Archive of Our Own

Wesley was half-asleep when the phone rang, making him sit up with a yelp. His glasses had fallen down to his chin, and he shoved them back on his nose before answering.

"Yes?"

"Wesley?"

"Mister Giles. What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with you immediately."

The quiet anger in Giles' voice made Wesley's skin crawl. He'd known this was coming, known that Giles would want to rub his nose in the mess he'd made, like one would a puppy that wasn't house trained. He deserved it, he supposed, given how he'd rubbed Giles' own nose in the fact he'd been fired. The best he could do was admit his mistakes and face the consequences like a man.

"All right," he said, and was proud of himself for keeping his voice level.

"You know where I live?"

"Yes."

"I'll expect you."

Giles hung up before Wesley could reply, so he gently replaced the receiver in the cradle.

"Oh dear," he said, standing and rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs.

He smoothed his hair down and started to put his tie back on, then decided that informal clothing would be more appropriate. He didn't want to seem confrontational, and out-dressing Giles might give the wrong impression. He pulled jeans and an old striped shirt out of the wardrobe and changed hastily. He was retying his shoelaces before it occurred to him to wonder when he'd gotten so desperate for Giles' approval that it mattered what he wore.

Sighing, Wesley stood and faced himself in the mirror, trying to analyze his feelings towards Mr. Giles honestly. He'd been too ready to put Giles down, to insist that he, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, could do a better job than the older, more experienced man. Then Giles had shattered the illusion with his calm competence when they were kidnapped by Balthazar, and Wesley had wanted nothing more than to cling to the older man for protection.

The words of the Council's psychiatrist floated through his head--"unhealthy attachment to male authority figures"--and he couldn't deny it anymore: he'd found yet another man from whom to try to win the love and respect that he'd never gotten from his father. And, true to form, he'd fouled up the relationship before it had even begun. Never mind that he didn't know precisely what sort of relationship he wanted: mentor, friend--lover? The odd component of sexual desire mixed in with his other feelings disturbed him; it was nearly incestuous.

"Damn," he muttered. "Not again."

Shaking his head, he pulled himself together and headed out the door. He could worry about coming to terms with his feelings after he'd gotten through his encounter with Giles.

"It's open," Giles called when Wesley knocked, so he eased the door back and stepped inside.

The apartment was dark except for a few lamps, and Giles was standing at the end of the bar, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, regarding Wesley with an expression that Wesley thought would probably cut glass.

He didn't realize he'd frozen until Giles said, "Close the door."

"Faith?" Wesley inquired, after he'd done so. Giles didn't invite him farther in, so he hovered anxiously by the desk.

"She came back. You have Buffy to thank for that. It remains to be seen what her mental state is."

"Ah. Yes, well, at least she's here. Where we can help her. Um, do you mind if I--" Wesley gestured at the coat rack.

Giles tilted his head, which Wesley took as assent, so he slipped off his jacket and hung it up.

He turned around again to find Giles standing directly behind him, well within his personal space. He jumped and barely suppressed a shriek; he hadn't heard the other man move. Although they were eye-to-eye, the hostility radiating off Giles made Wesley feel as though the older man were towering over him.

"My conduct is an embarrassment to the Council?" Giles growled.

Wesley tried to move away, only to find his back against the door. He suddenly thought that he'd rather be facing Balthazar again than the angry ex-Watcher. It didn't help that he could feel the heat of Giles' body, that his pounding heart and ragged breathing were the result of more than just fear. Part of him wanted to move closer, lay his head on Giles' chest, let strong arms surround him... But the older man wasn't interested in offering comfort.

"I was only following Council--" he began, then flinched and fell silent when a palm slammed into the door next to his head. It took all his self-control not to cower.

Giles leaned in, still bracing his hand on the door, until his face was inches from Wesley's. Wesley could smell his aftershave and traces of tea and alcohol on his breath. When Giles spoke his voice sent chills down Wesley's spine and made his knees weak, and Wesley wasn't sure whether it was with terror or arousal.

"First you were willing to endanger countless lives to save yourself. Now you've made an already unstable Slayer that much worse. You're a pathetic, incompetent coward who'll roll over and play dead for anyone who asserts a little authority." He laughed bitterly, and Wesley could see his mind go elsewhere for a moment. "Angel wouldn't even have had to torture you."

Wesley simultaneously wanted to run away screaming and to throw himself at Giles' feet, begging for forgiveness. He felt like he was ten years old again, being lectured by his father; the words were different but the message was the same--he was a disappointment, a failure, unworthy. He held Giles' gaze for as long could, then looked down, unable to deny the accusations.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, using petulance to cover the urge to whimper.

"No."

"Oh."

Wesley's gaze flickered back to Giles' face, trying to determine what the older man wanted. Giles deliberately caught his eye again, and Wesley didn't have the will to look away.

"This can't happen again," Giles said. "The Council may have sent you to make a fool of me, but I won't let you endanger Buffy, Faith, or anyone else with your bumbling. If authority is what it takes to get through to you, then I'll give you authority."

Giles seemed to be waiting for something again, but Wesley wasn't sure what. He was having trouble thinking clearly, his brain yammering with fear and desire, now nearly indistinguishable. His cock was half-erect, and he prayed that Giles wouldn't notice.

"Um... yes?" he said finally, humiliated by the way his voice squeaked.

"Yes," Giles said. "From now on, I own you. You don't do anything with regards to the Slayers or the Council without clearing it with me first."

"You--you wouldn't--you can't interfere with their training," Wesley spluttered, anger and incredulity making him bold.

"I can. I will."

"I'll call the Council, have you deported."

Giles laughed--a short, sharp bark. "You need me, Wesley. Buffy and I have had our problems, but what you fail to grasp is that for all intents and purposes I am still her Watcher. The Council may not think so, but she does. If you send me away, you have no hope of controlling her. As for Faith, well... At least if you have Buffy's cooperation you have some hope of getting Faith's."

Wesley knew Giles was right and hated him for it. He looked around desperately, as if the room might come to his rescue, but his attention was distracted by the open collar of Giles' shirt and the tuft of chest hair visible there. He forced himself to look at Giles' chin instead.

"Very well, Mr. Giles," he said through gritted teeth. "You've made your point. We'll do this your way."

"Good."

Something in Giles' tone made Wesley look up again, and he found that Giles' expression had changed subtly. It was still hard, cutting, but the anger had been replaced by hunger. It was the gaze of a predator moving in for the kill. Wesley licked his lips nervously.

As if that had been a cue, Giles' eyes raked over him appraisingly, pausing at the bulge in his jeans before returning to his face, and he felt himself turning red. Giles grinned ferally at him.

Wesley gulped and closed his eyes. "I should--I should--I should really go."

"Do you want to go?" Giles' voice was distressingly reasonable.

"Want--?" Wesley said nonsensically, then snapped his mouth closed to keep from babbling.

"Look at me."

He opened his eyes again, but stared fixedly at Giles' chin.

Giles lowered his head, forcing Wesley to meet his eyes. The grin was gone, his expression intense but inscrutable. When he spoke, his voice was low and clear.

"I want to fuck you."

For an instant Wesley couldn't feel his body at all. Then he was on fire, his skin tingling, the pattern of squares on the door burning itself into his memory, Giles' breath hot on his face and the heat of Giles' body so close to his drawing him like a magnet--

"What?" he said, or tried to say. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Wesley!" Giles' voice cracked like a whip, making him jump. "Breathe."

On the third try he managed to draw a deep, gasping breath. He sagged against the door, momentarily unable to stand on his own.

Giles hadn't moved, still leaning towards him with one hand braced against the door, still giving him that inscrutable look. Again he spoke in a low, deliberate tone. "If you say 'stop,' I will stop. Do you understand?"

Wesley could only stare, drowning in the hazel eyes that refused to let him go, refused to let him look away or run away or even move...

Giles repeated himself more forcefully: "Do--you--under--stand?"

Wesley nodded and managed a whispered "Yes."

"Good."

Suddenly Giles relaxed, every trace of hostility gone from his face and body. Wesley blinked, alarmed by the plasticity of Giles' personality, but the genuine affection with which Giles regarded him made it easy to ignore his anxiety. Giles' free hand reached up and removed Wesley's glasses, making him wince as they scraped across the bruise where Faith had hit him.

"Sorry," Giles said softly, tossing Wesley's glasses and his own onto the desk. His hand came up again to caress Wesley's jaw, and Wesley turned his face into the touch with a whimper.

The caress was gentle and undemanding, and Wesley was grateful for the chance to recover his equilibrium. He was slightly nauseated in the aftermath of the emotional overload of the past few minutes, but that soon abated, as did the worst of his arousal. All the while Giles stroked his head and neck soothingly, as if petting a cat. Fingers riffled his hair, a thumb traced the ridges of his Adam's apple; he could feel every callus on Giles' hand when it ran across his cheek.

Then, as rationality returned, the reality of what was happening sank in and he wasn't sure whom he was more disgusted with: Giles for trying to take advantage of him or himself for almost letting it happen. He forced himself to pull away from Giles' touch, clearing his throat and adjusting his collar self-consciously.

"So. Going to celebrate putting the new boy in his place with a victory shag, then, were you?" Wesley was startled by his own bitterness.

Giles stepped back, looking baffled and much more like the reserved librarian Wesley was familiar with than he had yet that night. Wesley could see his mind working furiously, followed by dawning comprehension, and then Giles let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Oh, I see. I did let the Ripper off his lead a bit there, didn't I?" He paused and half-sat against the barstool, then tilted his head at Wesley pointedly. "But you caught the part where you can stop this whenever you want?"

"Oh, yes. You own me and I need you, so of course I have a choice in the matter."

Giles winced. "Ah. I didn't mean to imply that. I'm sorry. Make no mistake: when it comes to the Slayers I will enforce my authority, physically if necessary. But that doesn't extend to anything else. I wouldn't rape you."

"Then--what is the point of--this?" Wesley gestured vaguely.

"This...?" Giles echoed. "You're a beautiful man, Wesley. And just now you seemed... interested." A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "I acted on impulse, and I should have known better. The timing was inappropriate."

Wesley opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "You don't even like me," he protested feebly, having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that Giles was attracted to him.

"You're wrong. I don't like what you represent, and you haven't done yourself any favors by being an insufferable prat, but I do like you. In spite of myself, actually." The smile took this time, and Wesley felt himself melting. "Let's try this again from the top, shall we?" Giles continued, standing and gesturing to the couch. "Sit?"

Wesley hesitated, every rational cell in his brain screaming that letting Giles seduce him was a catastrophically bad idea, but the possibility that Giles might actually want him was too strong a temptation. He crossed the room to perch tentatively on the edge of the couch.

"Can I get you something?" Giles asked, moving around the bar into the kitchen. "Tea? Scotch?"

It took the question a moment to register. "Some water, perhaps?"

"Ice?"

"No."

Wesley listened to the clink of glasses and gurgle of running water and glanced around Giles' apartment without absorbing what he saw. The urge to flee simmered in the back of his mind, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. He wished for his glasses to occupy his hands, but they were still on the desk and he didn't want to attract Giles' attention again any sooner than necessary.

He started when Giles' hand appeared in his field of vision, holding a glass of water. "Thank you," he murmured, taking the glass. He sipped at it and eyed Giles warily over the rim.

Giles sat at the other end of the couch, keeping a respectful distance, and met Wesley's gaze, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Wesley looked away, and Giles sighed.

"For God's sake, man, relax. I don't bite. Well, unless you want me to."

Wesley choked, and only managed not to spit water down his shirtfront through force of will. Giles was silent while Wesley coughed and caught his breath.

"I'll just go, then, shall I?" Wesley said when he'd recovered, setting the glass aside and getting to his feet.

"Wesley. Wes."

Wesley glanced back at the gentle plea in Giles' voice.

"I seem to be making a mess of this," Giles said with a pinched frown. "Am I wrong that you want to have sex with me?"

Wesley suddenly found his shoelaces infinitely fascinating. It was hard to avoid answering such a direct question, and he couldn't bring himself to lie. "No," he said finally, hoarsely.

"Then why go?" Giles asked.

"I--This is sick. It's wrong."

"Why? Because it's homosexual?"

"No. Yes. No." Wesley rubbed a stain in the rug with his toe. "It's not just that." He couldn't begin to explain his reluctance, which related to the weird father-figure aspect of his attraction and the lingering sense that Giles was playing some sort of power game and his inability to make himself believe that the older man wanted him for his own sake, not after everything he'd done wrong. And yes, it had to do with the fact he was attracted to another man, but that was just the bass line in the symphony of doubt and disgust that threatened to overwhelm him.

"You've never done this before, have you?"

"Done what?" Wesley asked, mostly to delay answering the question.

"Sex, with a man."

"Well, there was--at school--but--no, not really."

Giles was silent for a long time, and then Wesley heard him stand. He still jumped a little when Giles grasped his chin and forced him to look up. Giles leaned in and brushed his lips against Wesley's in a ghost of a kiss that made Wesley's whole body tingle for an instant, and he suppressed the urge to follow the older man's mouth with his own.

"What do you want, Wesley?" Giles asked. "Do you want to leave?"

"No," Wesley breathed, shaking his head slightly.

"Then what?"

Wesley shook his head again, harder. "I want to stop talking about it," he whinged in desperation.

Giles eyed him thoughtfully for a beat, then said, "All right."

An instant later his hand was gripping the back of Wesley's head, pulling Wesley forward to kiss him in earnest. Wesley surrendered to the kiss with relief, grateful not to have to try to think anymore. At first he passively accepted Giles' exploration of his mouth, enjoying the heat of it and the silken touch of Giles' tongue. Then his growing arousal overcame the last of his reticence and he responded with an exploration of his own, which Giles permitted briefly before pulling away.

"Do you want this gentle or rough?" Giles asked.

"Do as you like," Wesley replied impatiently, moving in for another kiss, but Giles grabbed his head again with almost bruising force, pulling back and down until Wesley had to bend his knees and hold on to Giles to keep from falling down. The kiss that followed was brutal, and he resisted reflexively until Giles' other hand gripped his jaw. The instant he opened his mouth, Giles' tongue snaked in, going so deep it almost gagged him. Wesley didn't fight the oral assault, just closed his eyes and clung to Giles, whimpering into the other man's mouth. At one point his lip snagged on someone's tooth and he tasted blood, and then Giles was pushing him back--dragging him, really--until his calves bumped against something and he found himself sitting in the recliner, gasping like a proverbial fish.

Giles was standing over him, scowling, hands braced on the armrests and eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Perhaps not that rough," Wesley conceded when he'd recovered enough to speak, although he was acutely aware that his jeans had become too tight again. He was gratified to see that Giles was having the same problem.

An instant after Wesley spoke, a look of horror appeared on Giles' face and he stepped back, running a hand over his mouth. "I'm so sorry," he said. "That was out of line. I--it won't happen again." He shifted his weight and dragged his hand through his hair, and when he spoke again the characteristic stammer entered his speech for the first time that evening. "Do you still want to do this?"

With the emergence of Giles' stammer, Wesley finally felt that he and Giles were interacting on close to equal footing. Not entirely--Giles still had age and experience on him, if nothing else--but it seemed like the power struggle that had been going on between them since Wesley came to Sunnydale had ended, or at least a truce had been arranged.

"Yes," he answered, his renewed arousal making the decision easier.

Giles gave him a smile that was somewhere between self-conscious and seductive and plucked at the top button of Wesley's shirt. "Then--I suggest a shower."

"That would be nice," he agreed, smiling back, and tentatively sought Giles' mouth again with his own.

This time the kiss was light, just lips pressing softly together, sliding over each other in mutual pleasure. When the two men separated, Giles flicked his fingers in the direction of the hall and said, "After you."

Wesley waited quietly, slouched against the wall with his hands in his pockets while Giles got the water running to his satisfaction. Giles' savage kiss had broken through something in both of them, ridding Giles of the need to dominate their interaction and Wesley of the disgust that had plagued him since realizing his attraction to the older man. He was nervous, yes, but there was no urgency to it. He no longer thought of leaving, and when Giles finished fussing over the bathtub and turned to face him, Wesley was able to meet his gaze, if not easily, then at least calmly.

"It takes a while to warm up," Giles said unnecessarily.

Wesley nodded and peeled himself away from the wall, eager to touch the older man again. It took only two steps to close the distance between them, but a bout of uncertainty stopped him in the motion of reaching for Giles' shirt.

Giles smiled and said, "Go ahead."

Wesley hesitated another instant, then began slowly unbuttoning Giles' shirt. He bit his lip in concentration, savoring the sight of Giles' bare skin gradually revealed to him and the way Giles' breathing deepened in response to his touch. Giles made a noise in his throat between a purr and a growl when Wesley pushed his shirt open, and as soon as it was off he pulled Wesley in for a deep kiss.

The kiss sent pulses of heat to Wesley's groin, but like a child with a new toy he didn't want to be distracted from what he was doing. He pulled away and ran his hands over Giles' chest, admiring the shape of Giles' muscles and enjoying the feathery feel of Giles' chest hair under his fingers. He studiously ignored the fact that Giles had turned red from the attention. Wesley noted the tattoo on Giles' left bicep without comment, and then his eye was drawn by an oval scar on the inside of Giles' right elbow.

He lifted the arm to look more closely, and Giles tensed but allowed the inspection. Up close, the scar looked distinctly bite-like.

"Vampire?" Wesley asked, though he'd already decided that had to be the cause.

"Angel," Giles said, as if that should explain everything.

Wesley frowned in confusion. "Buffy's friend?"

Giles pulled his arm away, his stammer becoming more pronounced. "I take it you haven't read that part of my diaries yet."

"It seems not," Wesley replied, turning it into a question.

The stammer had become almost debilitating. "It's a long story and I'd rather not talk about it. Just read the diary."

Wesley was about to acquiesce when something Giles had said earlier came back to him. He'd been too busy trying not to cower to give it much thought at the time, but now the words made a disturbing amount of sense.

"You said: 'Angel wouldn't even have had to torture you.' But he's--"

"Wesley, please..."

Giles' agitation finally penetrated Wesley's curiosity, although he made a mental note to find out what had happened as soon as possible. "Yes. Sorry. I'll leave it alone."

He reached for Giles awkwardly, unhappy that he'd ruined the mood and not sure how to restore it, but Giles brushed his hands aside and kissed him again instead. This time Wesley responded, letting the friendly dueling of their tongues reassure him, until he wasn't sure who was comforting whom.

When Giles broke the kiss his agitation was gone, and he gave Wesley a milder version of the predatory gaze that he had originally used. "My turn," he said, and reached for Wesley's shirt.

Wesley fought the urge to fidget while Giles gave him the same intense scrutiny that he had given Giles. He was fit, a Watcher had to be, but he had always thought himself a little on the scrawny side; he doubted he'd find a man with his slim build and pale, almost hairless chest particularly attractive. Giles looked him over with an appreciative smile, though, drawing his hands down Wesley's torso and tracing the shape of Wesley's muscles with his fingertips. Giles' touch on his skin was like fire and ice and electricity all at once, and Wesley's flush was from more than just modesty. He caught his breath and stiffened when one of Giles' hands moved to hover over the button on his jeans.

"May I?" Giles asked.

Wesley nodded and tried to relax, with only partial success. His breath was ragged and his skin tingled as Giles unzipped his jeans, then pushed jeans and briefs off his hips at the same time, freeing his once-again half-erect cock. To his surprise, though, Giles didn't try to touch him there, just held him steady while he kicked off his shoes and socks and stepped the rest of the way out of his clothes.

When Wesley was done, Giles inclined his head in the direction of the bathtub. "I'm sure the water's ready," he said.

Wesley took the cue and stepped through the shower curtain, his nakedness making him anxious and awkward. He could hear Giles removing his own shoes and trousers, and then the older man stepped in behind him. Wesley started to turn, but Giles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Take your time," he said.

Wesley nodded gratefully and tipped his head back, letting the spray hit him in the face briefly, then rubbed his hands over his eyes. The heat and pressure of the water had the desired effect of soothing his rattled nerves, and after a few deep breaths he turned again, more slowly.

It wasn't as if he'd never seen another man naked before, but he couldn't help gaping a bit as he got his first good look at Giles' body. Though Giles was marginally shorter than Wesley, he had more mass--a retriever to Wesley's greyhound--and there was just enough fat on his body to blur the hard lines of his muscles. The pattern of hair on his torso, which Wesley hadn't been able to see fully before, tapered to a point at his navel before flaring back out, darker and coarser, drawing Wesley's eye inexorably downward. He gulped and blinked a few times at the sight of Giles' cock hanging inert between his legs, then forced himself to look up.

The older man looked torn between amusement and concern. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I--" Wesley began, stopping when his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I will be. Although if I start hyperventilating, we'll probably have to call this off."

Giles stared for an instant, then dissolved into laughter and had to lean on the wall for support.

"I'm serious!" Wesley protested, not sure whether to be offended by Giles' reaction.

"I know," Giles said, calming himself with an obvious effort. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I'm horribly out of practice at this myself. I haven't indulged in casual sex in years. Well, except for Ethan..." The name was said with loathing.

Giles' characterization of what they were doing as 'casual' bothered Wesley in a way he didn't entirely understand. Giles misinterpreted Wesley's frown.

"Another long story," he said. "Don't worry about it." He focused his attention on Wesley again. "Turn around."

Wesley did so, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly. Giles moved up behind him and slid his arms around Wesley's waist, pulling Wesley close against him. Wesley gasped at the feeling of the other man's cock pressed against his buttocks.

"Relax," Giles whispered in his ear, and Wesley found that between Giles' touch and the warm water running over them, it wasn't too difficult to do. "Better," said the voice in his ear, and then Wesley squawked and jumped when a tongue touched his earlobe. Giles sighed, and Wesley could feel the other man's shoulders slump.

"Sorry," Wesley said, wincing in chagrin. "I'm relaxing now."

This time when Giles' tongue laved his ear he was expecting it, and the sensation went straight to his groin. A moment later Giles shifted to take Wesley's whole ear in his mouth, and Wesley heard himself moan. By the time the tip of Giles' tongue had conducted a detailed survey of the folds of skin and cartilage, Wesley was panting and his cock was throbbing insistently, fully erect. When Giles scraped his teeth lightly around the edge of the ear, Wesley squirmed against him and let out a quavering wail, which changed to a series of yips as Giles nibbled his earlobe.

"If you're this loud now, I wonder what you'll be like when I do that to your cock?" Giles murmured when he finally released Wesley's ear.

"Oh, God..." Wesley squeaked.

One of Giles' hands had drifted up Wesley's chest to rub his nipples. A light touch didn't have much effect, but when Giles pinched and twisted one of them, Wesley arched into the touch with a groan. Distracted by the not-quite-painful pressure Giles was applying, Wesley didn't notice Giles' other hand moving lower until it grasped his balls and squeezed firmly. He shrieked then and writhed helplessly, desperate for something to stimulate his aching cock.

He was almost ready to beg when Giles released him and moved away, reaching for the soap dish. "Hand me that flannel, would you?"

"Gi--" Wesley began, meaning to protest the abandonment, but stopped at the incongruity of using such an impersonal address.

Giles raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at Wesley's erection. "I think, under the circumstances, you're allowed to call me Rupert."

"Rupert--" Wesley tried again, but by that point embarrassment prevented him from asking for what he wanted. He sighed and handed Giles the cloth, clenching his jaw against the urge to touch himself.

The older man was watching him with a mischievous smile.

"What?" Wesley demanded, more sharply than he'd intended.

"Give me some credit," Giles said in mild reproach, and beckoned him with the soapy facecloth.

Wesley deflated and let Giles bathe him, the ache of his cock easier to ignore when he had other stimulation to distract him. The soft cloth was pleasant against his skin, if not exactly satisfying. Giles' hand moved in steady, firm swaths over his body, and Wesley found that he could tolerate the ache, even enjoy it a little. His few sexual encounters had been mutually tense and inhibited; he couldn't remember another person ever touching him this confidently or making him feel this good.

Still, he cried out in relief when Giles finally reached down to lather his cock and balls with the same sure touch that he'd used on the rest of Wesley's body. Giles allowed Wesley to lean on him and thrust into his hand for a few moments, then withdrew his hand again and laid aside the facecloth.

Wesley groaned in despair. "Please--"

Giles smiled sympathetically, but shook his head. "Wait. I can make it even better."

"Better...?" Wesley trailed off as Giles knelt and slid a hand between his legs, fingers probing until they brushed his anus. Wesley twitched at the flare of sensation and grabbed Giles' shoulders for support.

Giles looked up in alarm. "Are you going to be able to stay on your feet?"

Wesley nodded more confidently than he felt, and Giles returned his attention to what he was doing. Wesley whimpered and closed his eyes in response to the finger slowly stoking his anus, but forced his legs to remain steady.

"Has anyone ever touched you here before?" Giles asked.

Wesley shook his head. He'd done it to himself a few times, but that hardly compared to this. He cried out again as Giles applied pressure and he realized that the other man meant to penetrate him.

"Tell me immediately if you feel any pain. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes." He nodded inanely, bird-like.

Part of his mind flinched at the feeling of the finger pushing into him, of something coming in where it should be going out, and he wasn't sure that he liked it, but his cock was sure and he let out a long, low moan. Giles just pushed deeper, so slowly that Wesley felt every millimeter of progress like a mile, until Giles touched something and Wesley yelped, his hips jerking involuntarily.

"Told you I could make it better," Giles murmured once Wesley was still again.

"Oh, yes..." Wesley agreed. Giles' finger moved inside him, Giles' thumb massaged his perineum, and soon he was quivering with need. "Please, Rupert..."

"All right," Giles said. "Open your eyes. I don't want to startle you."

Wesley pried his eyes open. As soon as he had Wesley's attention, Giles grasped Wesley's cock and guided it to his mouth, licking the head like an ice cream cone; Wesley gave a strangled scream and nearly fell over. Giles let Wesley regain his balance, then repeated the action a few more times before lowering his head and closing his mouth around Wesley's cock.

The heat and tightness were exquisite, but expected; Wesley was totally unprepared for the sensation of Giles' tongue moving against him. It was like sandpaper and silk at the same time, drawing from him a steady stream of panting moans, punctuated by sharp cries when Giles applied his teeth. Giles' free hand fondled his testicles, and if Wesley hadn't been using every ounce of his strength and self-control just to stay on his feet, he would have started thrusting into Giles' mouth. His orgasm came quickly, blindsiding him, and he lost all sense of his surroundings, all sense of anything except the feel of Giles' mouth and hands stimulating him, and he did thrust forward then. He was distantly aware of Giles' finger leaving him, but the movement only extended his climax.

When he came to himself again Giles' hands were on his hips, holding him steady. Giles continued to nurse Wesley's softening cock with his mouth until Wesley pulled himself together enough to whisper, "Okay..."

Wesley tried to let go of Giles' shoulders and straighten up, only to discover that his legs wouldn't support him anymore. Giles half-rose and helped ease Wesley to a sitting position, ignoring the water that hit him in the face when Wesley moved, then sat next to Wesley.

"Are you all right?" Giles asked, for the second time since they'd entered the shower.

Wesley nodded. "That was..." He couldn't find an adequate word. "Dear God. You say you're out of practice?"

Giles chuckled. "Next time I'm going to make you lie down first."

"Probably wise. Sorry."

"Don't be. I had fun."

Wesley glanced at Giles and only then noticed the other man's erection. "Oh--" His mouth gaped as he struggled to find something to say or do, and Giles laughed again.

"I'm all right."

"You're sure...?"

Giles nodded, so Wesley took a deep breath and sat back, concentrating once again on letting the warm water soothe him.

"We're going to run out of hot water soon," Giles said after a few minutes. "Can you get up now?" Then, even as Wesley was starting to stand, a startled look crossed his face and he muttered, "I spend far too much time with teenagers."

Wesley looked at him askance but didn't ask. He offered the older man his hand to help him up.

"Why don't you go on upstairs?" Giles suggested when they were both on their feet. "I'd like to finish bathing."

"All right." Wesley stood awkwardly for a moment, then turned to step out of the tub.

"Wes."

When Wesley looked back, Giles leaned in and kissed him affectionately on the corner of his mouth. Wesley ducked his head in embarrassment and made his escape.

He toweled off quickly, suddenly eager to be alone for a few minutes. He started to discard the towel, but the thought of walking all the way upstairs naked made him unbearably self-conscious, so he wrapped it around his waist even as his brain told him it was a meaningless gesture. When he stepped into the hall he was glad he had, because the air was shockingly cool after the steamy bathroom. He hurried to the loft and got under the covers, draping the towel on a chair by the bed.

He hadn't realized until that moment, as he sank into the mattress, letting his mind and body uncoil at last, just how tired he was. His muscles were still watery from the sex, and he'd been operating at an emotional fever pitch for the last--he glanced at Giles' clock--had it only been an hour since he'd left his hotel? It seemed like a different reality. And he'd been tired before Giles had called.

He wanted to analyze the events of the evening, figure out how he and Giles had gone from playing a mortal game of tug-of-war, with the Slayers as the rope, to having sex in such a short period of time, but he didn't have the energy; it would have to wait. Instead, he closed his eyes and basked in the smooth texture of the well-worn sheets against his skin and the musky Giles smell that saturated the bed. Strange how familiar that smell had become in just a few days.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew Giles was nudging him and saying, "Move over."

He shifted over and tried to convince his body that it wanted to be awake. He knew it was his turn to bring Giles off, though he wasn't at all sure how he intended to accomplish that. "Sorry. Just give me a minute..."

But Giles was lying down beside him. "You're exhausted. Go back to sleep."

"But--you don't want--?"

"I took care of it."

Wesley felt a pang of guilt and a smaller one of disappointment. It wasn't right that he'd had the most fantastic orgasm of his life while Giles had been left to masturbate, and part of him had been looking forward to exploring the older man's body, even if the idea simultaneously scared him senseless. Still, he had to admit he was too tired to do Giles justice at the moment.

"Oh. Should I go...?"

"There's no need. Just rest."

"All right..." It was easy to acquiesce; there was nothing he wanted more than to let his eyelids fall closed again, and Giles' body was invitingly warm. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to roll over and snuggle against the older man's side. Wesley was asleep again in less than a minute.