Fic: Two men (and their dog) in a boat 7/??
Disclaimers in Part One
Part Seven
That was the thing about being on vacation. Good as the unwinding, and the de-stressing stuff was, having the space to play, and experiment, and the uninterrupted time to discover things about each other was even better. Old things and new things. Learning to be honest about what did, and didn’t, rock the boat - metaphorically speaking, of course. Learning that one did, indeed, like to watch - and that the other liked to perform, spinning suggestions and scenarios, creating fantasies and acting them out with relish. Xander didn’t really want to bring a woman into the bed between them - unless it was Anya, which was never going to happen - but the thought of it, of being able to caress soft curves, to touch and taste and tease, to share those pleasures with a focused and attentive gaze, pushed any number of his oh god, yeah, buttons.
It apparently pushed a lot of Giles’ buttons, too, which was good. More than good, in fact: he’d had just enough to drink to put him in a playful mood, and nowhere near enough to matter when it came to his self-control. Xander didn’t know what was hotter that night - the slow build of his provocative narrative, intended to tease and torment his observer until he was driven to distraction, or the intensity with which it was observed. What he did know was that the devilish glint in that darkened gaze, the slow, sensuous lick of lips and the soft catch of breath at a particularly descriptive moment made every single moment of his performance worthwhile. The old tiger devoured him with a hot and hungry intensity, savouring every move and motion, every phantom caress, eyeing him as if - at any moment - he might pounce and reduce him to quivering, helpless prey.
Xander liked an appreciative audience. Especially one that gave him a standing ovation - and offered him an action replay, complete with viewer participation. At the end of that, he emerged from the miasma of bliss to find himself in what had to be one of the best places in the entire world - sprawled in exhausted abandon across the padded mattress, weighted down by a tangled combination of sheet, pillow, duvet and a thoroughly naked Giles.
He knew better than to voice the W word, but if he could, he might have wished that this idyllic interlude could go on forever, could somehow become the reality of their life - living and loving together in an unhurried world of tranquil travel, where the joy was in the journey and you never actually had to arrive …
“We’d need another boat for my books,” Giles muttered into the pillow, demonstrating a sudden - and admirable - ability to read his mind. “And I doubt you’d want to spend a winter on the water. Not in England, anyway. But - this has been rather ….” He paused, clearly struggling for a word that summed up the experience and just as clearly not finding one. “Just - rather, really,” he concluded, and giggled at his own inarticulateness. Xander grinned, storing that one in the moments to treasure but never share file. Not that anyone would believe him if he did share it - cute and Giles really didn’t belong in the same sentence.
Not in public, anyway.
Maybe they were both into the mind reading thing, because Xander knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah,” he said. “It has. And you know? I think I finally get it. The whole - getting away, steeping out, winding down, vacation thing. Because - the stuff I used to do that my family called vacations? Weren’t. They were just - the same old stuff, happening somewhere else. They didn’t ‘get away.’ They just - took with. I guess,” he admitted slowly, leaning back against the headboard and letting his thumb caress the curve of shoulder muscles that lay beneath it, “we still ‘brought with’ a bit. The good stuff. The us stuff. But - that’s all part of it, right? Choosing what you pack and what you don’t?”
“By jove, I think he’s got it.” Giles’ muffled voice held the promise of a yawn. He was shifting under Xander’s touch, arching into it like a cat, but it was a sleepy, comfortable roll, not a precursor to further activity. “As Professor Higgins might say. And if you ever so much as hint to Andrew that I have familiarity with any musical, let alone My Fair Lady, I will disown you. I quote Shaw’s Pygmalion - with no intent to reference beyond the amusing line, of course …”
“Huh?” Xander responded, stifling a yawn of his own. “Am I meant to understand that?”
“No.” There was another giggle in there somewhere, but it was a half hearted, I‘m falling asleep one. “Nor do I expect you to fetch me my slippers. Just - bring me back my heart. When you’ve done with it.”
“No chance of that. I got it, and I’m hanging on to it.” Xander leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the nearest piece of skin. “Lova ya too, Rubear. Now - roll over so my legs stop going to sleep - and the rest of me will.”
The next morning dawned bright and sunny. A shaft of sunlight speared into Xander’s good eye and woke him long before he was ready. After a few moments of contemplating whether or not he could get back to sleep, he peeled himself - carefully - out of bed, tucked the duvet back over Giles’ softly snoring form and headed for the head. A short sharp shower later, he emerged to tug on his jeans and his last clean t-shirt, grabbed a muffin out of the bread and bun tin, and went to start the day. Twink was full of beans and bounced around in all directions as Xander clipped on her lead: he took a moment to fix her with a stern and disciplinary eye, waited until she obeyed the softly growled sit - and then took her out for her morning constitutional, praising her obedience with the fervent hope that doing so might make the lesson stick.
By the time they got back, Giles was up and cooking breakfast - bacon, eggs, toast and beans. The smell that drifted out from the boat and across the freshness of the waterside was exquisite.
Twink clearly thought so too. She wriggled away just as Xander bent to unclip her lead from her collar and before he had time to clip on the tether rope they’d set up for her in the bow of the boat. A thundering charge of puppy paws, damp from the dew, grass bedecked ears and slobbering tongue flew into the cabin like a Grin’ath demon on heat. Xander cursed and lunged after her, missing the grab at her tail and ending up semi-sprawled in the cabin entrance. A whole series of apologies - I’m sorry, Giles, she got away from me and I’ll never let her do that again, honest - flitted through his mind as he watched the disaster unfold from his vantage point …
Only it didn’t.
Giles had looked up just in time to see the would-be-hound from hell heading towards him and the breakfast table like a freight train, and - with admirable aplomb, the reflexes of a man who’d spent several years working on a literal hellmouth, and all the authority he’d learned to muster since finding himself in charge of the scariest army on earth - he barked a firm and undeniable command.
“Sit!”
Twink sat. Sharply, and with every sign of total astonishment. Had Xander not been half lying on the floor already, he probably would have done the same.
“Good dog,” their master’s voice went on to say, in decidedly friendlier tones. He took a step or two forward, reaching to ruffle the fur between Twink’s ears before taking a firm hold of her collar. The look he threw in the direction of the prow was wry. “Bad Xander.”
“Yeah, I know.” Xander picked himself up, feeling as firmly admonished as Twink clearly did. “I’m sorry, she’s - fast when she wants to be. And you can’t blame her. That bacon smells utterly yummy.”
“I’m sure it does.” Giles picked the dog up and walked back down the cabin with her, her tail wagging furiously and her nose wuffling under his chin. “It is, however, people bacon, not puppy bacon. She’s going to have to learn to behave herself.”
"She will.” Xander took the still wriggling puppy and clipped her to the tether rope. “She’s just - young and stupid and thinking with her stomach rather than her head at the moment.”
“Hmm,” Giles observed. “Sounds much like a young man I used to know. Add cute and eager to please and … yes, very much like, I’d say. And if our Golden Cupcake Twinklestar grows up to be even half as intelligent, and capable and responsible as that particular young man did … I, for one, will be very proud of her. Almost,” he added with a soft smile, “as proud as I am of him.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Xander quipped reflexively; the slight quiver in his voice betrayed his total internal melt down, his whole sense of self reduced to a gooey mess by the deadly combination of a loving smile, simply sincerity, and - well, Giles. Whose smile was widening with amusement, which just made everything worse.
Or better. Depending on which way you looked at it.
“I certainly hope so.” The soft words offered hints of wicked promise. The kiss that softly bussed his lips came with a rasp of morning stubble, a teasing sweep of toungue, and the taste of bacon. Sweet, honey smoked bacon. Xander’s stomach growled. “After breakfast, perhaps,” Giles laughed, starting to pull away. Xander pulled him back, wanting the rest of that taste, devouring the smoky depths of his lover’s mouth.
“Can’t we …” he breathed eventually, “just hold breakfast?”
“No,” Giles said firmly - and reluctantly, clearly disciplining himself not to act on instinct and desires, no matter how much Xander - or he - might want too. “For one thing, the eggs will curdle and the bacon will burn. And for another, we - will need to get moving if we want to reach Warwick before tonight.”
“We will?” Xander was still in smoky taste and warmth pressed against me land. It took him a moment to remember what they’d discussed the afternoon before. “Oh. Yeah. Summer fair, jousting and weapons crafters, right? Present for Buffy and gifts for the godchildren ..? We will. Damnit.”
His disappointed growl was not all jest. Giles laughed at his expression. “Hold the thought,” he suggested warmly, dipping back for a much quicker kiss of his own. “And come and eat your breakfast.”
Later - probably about the time that he finished putting himself around the last few dregs of a good, strong cup of coffee - Xander had to admit that holding breakfast would not have been a good idea. The bacon had been lean and crisp, the eggs perfectly cooked, the toast hot and buttery - and all of it would have been spoiled had it been put aside for other things. Things that were now going to have to wait until they’d made good progress in the day. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing either, since anticipation was likely to make the actual experience even better. Especially if it turned into something slow and indulgent, working out the effort of a good days work, and enhanced by all the fresh air and sunshine they’d enjoy getting there.
By then, of course, they were chugging along the waterway, his hand on the tiller while Giles finished the washing up and snuck out to the front of the boat to feed the last slice of people bacon to an eager puppy. Xander grinned at his partner when he finally emerged onto the stern - his underhand indulgence having been betrayed by Twink’s happy bark of greeting - but Giles merely nodded affably and turned to lean on the roof, acting as though he knew nothing of the entire affair. Which turned Xander’s grin of conspiracy into one of warm and amused affection.
By mid morning they were passing through the Shrewsley tunnel - a damp and dripping affair, filled with sculptured stalactites. Giles waxed lyrically about history and archaeology, Xander admired the engineering, and both of them kept a wary eye open for the sort of things that might be lurking in the semi-dark. Since nothing demonic loomed out of the shadows, they chugged onward, remerging into a dappled sunlight that quickly dispelled any lingering sense of chill.
Half an hour later, they arrived at the top of the Hatton flight.
Xander was used to locks by now. Almost considered himself a veteran, in fact. But nothing had prepared him for the vista that unfolded as the canal turned and the waiting landscape presented itself for inspection.
“It’s just under a 150 foot drop,” Giles said, his own eyes drinking in the sight. “21 locks in two miles, more or less. I see what George meant now - and - um - it looks as if we’re in luck.”
There was another boat just ahead of them, a fellow traveller on the waterway, all decked out in red and green. “Yeah,” Xander grinned, guiding their own boat closer to the towpath. “Or they are. You wanna take the tiller? You’ve got a steadier hand - and eye - than I have. Wouldn’t be polite to hit them if we’re planning to share the work.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t.” Giles stepped in to claim the controls as Xander stepped out to snatch up the nearest windlass. “You sure you want the leg work? It’s a long flight.”
“So’s London to Nairobi. And I’ve done that in my sleep.” Xander was actually looking forward to the challenge - and to working off a little of that delicious bacon.. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, we can always swap over, lower down. Besides,” he nodded towards the other boat, which had also angled into the bank so that some of its crew could step ashore, “looks like I’ll have plenty of help.”
Continued in Part Eight
Part Seven
That was the thing about being on vacation. Good as the unwinding, and the de-stressing stuff was, having the space to play, and experiment, and the uninterrupted time to discover things about each other was even better. Old things and new things. Learning to be honest about what did, and didn’t, rock the boat - metaphorically speaking, of course. Learning that one did, indeed, like to watch - and that the other liked to perform, spinning suggestions and scenarios, creating fantasies and acting them out with relish. Xander didn’t really want to bring a woman into the bed between them - unless it was Anya, which was never going to happen - but the thought of it, of being able to caress soft curves, to touch and taste and tease, to share those pleasures with a focused and attentive gaze, pushed any number of his oh god, yeah, buttons.
It apparently pushed a lot of Giles’ buttons, too, which was good. More than good, in fact: he’d had just enough to drink to put him in a playful mood, and nowhere near enough to matter when it came to his self-control. Xander didn’t know what was hotter that night - the slow build of his provocative narrative, intended to tease and torment his observer until he was driven to distraction, or the intensity with which it was observed. What he did know was that the devilish glint in that darkened gaze, the slow, sensuous lick of lips and the soft catch of breath at a particularly descriptive moment made every single moment of his performance worthwhile. The old tiger devoured him with a hot and hungry intensity, savouring every move and motion, every phantom caress, eyeing him as if - at any moment - he might pounce and reduce him to quivering, helpless prey.
Xander liked an appreciative audience. Especially one that gave him a standing ovation - and offered him an action replay, complete with viewer participation. At the end of that, he emerged from the miasma of bliss to find himself in what had to be one of the best places in the entire world - sprawled in exhausted abandon across the padded mattress, weighted down by a tangled combination of sheet, pillow, duvet and a thoroughly naked Giles.
He knew better than to voice the W word, but if he could, he might have wished that this idyllic interlude could go on forever, could somehow become the reality of their life - living and loving together in an unhurried world of tranquil travel, where the joy was in the journey and you never actually had to arrive …
“We’d need another boat for my books,” Giles muttered into the pillow, demonstrating a sudden - and admirable - ability to read his mind. “And I doubt you’d want to spend a winter on the water. Not in England, anyway. But - this has been rather ….” He paused, clearly struggling for a word that summed up the experience and just as clearly not finding one. “Just - rather, really,” he concluded, and giggled at his own inarticulateness. Xander grinned, storing that one in the moments to treasure but never share file. Not that anyone would believe him if he did share it - cute and Giles really didn’t belong in the same sentence.
Not in public, anyway.
Maybe they were both into the mind reading thing, because Xander knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah,” he said. “It has. And you know? I think I finally get it. The whole - getting away, steeping out, winding down, vacation thing. Because - the stuff I used to do that my family called vacations? Weren’t. They were just - the same old stuff, happening somewhere else. They didn’t ‘get away.’ They just - took with. I guess,” he admitted slowly, leaning back against the headboard and letting his thumb caress the curve of shoulder muscles that lay beneath it, “we still ‘brought with’ a bit. The good stuff. The us stuff. But - that’s all part of it, right? Choosing what you pack and what you don’t?”
“By jove, I think he’s got it.” Giles’ muffled voice held the promise of a yawn. He was shifting under Xander’s touch, arching into it like a cat, but it was a sleepy, comfortable roll, not a precursor to further activity. “As Professor Higgins might say. And if you ever so much as hint to Andrew that I have familiarity with any musical, let alone My Fair Lady, I will disown you. I quote Shaw’s Pygmalion - with no intent to reference beyond the amusing line, of course …”
“Huh?” Xander responded, stifling a yawn of his own. “Am I meant to understand that?”
“No.” There was another giggle in there somewhere, but it was a half hearted, I‘m falling asleep one. “Nor do I expect you to fetch me my slippers. Just - bring me back my heart. When you’ve done with it.”
“No chance of that. I got it, and I’m hanging on to it.” Xander leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the nearest piece of skin. “Lova ya too, Rubear. Now - roll over so my legs stop going to sleep - and the rest of me will.”
The next morning dawned bright and sunny. A shaft of sunlight speared into Xander’s good eye and woke him long before he was ready. After a few moments of contemplating whether or not he could get back to sleep, he peeled himself - carefully - out of bed, tucked the duvet back over Giles’ softly snoring form and headed for the head. A short sharp shower later, he emerged to tug on his jeans and his last clean t-shirt, grabbed a muffin out of the bread and bun tin, and went to start the day. Twink was full of beans and bounced around in all directions as Xander clipped on her lead: he took a moment to fix her with a stern and disciplinary eye, waited until she obeyed the softly growled sit - and then took her out for her morning constitutional, praising her obedience with the fervent hope that doing so might make the lesson stick.
By the time they got back, Giles was up and cooking breakfast - bacon, eggs, toast and beans. The smell that drifted out from the boat and across the freshness of the waterside was exquisite.
Twink clearly thought so too. She wriggled away just as Xander bent to unclip her lead from her collar and before he had time to clip on the tether rope they’d set up for her in the bow of the boat. A thundering charge of puppy paws, damp from the dew, grass bedecked ears and slobbering tongue flew into the cabin like a Grin’ath demon on heat. Xander cursed and lunged after her, missing the grab at her tail and ending up semi-sprawled in the cabin entrance. A whole series of apologies - I’m sorry, Giles, she got away from me and I’ll never let her do that again, honest - flitted through his mind as he watched the disaster unfold from his vantage point …
Only it didn’t.
Giles had looked up just in time to see the would-be-hound from hell heading towards him and the breakfast table like a freight train, and - with admirable aplomb, the reflexes of a man who’d spent several years working on a literal hellmouth, and all the authority he’d learned to muster since finding himself in charge of the scariest army on earth - he barked a firm and undeniable command.
“Sit!”
Twink sat. Sharply, and with every sign of total astonishment. Had Xander not been half lying on the floor already, he probably would have done the same.
“Good dog,” their master’s voice went on to say, in decidedly friendlier tones. He took a step or two forward, reaching to ruffle the fur between Twink’s ears before taking a firm hold of her collar. The look he threw in the direction of the prow was wry. “Bad Xander.”
“Yeah, I know.” Xander picked himself up, feeling as firmly admonished as Twink clearly did. “I’m sorry, she’s - fast when she wants to be. And you can’t blame her. That bacon smells utterly yummy.”
“I’m sure it does.” Giles picked the dog up and walked back down the cabin with her, her tail wagging furiously and her nose wuffling under his chin. “It is, however, people bacon, not puppy bacon. She’s going to have to learn to behave herself.”
"She will.” Xander took the still wriggling puppy and clipped her to the tether rope. “She’s just - young and stupid and thinking with her stomach rather than her head at the moment.”
“Hmm,” Giles observed. “Sounds much like a young man I used to know. Add cute and eager to please and … yes, very much like, I’d say. And if our Golden Cupcake Twinklestar grows up to be even half as intelligent, and capable and responsible as that particular young man did … I, for one, will be very proud of her. Almost,” he added with a soft smile, “as proud as I am of him.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Xander quipped reflexively; the slight quiver in his voice betrayed his total internal melt down, his whole sense of self reduced to a gooey mess by the deadly combination of a loving smile, simply sincerity, and - well, Giles. Whose smile was widening with amusement, which just made everything worse.
Or better. Depending on which way you looked at it.
“I certainly hope so.” The soft words offered hints of wicked promise. The kiss that softly bussed his lips came with a rasp of morning stubble, a teasing sweep of toungue, and the taste of bacon. Sweet, honey smoked bacon. Xander’s stomach growled. “After breakfast, perhaps,” Giles laughed, starting to pull away. Xander pulled him back, wanting the rest of that taste, devouring the smoky depths of his lover’s mouth.
“Can’t we …” he breathed eventually, “just hold breakfast?”
“No,” Giles said firmly - and reluctantly, clearly disciplining himself not to act on instinct and desires, no matter how much Xander - or he - might want too. “For one thing, the eggs will curdle and the bacon will burn. And for another, we - will need to get moving if we want to reach Warwick before tonight.”
“We will?” Xander was still in smoky taste and warmth pressed against me land. It took him a moment to remember what they’d discussed the afternoon before. “Oh. Yeah. Summer fair, jousting and weapons crafters, right? Present for Buffy and gifts for the godchildren ..? We will. Damnit.”
His disappointed growl was not all jest. Giles laughed at his expression. “Hold the thought,” he suggested warmly, dipping back for a much quicker kiss of his own. “And come and eat your breakfast.”
Later - probably about the time that he finished putting himself around the last few dregs of a good, strong cup of coffee - Xander had to admit that holding breakfast would not have been a good idea. The bacon had been lean and crisp, the eggs perfectly cooked, the toast hot and buttery - and all of it would have been spoiled had it been put aside for other things. Things that were now going to have to wait until they’d made good progress in the day. Which wasn’t entirely a bad thing either, since anticipation was likely to make the actual experience even better. Especially if it turned into something slow and indulgent, working out the effort of a good days work, and enhanced by all the fresh air and sunshine they’d enjoy getting there.
By then, of course, they were chugging along the waterway, his hand on the tiller while Giles finished the washing up and snuck out to the front of the boat to feed the last slice of people bacon to an eager puppy. Xander grinned at his partner when he finally emerged onto the stern - his underhand indulgence having been betrayed by Twink’s happy bark of greeting - but Giles merely nodded affably and turned to lean on the roof, acting as though he knew nothing of the entire affair. Which turned Xander’s grin of conspiracy into one of warm and amused affection.
By mid morning they were passing through the Shrewsley tunnel - a damp and dripping affair, filled with sculptured stalactites. Giles waxed lyrically about history and archaeology, Xander admired the engineering, and both of them kept a wary eye open for the sort of things that might be lurking in the semi-dark. Since nothing demonic loomed out of the shadows, they chugged onward, remerging into a dappled sunlight that quickly dispelled any lingering sense of chill.
Half an hour later, they arrived at the top of the Hatton flight.
Xander was used to locks by now. Almost considered himself a veteran, in fact. But nothing had prepared him for the vista that unfolded as the canal turned and the waiting landscape presented itself for inspection.
“It’s just under a 150 foot drop,” Giles said, his own eyes drinking in the sight. “21 locks in two miles, more or less. I see what George meant now - and - um - it looks as if we’re in luck.”
There was another boat just ahead of them, a fellow traveller on the waterway, all decked out in red and green. “Yeah,” Xander grinned, guiding their own boat closer to the towpath. “Or they are. You wanna take the tiller? You’ve got a steadier hand - and eye - than I have. Wouldn’t be polite to hit them if we’re planning to share the work.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t.” Giles stepped in to claim the controls as Xander stepped out to snatch up the nearest windlass. “You sure you want the leg work? It’s a long flight.”
“So’s London to Nairobi. And I’ve done that in my sleep.” Xander was actually looking forward to the challenge - and to working off a little of that delicious bacon.. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, we can always swap over, lower down. Besides,” he nodded towards the other boat, which had also angled into the bank so that some of its crew could step ashore, “looks like I’ll have plenty of help.”
Continued in Part Eight