Fic: Two men (and their dog) in a boat 5/??
Disclaimers in Part One
Part Five
Locks were … fascinating. Simple in concept, intricate in design, baroque in execution … all Victorian ironwork, sturdy timbers and rushing churning water that worked magic, stepping the canal - and the boat with it - up hill and down dale as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Mellowed by time, Giles had said when Xander had leapt aboard again after the first one, talking about the way that the once shiny new technology had become part of the landscape, blended in with the confidence of its age. It was more than that. It was magic, the way that the canal had become more than the sum of its parts, more than a gash hacked through soil and stone, more than water pumped and circulated by the passage of both boats and time … more than the stamp of cold iron and seasoned wood sealing wounds the navvies had cut into the land. England had absorbed the canal and made it integral to her existence, a conduit of commerce and history tattooed across her ancient skin. The countryside wore the water like jewellery, links and chains running across her drape of lanes and fields and woodlands.
Xander loved it. He hadn’t thought he would. Hadn’t imagined just how much this strange combination of nature’s cloak, human ingenuity and technical mastery would enchant him. They moved at a leisurely pace, one barely faster than a brisk walk, yet made surprising progress; this wasn’t drifting, as a sailboat might, nor was it the easy amble of a horse drawn caravan. It was a quiet, steady procession, an onward glide towards an unhurried destination, full of intent and purpose, underwritten with the thrum of the engine and punctuated by the clatter and creak and swish of the next lock.
He learned how to lean the boat into the turn and bend of the waterway, how to draw it to an artful halt with a quick reverse of the throttle; how to bring it in tight alongside the towpath and how to guide it in through the loom of high lock gates and watch as the world rose up beneath it. He learned how to wield a windlass with as much confidence as he could an axe, how to lean and push and start the swing of a gate, and how to step up and run across a pair together. He discovered the pleasure of watching Giles in purposeful motion - wrestling with ratchets, swinging the windlass handle, leaping down onto the boat with the mooring rope - and the equal pleasure of being watched by appreciative eyes as he did the same. It was a world and an experience far removed from deserts and demons, from the constant tensions of their ancient war, the threat of apocalypse and the need to send brave young women into battle, and while he knew it was merely a moment of respite, a brief timeout from the front lines, it was a welcome one - a gentle reminder of the world they were fighting to protect.
The first few days flew by, with a new view at every turn and a new experience almost as often; he discovered the pleasures of steak and ale pie eaten al fresco outside rustic canal side pubs, drank deep foaming tankards of real ale - and yes, they really did have names like ‘The Dog’s Bollocks,’ or ‘Bishop’s Ruin’ - and even managed to play a passable game of darts in one establishment. Passable for a one-eyed man, that is: Giles wielded the ‘arras’ with much more precision and aplomb than Xander was ever going to manage, but it was still fun to partner him in the game - and to trounce the local champion, who might have thought he’d found an easy mark with a mild mannered academic and his American companion, but hadn’t stood a chance against a pair of seasoned Watchers, both of whom were well aware that there were days when their lives depended on the accuracy of their aim.
Bright, early mornings walking down dew soaked towpaths with an eager Twink at his heels, gentled days chugging through town and country, warm evenings spent in the pub, or just out on the deck with a bottle of beer and something Giles had thrown together over the stove - and long, idyllic nights of intimacy, sometimes satiating heat and need, sometimes sharing slow and sensual pleasures, and sometimes just - sharing, in the comfort of an embrace, the ease of casual familiarity, and the closeness of two hearts finding contentment in loving the other.
Respite indeed.
There were some drawbacks; the day it rained, for instance, a dance of hammering drops that practically turned the boat into a submarine - but they simply moored up, retreated to their cabin and found ways to entertain themselves until the storm passed and they could move on. A wet Twinkie was probably the worst calamity of that day, pattering her puppy feet all over the cabin floor and insisting on shaking herself dry right where Giles was standing. Xander was suitably cross with her of course, and if he later rewarded her with a couple of treats because he got to watch the resultant striptease … well, no-one else was going to know, were they? The shower turned out to be too small to fit two grown men at once, although a naked Xander and a muddy puppy could just about fit - and Giles seemed quite content to sit back with a can of beer and enjoy the show.
It wasn’t all fun and games either. There were chores to do, like topping up the tanks at water and fuelling points, and pumping out the plumbing every couple of days - and Giles even had Xander swabbing the decks … which mostly consisted of his using the rope mop to fence with imaginary demons, or playing a game tug of war with Twink along the cabin roof and enjoying the sound of Giles laughing at their dramatic antics. There were even shopping expeditions to re-stock the miniscule fridge - which usually ended up with the two of them staggering back loaded with cans of soft drink and beer, cartons of milk, bags filled with eggs and bacon and fresh vegetables, and far two many indulgent treats - cakes and candies for Xander and enough weird and wonderful cheeses and pickles and savoury artisan loaves to satisfy even the most exacting of English appetites.
There was even time - in between the domestics of life on the canal and the daily lock count - to do some of the more touristy things. Birmingham did, indeed, have more canals than Venice, but travelling them meant they had opportunity to stop and explore some of the rest of the city, too. Giles did museums and antique bookshops. Xander did architecture and comic stores. Both of them did arcade shopping for suitable souvenirs; fancy designer jewellery for Dawn and Buffy, incense and sculptures for Willow, Cadbury mugs and recipe books for Andrew - the canal had taken them through the middle of the old factory in Bournville and Xander had had to admit that English chocolate was pretty okay, even if it wasn’t exactly Hersheys - a red telephone box tea-pot for the office, and … stuff, some of which was tacky and some of which wasn’t, and all of it screaming vacation, vacation … all of it, that is, except the really antique books that Giles practically drooled over, and the rare comics that gave Xander major geekgasms when he found them. They carted their purchases back to the basin where they were moored … and supper that night was genuine English fish and chips, with mushy peas for Giles, a pot of curry sauce for Xander, and an extra sausage for Twink - all served up with lashings of salt and vinegar, wrapped in paper, and eaten with greasy fingers.
Fingers that were subsequently licked clean, not by their respective owners and not by Twink, who was too busy with her sausage to care.
Bliss.
Continued in Part Six
Part Five
Locks were … fascinating. Simple in concept, intricate in design, baroque in execution … all Victorian ironwork, sturdy timbers and rushing churning water that worked magic, stepping the canal - and the boat with it - up hill and down dale as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Mellowed by time, Giles had said when Xander had leapt aboard again after the first one, talking about the way that the once shiny new technology had become part of the landscape, blended in with the confidence of its age. It was more than that. It was magic, the way that the canal had become more than the sum of its parts, more than a gash hacked through soil and stone, more than water pumped and circulated by the passage of both boats and time … more than the stamp of cold iron and seasoned wood sealing wounds the navvies had cut into the land. England had absorbed the canal and made it integral to her existence, a conduit of commerce and history tattooed across her ancient skin. The countryside wore the water like jewellery, links and chains running across her drape of lanes and fields and woodlands.
Xander loved it. He hadn’t thought he would. Hadn’t imagined just how much this strange combination of nature’s cloak, human ingenuity and technical mastery would enchant him. They moved at a leisurely pace, one barely faster than a brisk walk, yet made surprising progress; this wasn’t drifting, as a sailboat might, nor was it the easy amble of a horse drawn caravan. It was a quiet, steady procession, an onward glide towards an unhurried destination, full of intent and purpose, underwritten with the thrum of the engine and punctuated by the clatter and creak and swish of the next lock.
He learned how to lean the boat into the turn and bend of the waterway, how to draw it to an artful halt with a quick reverse of the throttle; how to bring it in tight alongside the towpath and how to guide it in through the loom of high lock gates and watch as the world rose up beneath it. He learned how to wield a windlass with as much confidence as he could an axe, how to lean and push and start the swing of a gate, and how to step up and run across a pair together. He discovered the pleasure of watching Giles in purposeful motion - wrestling with ratchets, swinging the windlass handle, leaping down onto the boat with the mooring rope - and the equal pleasure of being watched by appreciative eyes as he did the same. It was a world and an experience far removed from deserts and demons, from the constant tensions of their ancient war, the threat of apocalypse and the need to send brave young women into battle, and while he knew it was merely a moment of respite, a brief timeout from the front lines, it was a welcome one - a gentle reminder of the world they were fighting to protect.
The first few days flew by, with a new view at every turn and a new experience almost as often; he discovered the pleasures of steak and ale pie eaten al fresco outside rustic canal side pubs, drank deep foaming tankards of real ale - and yes, they really did have names like ‘The Dog’s Bollocks,’ or ‘Bishop’s Ruin’ - and even managed to play a passable game of darts in one establishment. Passable for a one-eyed man, that is: Giles wielded the ‘arras’ with much more precision and aplomb than Xander was ever going to manage, but it was still fun to partner him in the game - and to trounce the local champion, who might have thought he’d found an easy mark with a mild mannered academic and his American companion, but hadn’t stood a chance against a pair of seasoned Watchers, both of whom were well aware that there were days when their lives depended on the accuracy of their aim.
Bright, early mornings walking down dew soaked towpaths with an eager Twink at his heels, gentled days chugging through town and country, warm evenings spent in the pub, or just out on the deck with a bottle of beer and something Giles had thrown together over the stove - and long, idyllic nights of intimacy, sometimes satiating heat and need, sometimes sharing slow and sensual pleasures, and sometimes just - sharing, in the comfort of an embrace, the ease of casual familiarity, and the closeness of two hearts finding contentment in loving the other.
Respite indeed.
There were some drawbacks; the day it rained, for instance, a dance of hammering drops that practically turned the boat into a submarine - but they simply moored up, retreated to their cabin and found ways to entertain themselves until the storm passed and they could move on. A wet Twinkie was probably the worst calamity of that day, pattering her puppy feet all over the cabin floor and insisting on shaking herself dry right where Giles was standing. Xander was suitably cross with her of course, and if he later rewarded her with a couple of treats because he got to watch the resultant striptease … well, no-one else was going to know, were they? The shower turned out to be too small to fit two grown men at once, although a naked Xander and a muddy puppy could just about fit - and Giles seemed quite content to sit back with a can of beer and enjoy the show.
It wasn’t all fun and games either. There were chores to do, like topping up the tanks at water and fuelling points, and pumping out the plumbing every couple of days - and Giles even had Xander swabbing the decks … which mostly consisted of his using the rope mop to fence with imaginary demons, or playing a game tug of war with Twink along the cabin roof and enjoying the sound of Giles laughing at their dramatic antics. There were even shopping expeditions to re-stock the miniscule fridge - which usually ended up with the two of them staggering back loaded with cans of soft drink and beer, cartons of milk, bags filled with eggs and bacon and fresh vegetables, and far two many indulgent treats - cakes and candies for Xander and enough weird and wonderful cheeses and pickles and savoury artisan loaves to satisfy even the most exacting of English appetites.
There was even time - in between the domestics of life on the canal and the daily lock count - to do some of the more touristy things. Birmingham did, indeed, have more canals than Venice, but travelling them meant they had opportunity to stop and explore some of the rest of the city, too. Giles did museums and antique bookshops. Xander did architecture and comic stores. Both of them did arcade shopping for suitable souvenirs; fancy designer jewellery for Dawn and Buffy, incense and sculptures for Willow, Cadbury mugs and recipe books for Andrew - the canal had taken them through the middle of the old factory in Bournville and Xander had had to admit that English chocolate was pretty okay, even if it wasn’t exactly Hersheys - a red telephone box tea-pot for the office, and … stuff, some of which was tacky and some of which wasn’t, and all of it screaming vacation, vacation … all of it, that is, except the really antique books that Giles practically drooled over, and the rare comics that gave Xander major geekgasms when he found them. They carted their purchases back to the basin where they were moored … and supper that night was genuine English fish and chips, with mushy peas for Giles, a pot of curry sauce for Xander, and an extra sausage for Twink - all served up with lashings of salt and vinegar, wrapped in paper, and eaten with greasy fingers.
Fingers that were subsequently licked clean, not by their respective owners and not by Twink, who was too busy with her sausage to care.
Bliss.
Continued in Part Six