'm sorry?"
"Traditional Christmas?"
Giles laughed aloud. It was tempting to say yes, just to see Xander try to hide his horror, but the chuckling had already given him away. He couldn't stop. "I'm, I'm afraid my traditions are all pre-Christian."
"Huh?"
Giles swallowed one last snort, and pointed to the log in the fireplace. "That one's German pagan, or possibly Scandinavian. There are competing theories." He pointed to the tree. "Roman. The candles too - Saturnalia." He wouldn't mind celebrating Saturnalia with Xander. Plenty of sex, for Saturnalia. He turned to smile at him, caught that strange look again, and pointed across Xander to the mistletoe over the doorway. "Druidic."
Xander's gaze lingered on the mistletoe, frowning just slightly, like he was trying to puzzle out if it was what he thought it was. That one Giles hadn't planned for his mission of seduction; it was simply one more piece of the picture he'd been trying to paint. Far too cheap a move for Giles. He was going to- Did Xander just lean into him?
"Nothing new?"
Xander had just leaned into him, but was it leaning, or... leaning? Giles swallowed, twice, threw back a little warm wine to wet his throat. It might have been an accident, might have been an invitation. "Sadly, the Queen's Christmas message will be tomorrow night."
Xander stared at him. "You're having me on."
Giles raised his glass. "One does not joke about the Queen's Christmas message."
Xander was still staring at him, still not believing Giles wasn't having him on.
"Tradition," Giles insisted, bringing down his glass. He wasn't going to have an American trample on the Queen's Christmas message. Not even one who smelled as good as this. "I suppose you're too full for dessert."
"No such thing, my man."
Xander was on his feet before Giles could move, so he put his glasses back on. Giles struggled to his feet - god, he was old - caught the steadying hand Xander offered. His hand was warm and dry, and broad. Xander was strong. Giles liked how strong Xander was.
"Had enough there, Giles?"
"No, I think I can fit in dessert."
"Not what I meant."
Giles still had Xander's hand, and no, it wasn't nearly enough. Electricity ran from their clasped hands to his cock. "Come on," Xander said, but he let go. "Let's get dessert."
Giles picked up his half-empty glass and followed him to the kitchen. It took a few seconds to remember what next.
"Pudding," prompted Xander.
"Right." Giles reached for the ladle in the mulled wine, and Xander caught his hand. Barely a hair behind him, the length of his arm pressed the length of Giles'. Giles' heart stuttered, and picked up pace.
"Pudding," Xander said gently, and Giles felt the word on his neck. If Giles moved, he was going to press into Xander's body, feel that broad chest against his back, Xander's groin against his arse. Xander reached further, pressing for a wondrous moment and picking up Giles' glass. His lips pressed where Giles' had been as he drained it, and put it down empty.
"Xander," Giles said, but he didn't have anything else to say.
"You did all this for me? A very Rupert Giles Christmas?"
Giles nodded.
"Then I want some very Rupert Giles pudding."
It took more concentration than it ought to have, to find the custard and tip it into the saucepan, mostly because Xander was right there, and Giles was going to touch him, very soon. Maybe as the custard heated, he'd pull Xander close, and coax him into a slow, warm kiss.
Also, a little extra concentration because Giles was beginning to realise he'd had quite a bit of wine. He dropped a spoon, and bent to pick it up, and missed. Oh, no. What an old fool he was being.
Xander picked up the spoon and tossed it in the sink, pulling a fresh one from the drawer. He took over stirring.
That was fine. Giles could manage to microwave pudding. He retrieved the basin from the fridge, carefully pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard, and took a knife from the block.
Xander took it from him, and gave him the custard spoon. Giles stirred, while Xander cut out slices, lifting one up to breathe it in. "Smells good."
What an arse he'd been, throwing back wine like a teenager trying to impress. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"I didn't mean to-"
"Don't worry about it." This time, Xander's hand rested on Giles' back for a moment, a shock that somersaulted around Giles' body. "As long as..."
"As long as?"
"Is there something I should know?"
Giles couldn't drag his attention away from that hand on his back. "I'm sorry?" He looked back over his shoulder, so close there was only an inch or two to a kiss, and Xander tipped his head towards the empty glass and looked at Giles.
Only that Giles loved the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and that Giles was going to brush it back when he kissed him, and that if Giles had misread Xander's interest he was going to feel an appalling fool.
Getting drunk like this - he was a fool anyway. Would Xander really want a drunk old man? He leaned on the bench, and hung his head.
"Oh, no. Tipsy's fine, but if you get maudlin, you'll ruin my snowy English Christmas."
Giles chuckled, and passed Xander care of the custard, so he could put the bowls in the microwave.
They were on the floor, backs against the couch, sharing a blanket in front of a crackling fire. It was everything Giles had planned, except he couldn't find a dignified way from here to wrapping himself around Xander. Once upon a time, he'd been adept at seduction. Tanked up on indecent levels of alcohol or marijuana or whatever else was easily available, he could have his target crawling into his lap with no effort at all. Good girls, straight boys, didn't matter. He could charm them all. Now fifty years old, he couldn't remember how to get his hand on the bump of blanket that covered Xander's knee without seeming like a fumbling virgin. Xander's pudding was disappearing fast, and Giles was beginning to worry he wouldn't find the courage. He could face vampires and demons of all kinds, so why was turning to face Xander, who he was sure - fairly sure - would welcome him, so difficult?
It had to be tonight. He'd never find the courage again.
He would do it when they returned to the kitchen to rinse their bowls. Standing, with room to move, so Giles could catch his shoulders. Hold him steady as he leaned in to brush their lips. He'd just drag his lips over Xander's, enough to feel how soft they were, and then he'd pull back and let Xander make the next move. If he wanted to make one. If that move was to pull Giles closer and kiss him, that would be wonderful; if not, if he stumbled backwards and made excuses to run back to his room, then Giles would be glad he took the chance and savour that single taste.
Xander was taking the bowl from his hands, shifting off the blanket to climb to his feet. That wasn't the plan.
"Let me just-"
"No, you stay here, I've got them."
"I, I can't have you tidying-"
Xander touched his shoulder for a brief buzzing moment. "I can throw a couple of bowls in the dishwasher. Won't be long."
Giles was left alone, in his little Christmas enclave. He listened to the sounds in the kitchen, the tap running, the click of the dishwasher door. Xander at home in his house.
It wasn't going to be tonight.
"Snow!"
Xander thundered past the front room, and out the front door.
Giles struggled to his feet, not really swaying too much, and followed the cold draught to the front door. He stopped, and stared.
Xander was standing on the path, hands raised, head thrown back, as the flakes drifted down around him. He turned to see Giles, and the grin on his face... Giles couldn't breathe.
His dark eye was shining, nose and cheeks already pink with the cold, but he didn't seem to be feeling it as he reached out and caught the snowflakes in his outstretched hands.
Giles felt it all, the wet ice soaking through his socks, the crisp wind chipping at his face and ears, stinging his fingers. Sharp cold air swelling his chest. Giles could see the white mist of Xander's breath, falling from bright cherry lips. His hair seemed darker, eyelashes longer, the world around him blinding white like a fresh page.
Giles still had the blanket in his hand. In a couple of strides he had it around Xander's shoulders, and his arms around Xander, and Xander's lips were cool. Xander welcomed him without hesitation, like he'd been waiting all night for this. It was better than Giles' imagination. Inside he was a furnace, delicious liquid heat.
Ice fingers slid up Giles' cheek. "Is this a tradition?" Xander asked, breath warm against Giles' cheek.
"I hope."
- - -
wesleysgirl commanded
Three Things I want -
1. Either Giles/Xander or Giles/Spike
2. Standing outside in the cold, preferably with snow falling
3. A card or letter from someone (either having arrived in the mail or being found after a long time)
Three Things I don't want -
1. Angry sex
2. Ethan bashing
3. Physical violence directed toward Giles
by Dr Squidlove
@livejournal.com
Summary: Xander looked happy. More unguarded than he'd been in months. Years, perhaps. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the short trip from the cab, eye shining. Giles couldn't look away. He was going to kiss him, tonight.
Giles/Xander. Total fluff.
Written for the Drunken!Giles-athon. I am honoured to write for wesleysgirl. Best I could do was tipsy, ma'am. Hope that's soused enough.
Rated PG, for vague sexual references.
Wordcount: 3147
All my blings belong to Joss.
References to non-Christmas Christmas traditions are based on half-arsed tours through wikipedia and the first screen of the first page of google searches. No claims are made as to accuracy.
Mulled
by drsquidlove
"Wow. You really got into the Christmas spirit, didn't you?" Xander's eyes moved from the wreath on the door into the garland-bedecked hall. "Did you ever even have a tree in Sunnydale?"
"Get inside, out of the cold." Giles pushed him forward, so he could close the door.
Xander noticed the stand, and dumped his coat on it, made it as far as the front room before he stopped in front of the tree. It was the biggest, thickest one Giles had been able to drag in on his own, drowned in every ornament Giles had found in his family stores. Xander was turning, grinning, as he unwound his scarf, taking in the candles, the holly, the tinsel along the mantel. Giles had even found the Christmas blanket his mother crocheted before he was born, and tossed it over the couch.
Xander looked happy. More unguarded than he'd been in months. Years, perhaps. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the short trip from the cab, eye shining. Giles couldn't look away. He was going to kiss him, tonight.
"Seriously, Giles, we are going to Spain tomorrow, right? Christmas in sunny Almeria? 'Cos if we don't, Buffy and Willow and Dawn are gonna-"
"Tickets are on the fridge."
"So you did all this for the hell of it?"
He should have expected questions about the extravagance, but he found himself squirming, anyway. "You've never had a traditional Christmas."
Xander looked perplexed. "Santa? Tree? Presents?"
"Those you may have in Spain. I meant you should have snow. Mulled wine. Fire."
Xander's smile slipped a little. "Well, there was snow that time the weather decided Angel shouldn't get fried. Wine is totally a Harris tradition. Fire? Sure, that one year Uncle Rory dropped his cigar in the trash."
Giles started pulling off his own jacket and scarf. "I was thinking a little more traditional than that. The radio suggested we may even have a fresh fall tonight."
Xander had the eyebrow over his one eye raised now, but he didn't say anything. Just pulled off his gloves and did another turn. Giles watched, inordinately pleased with the pleasure that was washing away Xander's suspicion.
He'd been sorting through his parents' attic, and he'd found the family decorations tucked in a back corner. As soon as he peeled off the tape the scent of napthalene dragged up the memories, vivid as yesterday. Stripping the wrapping from gifts, Uncle Reginald's booming carols, pulling crackers at the children's table and wishing he could sit with the grown-ups.
He'd picked through the cartons for hours. In amongst the baubles and candles he found a card, a pencil-coloured Santa with a cotton ball beard, and 'To mommy and dady love Rupert.' They'd kept it all these years. There was a bittersweet ache in his gut, as he brushed his fingers over the crushed cotton balls. And he'd wondered, did Xander's parents keep his infants-school artwork tucked away in boxes? That was where the idea was born.
Giles drew a deep breath. "Go on upstairs and change. Dinner should be ready, soon."
"Giant turkey and all the trimmings?"
"Just a mince pie, I'm afraid. My mother's recipe."
Xander watched him thoughtfully, for a minute, and then picked up his bag, and headed upstairs.
Giles pushed up his sleeves. He'd check on the pie, then get the fire and some music going. When Xander came downstairs, he'd have the scene set. He'd only have to kiss Xander until they were sprawled across the couch with their clothes in disarray before he'd declare it very much a perfect Christmas.
Right. He headed to the kitchen and poured a quick brandy as he rekindled the stove under the wine. He could do this. He'd felt Xander's looks these last few months. They'd become close, since Xander came back from Zaire, but there was more than a renewed friendship at work, Giles was sure. Fairly sure. He tossed back his brandy, and poured another half-measure.
The pie was nearly done, potatoes brown. He heated water for peas, and checked the wine, and then headed back to get the fire going. The air was a little crisp but it would heat up soon enough.
"You know, there's a lot to be said for an African summer Christmas." Xander was in the doorway in a thick-knit grey sweater, arms folded against the chill air. He looked edible.
Giles put down the poker, satisfied that it would burn. He stood, savouring the anticipation dancing deep in his belly. "That isn't Christmas. Christmas has snow."
"Mulled wine. Fire."
"Exactly." Two steps, and he'd have him.
"Good friends."
"Quite."
Xander watched him with that look he'd had recently, that made Giles sure he wasn't mistaken. If he was, well, there'd be plenty of distraction tomorrow. If there was one thing Giles had grown sure of, these last few years, it was that you should seize happiness where you could. He was going to seize Xander.
Giles took a long pull from his brandy. "Mulled wine?"
"I'll try anything once."
Anything, indeed.
Giles screwed up his courage and stepped towards him. Xander stepped back to let him pass, and the moment was gone. Giles wavered for a moment, wondering if he could save it, and then shook it off and led the way to the kitchen. They had the entire evening, and a glass of wine to relax them wouldn't hurt. He ladled out a glass each. He closed his eyes as he tasted it, warm and potent. Perfect. This would certainly make his evening's mission easier.
For dinner, Giles had decided to forego the traditional table for warmth, and the chance to sit close. Watching Xander across the table had its appeal, but nothing on cosying up under a blanket together, bumping elbows as they ate from trays on their laps, in front of the fire. Xander ate, at least; he siphoned down three generous slices of the pie, wondering all the while where mince pie had been all his life. 'In England,' Giles told him, pleased he liked it.
Giles barely touched his own. He was too nervous to eat. His wine disappeared somewhat more efficiently, as he wondered if it would be best to lean over right now... except Xander was talking any time he wasn't shovelling food into his mouth, and there didn't seem an opportunity to interrupt. Giles could barely look away from Xander's mouth, watching the pie disappear with a speed that should have been impolite, but Giles had never enjoyed watching someone eat quite so much, the shapes his jaw made as he chewed, his tongue darting out to check for crumbs. Giles wanted to know how he tasted. He would find out, tonight. Find out how Xander felt, under that sweater, what noises he made for a lover.
He'd been wondering a long time, now - since he stumbled back into Sunnydale with the first batch of potentials, and found Xander was altogether different from before the failed wedding and Willow's breakdown and whatever else had happened in Giles' absence. It was in Cleveland that Giles noticed Xander's head turned for men as often as it did for women. It was since Xander rented a flat in Southgate and started putting in time at HQ that Giles had begun to feel those eyes on him.
His first instinct had been to step back, hope for Xander's attention to move on, but... he didn't want it to.
Giles' life was a parade of missed opportunities, and this wasn't going to be another. Fear was perhaps not the best motivation for making a pass at a friend, but on some deep, instinctual level born of experience, Giles was sure that if he waited, something would happen. Xander would be taken away from him, by death, or Giles' own fear, or perhaps simply by someone else, someone younger and easier than himself. So it had to be tonight. Before pudding. He'd need a little more wine.
"So what did you get the girls?" Xander asked as Giles returned with their charged glasses. "Very old books? In very old languages?" His eyes were alight.
I'm going to kiss you, Giles thought. He wanted to slide his hands under Xander's thick sweater and feel the heat of his skin, smooth over the lines of his muscles. Yes, he'd noticed those, too. He was feeling rather light-headed.
"Giles?"
"Sorry?"
"Very old books?"
It took a few moments to hunt back to the thread of conversation "For Willow. And Dawn. And a rather nice sword for Buffy."
"And for me?"
"Never you mind." He had two gifts for Xander. A weekend in the Lakes District, if tonight went well. A set of hand-carving tools, if it all went disastrously wrong.
"I was ahead of it, this year. Got all mine done in Africa."
"A very old book for me?"
"Never you mind." Xander smiled conspiratorially over his wine glass.
That was flirting, without question. Xander was as eager as he, and this was their moment. The simmer in the room grew to a boil. Giles put his plate aside, brushing a hand over his mouth to check for crumbs, and turned to face Xander better. He peeled off his glasses, laying them aside, ready. Unless that was simply Xander, a rejoinder for every occasion, not flirting at all. He hesitated, and took a long pull from his wine glass.
"We don't have to go to church, do we?"
"Church?" What in blast did the church have to do with anything?
"The whole traditional thing you've got going?"
Giles was miles behind. "I'm sorry?"
"Traditional Christmas?"
Giles laughed aloud. It was tempting to say yes, just to see Xander try to hide his horror, but the chuckling had already given him away. He couldn't stop. "I'm, I'm afraid my traditions are all pre-Christian."
"Huh?"
Giles swallowed one last snort, and pointed to the log in the fireplace. "That one's German pagan, or possibly Scandinavian. There are competing theories." He pointed to the tree. "Roman. The candles too - Saturnalia." He wouldn't mind celebrating Saturnalia with Xander. Plenty of sex, for Saturnalia. He turned to smile at him, caught that strange look again, and pointed across Xander to the mistletoe over the doorway. "Druidic."
Xander's gaze lingered on the mistletoe, frowning just slightly, like he was trying to puzzle out if it was what he thought it was. That one Giles hadn't planned for his mission of seduction; it was simply one more piece of the picture he'd been trying to paint. Far too cheap a move for Giles. He was going to- Did Xander just lean into him?
"Nothing new?"
Xander had just leaned into him, but was it leaning, or... leaning? Giles swallowed, twice, threw back a little warm wine to wet his throat. It might have been an accident, might have been an invitation. "Sadly, the Queen's Christmas message will be tomorrow night."
Xander stared at him. "You're having me on."
Giles raised his glass. "One does not joke about the Queen's Christmas message."
Xander was still staring at him, still not believing Giles wasn't having him on.
"Tradition," Giles insisted, bringing down his glass. He wasn't going to have an American trample on the Queen's Christmas message. Not even one who smelled as good as this. "I suppose you're too full for dessert."
"No such thing, my man."
Xander was on his feet before Giles could move, so he put his glasses back on. Giles struggled to his feet - god, he was old - caught the steadying hand Xander offered. His hand was warm and dry, and broad. Xander was strong. Giles liked how strong Xander was.
"Had enough there, Giles?"
"No, I think I can fit in dessert."
"Not what I meant."
Giles still had Xander's hand, and no, it wasn't nearly enough. Electricity ran from their clasped hands to his cock. "Come on," Xander said, but he let go. "Let's get dessert."
Giles picked up his half-empty glass and followed him to the kitchen. It took a few seconds to remember what next.
"Pudding," prompted Xander.
"Right." Giles reached for the ladle in the mulled wine, and Xander caught his hand. Barely a hair behind him, the length of his arm pressed the length of Giles'. Giles' heart stuttered, and picked up pace.
"Pudding," Xander said gently, and Giles felt the word on his neck. If Giles moved, he was going to press into Xander's body, feel that broad chest against his back, Xander's groin against his arse. Xander reached further, pressing for a wondrous moment and picking up Giles' glass. His lips pressed where Giles' had been as he drained it, and put it down empty.
"Xander," Giles said, but he didn't have anything else to say.
"You did all this for me? A very Rupert Giles Christmas?"
Giles nodded.
"Then I want some very Rupert Giles pudding."
It took more concentration than it ought to have, to find the custard and tip it into the saucepan, mostly because Xander was right there, and Giles was going to touch him, very soon. Maybe as the custard heated, he'd pull Xander close, and coax him into a slow, warm kiss.
Also, a little extra concentration because Giles was beginning to realise he'd had quite a bit of wine. He dropped a spoon, and bent to pick it up, and missed. Oh, no. What an old fool he was being.
Xander picked up the spoon and tossed it in the sink, pulling a fresh one from the drawer. He took over stirring.
That was fine. Giles could manage to microwave pudding. He retrieved the basin from the fridge, carefully pulled a couple of bowls from the cupboard, and took a knife from the block.
Xander took it from him, and gave him the custard spoon. Giles stirred, while Xander cut out slices, lifting one up to breathe it in. "Smells good."
What an arse he'd been, throwing back wine like a teenager trying to impress. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
"I didn't mean to-"
"Don't worry about it." This time, Xander's hand rested on Giles' back for a moment, a shock that somersaulted around Giles' body. "As long as..."
"As long as?"
"Is there something I should know?"
Giles couldn't drag his attention away from that hand on his back. "I'm sorry?" He looked back over his shoulder, so close there was only an inch or two to a kiss, and Xander tipped his head towards the empty glass and looked at Giles.
Only that Giles loved the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and that Giles was going to brush it back when he kissed him, and that if Giles had misread Xander's interest he was going to feel an appalling fool.
Getting drunk like this - he was a fool anyway. Would Xander really want a drunk old man? He leaned on the bench, and hung his head.
"Oh, no. Tipsy's fine, but if you get maudlin, you'll ruin my snowy English Christmas."
Giles chuckled, and passed Xander care of the custard, so he could put the bowls in the microwave.
They were on the floor, backs against the couch, sharing a blanket in front of a crackling fire. It was everything Giles had planned, except he couldn't find a dignified way from here to wrapping himself around Xander. Once upon a time, he'd been adept at seduction. Tanked up on indecent levels of alcohol or marijuana or whatever else was easily available, he could have his target crawling into his lap with no effort at all. Good girls, straight boys, didn't matter. He could charm them all. Now fifty years old, he couldn't remember how to get his hand on the bump of blanket that covered Xander's knee without seeming like a fumbling virgin. Xander's pudding was disappearing fast, and Giles was beginning to worry he wouldn't find the courage. He could face vampires and demons of all kinds, so why was turning to face Xander, who he was sure - fairly sure - would welcome him, so difficult?
It had to be tonight. He'd never find the courage again.
He would do it when they returned to the kitchen to rinse their bowls. Standing, with room to move, so Giles could catch his shoulders. Hold him steady as he leaned in to brush their lips. He'd just drag his lips over Xander's, enough to feel how soft they were, and then he'd pull back and let Xander make the next move. If he wanted to make one. If that move was to pull Giles closer and kiss him, that would be wonderful; if not, if he stumbled backwards and made excuses to run back to his room, then Giles would be glad he took the chance and savour that single taste.
Xander was taking the bowl from his hands, shifting off the blanket to climb to his feet. That wasn't the plan.
"Let me just-"
"No, you stay here, I've got them."
"I, I can't have you tidying-"
Xander touched his shoulder for a brief buzzing moment. "I can throw a couple of bowls in the dishwasher. Won't be long."
Giles was left alone, in his little Christmas enclave. He listened to the sounds in the kitchen, the tap running, the click of the dishwasher door. Xander at home in his house.
It wasn't going to be tonight.
"Snow!"
Xander thundered past the front room, and out the front door.
Giles struggled to his feet, not really swaying too much, and followed the cold draught to the front door. He stopped, and stared.
Xander was standing on the path, hands raised, head thrown back, as the flakes drifted down around him. He turned to see Giles, and the grin on his face... Giles couldn't breathe.
His dark eye was shining, nose and cheeks already pink with the cold, but he didn't seem to be feeling it as he reached out and caught the snowflakes in his outstretched hands.
Giles felt it all, the wet ice soaking through his socks, the crisp wind chipping at his face and ears, stinging his fingers. Sharp cold air swelling his chest. Giles could see the white mist of Xander's breath, falling from bright cherry lips. His hair seemed darker, eyelashes longer, the world around him blinding white like a fresh page.
Giles still had the blanket in his hand. In a couple of strides he had it around Xander's shoulders, and his arms around Xander, and Xander's lips were cool. Xander welcomed him without hesitation, like he'd been waiting all night for this. It was better than Giles' imagination. Inside he was a furnace, delicious liquid heat.
Ice fingers slid up Giles' cheek. "Is this a tradition?" Xander asked, breath warm against Giles' cheek.
"I hope."
- - -
wesleysgirl commanded
Three Things I want -
1. Either Giles/Xander or Giles/Spike
2. Standing outside in the cold, preferably with snow falling
3. A card or letter from someone (either having arrived in the mail or being found after a long time)
Three Things I don't want -
1. Angry sex
2. Ethan bashing
3. Physical violence directed toward Giles