'Second Time of Asking' Giles/Wesley/Faith (NC17 overall)

[janedavitt]

While I waited for the result of the fic poll (thanks to all who clicked away!) a situation arose in which I needed to bribe lovesbitca with Giles/Wes/Faith smut.

Desperate times demand desperate measures. I shall say no more.

This is not a WIP: it's a two-part fic and that is that. I'm about to write part two now and shall not sleep until it is done, I promise.


ETA I am a big liar. However, 1500 words are done, but it's going to take more time than I can stay awake to finish it. And David is back from the Super bowl party and I haven't seen him all day. Tomorrow. Promise.


Bitca gave me a lovely plot bunny, which bought her some forgiveness, although I'm still very, very upset with her for making me cry, dammit! She said:

What about if it's post-NFA and Buffy's totally dead and Giles is now Faith's Watcher and Wes (he's alive!) gets wind of it and turns up and is not happy. And you know I'll always ask for smut even if I don't get it!

It's all off the cuff-y and whatnot.



Take Two

"One more session with the quarterstaff, Faith and then I think we're done –"

Giles picked up the two lengths of wood leaning against the wall and tossed one to Faith, who stood, bouncing lightly on her toes, her hair in wild disarray. She was grinning, every inch of her suffused with energy. He was exhausted, sweaty and wondering if he'd last longer than a minute against her given the way he felt.

"Done? Oh, I'd say so, wouldn't you?"

Giles watched Faith's face react – shock, pleasure and wariness flowing over it in bold, easy-to-read print – and then turned slowly, casually.

"Wesley."

The man in the doorway of the training room, haggard and pale, gave him a look that promised pain and took three slow steps into the room. "Obviously. So sorry I'm late."

"For what?" Giles asked, frowning.

Wesley swept out his hand. "The session of course. Almost over, I suppose, given the way you're having trouble breathing steadily. Most remiss of me to be so tardy." He gave them both a cold smile. "Of course, had I been told that my Slayer was active again and in need of training, instead of finding it out third hand –"

Faith's, "I'm not your –" clashed mid-air with Giles' less forceful, "Wesley –" but neither made any impact.

Wesley walked up to Giles and took the staff from him, spinning it in his hand. Giles debated snatching it back but surely Wesley wouldn't use it on him? Reflecting that if he did, his money was on Faith, who would certainly intervene, Giles stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.

"Since Buffy's death –"

"Yes. I heard about that too. Eventually," Wesley said, his gaze on Faith. "My condolences." His head tilted and Giles found himself on the receiving end of another less-than-friendly stare. "So, tell me; having screwed up with your Slayer, what the hell makes you think I'd trust you near mine?"

Faith had been oddly silent, apart from that one retort but that sent her over to Wesley, dark eyes narrowed. "Wes, get over yourself! And stop giving Giles a hard time. Since when were you a Watcher? You're one of Angel's boys these days."

"That part of my life is over," Wesley said flatly. He sighed, the first sign of relaxation he'd shown. "Not my choice, not really, but it is."

"You haven't exactly been forthcoming yourself," Giles said quietly. "We heard about what happened, of course, but it was terribly confusing...?"

He let his sentence tail off, hoping that if he could get Wesley talking, the tension between them – a tension he didn't quite understand – would dissipate.

It worked in that Wesley let the quarterstaff drop from his hand to clatter against the wooden floor and went to lean against the vaulting horse, resting his hands on top of it and looking exhausted. "I died. You heard that much, I suppose?"

"Cried over you, Wes," Faith said, the flippancy of her words softened by the genuine emotion behind them. "Ask Giles here."

"She was... upset," Giles said. He gave Wesley a small smile. "After the grief had abated slightly, she dealt with it in her own fashion." He gave her a fondly reproving look. "Slaughter, mayhem and – well."

"Yeah," Faith said, giving him a sultry smile back, her body shifting in a way that reminded Giles of the one time he'd seen her dance, at the Bronze, surrounded by boys, clustered close and positively drooling, the fools. "Lots of 'well'."

"I'm glad my death produced such beneficial side-effects," Wesley said dryly. "I trust my resurrection wasn't unwelcome?"

"Yeah," Faith said, staring at him. "That was kinda weird. You sure you're you? Not a ghost, a zombie, a robot, a –"

"Human," Wesley said, interrupting her. "With a soul and completely un-possessed."

"We heard the fact, but not the how and why," Giles told him. "And of course we were glad, but an explanation would be reassuring."

Wesley shrugged. "I died, Gunn died. Angel... didn't take it well. Then Cordelia stepped in."

"This would be the Cordy who's also on the deceased list, right?" Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Sheesh. L.A. Always gotta have the comebacks..."

"She's gone from this plane, yes," Wesley said. "But it would be a mistake to assume someone who's spent time as a Higher Power is rendered powerless by something as mundane as the destruction of her earthbound body." His mouth twisted in a smile. "The Powers weren't too pleased at what happened the night I died. Rules were broken, lines overstepped... Basically, someone was a bad loser and the Powers didn't care for that level of pettiness. Cordelia brought Gunn and me back as a slap on the wrist for those responsible for sending ten thousand demons and a dragon loose on the city."

"Good Lord," Giles muttered. "It's all just a game to them, isn't it?"

"'As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport,'" Wesley quoted. "Seems to cover it, I agree."

"Except in this case, they didn't kill you; you got a second chance."

Wesley gave Faith a curt nod. "So it would seem."

'But you're not with Angel," Giles commented.

"Neither is Gunn. Neither is – none of us are," Wesley told him. A smile slipped across his face, transient and swift. "Buffy's death – irreversible, permanent, coming so close to all that had happened – it left him – changed."

"Not into Angelus?" Giles asked sharply. Dear God, he didn't think he could go through that again –

Wesley shook his head. "Quite the reverse." He stared across the room, looking pensive. "Although he's back in leather. He didn't borrow my bike, for obvious reasons, but he took off to fight evil wherever he could find it, as long as it wasn't L.A." He bit his lip. "He's gone back to my old job of rogue demon hunter in fact, and I – well, you know what I've come back to do."

The fleeting lightening of the mood fled. "Wesley, I have to say that the Council wouldn't look favourably on that."

"Bollocks," Wesley said with a tart asperity. "You are the Council, Giles. You might have cleverly shoved some poor sod in Quentin's chair to spare you the tedium of the 9 to 5, but you can't fool me. You're doing exactly what you want to do and you're running the show." His gaze travelled to Faith. "Isn't that right?"

"He does enjoy this way too much," Faith agreed with a grin. "Likes me being all docile and stuff when it comes to training and Slaying as well. Makes up for when neither of you could do a thing with me, I guess." She gave a wriggle and a sigh. "Good days..."

Giles gave her a warning look. Oh, she'd pay for that later...

"Well, much though you might be deriving some pleasure from this situation, Giles, I'm Faith's Watcher, not you."

"You were fired, Wesley and that hasn't changed!"

"Standing right here," Faith said to the air. "Guys, much though I love you fighting over me –" She pursed her lips. "Yeah. Come to think of it, I do. Carry on."

She sauntered over to a stack of exercise mats and sat down cross-legged, placing the staff beside her. "Off you go," she said encouragingly. "Giles is kinda worn-out, but Wes, you look like fucking shit, to be honest, so it should be fair, if either of you cares about that."

Giles and Wesley exchanged glances in which enough was shared to make Giles feel confident of Wesley's support when he turned back to Faith. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "Faith, need I remind you again, of just where the power lies in the Watcher/Slayer relationship?" He watched her flush, the colour racing into her cheeks. "I thought not. You will work with whomever is assigned to you, no questions, not quibbles, no rebellions, subtle or overt. Am I making myself clear?"

He was laying this on an inch-thick, he knew, but with Faith sometimes he had to. And that catch of breath from Wesley, who had to be wondering what had changed –

"Yeah, Giles," Faith muttered after a long moment. "Crystal fucking clear."

"Do you let her swear like that?" Wesley said in a conversational tone. "Because I think I'd be inclined to view that as a breach of the respect due between –"

"Oh, Faith knows the penalties for disrespect," Giles said evenly. He watched her eyes sparkle as they met his and fought back his automatic response. "She simply –sometimes- prefers to pay them rather than curb her tongue. Her choice to make."

"Totally fucking is," Faith murmured. "Fine. You two aren't gonna fight over me, or for me. What about with me?"

"I don't understand," Giles said, his mind, as ever, racing to keep pace with her vagaries. She kept his life from being dull, but sometimes at the cost, he feared, of his sanity.

She stood up stretching her arms high above her head so that the tight top she wore strained over her full, round breasts. Minx, Giles thought, knowing Wesley's eyes had fallen, as had his.

"Giles, looks like Wes here is footloose and fancy-free. Wants to fight the good fight."

"I really think I could describe my current status using rather fewer clichés," Wesley said.

"Whatever. You're here, and you want me back. Same reason as Giles, I bet. You failed big-time before and you want to wipe –"

"Don't, I beg of you, mention a slate," Wesley said, wincing. "But in essence, yes, you're correct."

"She's not your Slayer," Giles said feeling that point needed to be stressed. Often and, if necessary, with a greater volume that he was employing.

"But she could be," Wesley replied.

"Could belong to both of you," Faith said.

They turned to look at her and she gave them a slow smile before bending to pick up the quarterstaff. "Giles, this is me we're talking about. You know you can't keep up with me these days when it comes to training." The last five words saved her from his wrath, but even so... "And Wes, no offence, but I doubt you could either, no matter how much stubble you've got going for you. Way I remember it, guns are your thing, and you can't really shoot me to slow me down, now can you?"

"Tempting thought though," Wesley said tightly.

"What point are you meandering towards, Faith?" Giles said. "And is it really necessary to insult us as you get there?"

"If the truth hurts, Giles, you've got a problem. Seem to recall you being pretty firm on the whole, 'no more lies' deal, yeah?" She didn't wait for an answer, just walked past them both and gathered up the staff Wesley had discarded. "Here," she said, passing them over. "Both of you come at me. Try and take me." She tossed back her hair, her eyes gleaming. "Give me a proper workout. Go on."

"Oh, you're testing my patience, Faith," Giles warned her. "I really –"

"She's right," Wesley said suddenly. "A Slayer like this one – the only true Slayer left – and don't tell me that rabble of children Willow raised even comes close to her, because I won't believe you –" Faith gave him a swift, warm glance, and Giles groaned inwardly. He felt the same way, deep down, but he'd never actually told her that –

"She needs more than you can give her, Giles." He gripped the staff. "And a Slayer needs to lose every once in a while to teach her that it's possible, make her wary. You can't beat her, Giles."

"Not without help," Giles said, exchanging a look with Faith that had Wesley pausing, looking between them with an uncertain, then speculative expression on his face. "Very well. Faith, are you –"

Wesley lashed out with his staff, landing a blow to Faith's arm that had her grunting with shocked pain.

It took Giles a moment to remember that he was supposed to be doing the same and that Wesley wasn't in dire need of a punch for attacking Faith too soon. God, he'd actually thought Wesley hadn't been fair. Maybe he was getting too old for this...

Faith's spinning kick, that sent Wesley slamming back against the vaulting horse helped to restore his good humour though. Especially as it allowed him to step behind her and bring his staff across the back of her knees –

The sparring session lasted for ten minutes – far longer than he'd ever managed to engage her before – and even if, by the end, he was hurting, he was filled with a savage exultation because, dammit, they'd slowed her down. Wesley fought with a clean, economically brutal style that Giles admired and matched with his own extensive repertoire of flat-out dirty street-fighting, learned over four decades, and between them they reduced Faith to drawing on reserves of strength, exerting herself, so that when Giles called a halt, she was panting, her hair damp with sweat.

"Now that was fun," she said, getting her voice under control while the two of them were still gasping. "Well, Giles? Gonna share and share alike?"

Wesley turned his head, waiting for an answer with an odd vulnerability softening the harsh lines of his face.

"Possibly," Giles said. He jerked his head. "Let's get cleaned up first."

Faith smiled. "Sounds like a plan. You coming, Wes? Water's hot, and there's plenty of towels."

Wesley pushed himself upright. "Thank you." He slipped off the leather jacket he'd fought in, draping it over the horse, and followed them through the door that led to the showers and a well-equipped first-aid room.

The showers were clean and even luxurious, with no overtones of locker rooms – and they smelled faintly of citrus, not commercial cleaner, but Giles knew that wasn't why Wesley came to a sudden halt.

There were four shower heads – but all were placed within a single, wide, open cubicle, two on the right hand wall, two on the left, with a long, wide bench running along the back wall, formed from the same plastic as the walls.

"I'll wait my turn," Wesley said flatly, backing away.

Giles smiled and started to undress. "There's no need."

Faith skinned out of her top, wincing slightly. "Yeah, Wes. Room for three. Told you that."

Giles arched an eyebrow, and yes, he was enjoying this mild revenge on Wesley, he admitted it. His own sense of duty compelled him to agree that Faith would benefit from both their attentions, but it didn't mean he liked the implications. Faith had been careful – for her – to draw a distinction between the areas in which he was apparently remiss, and those where he was more than adequate, but he couldn't help feeling a need to prove himself and a stirring of territorial pride.

"Faith's going to need help scrubbing her back, Wesley. I imagine she's feeling a little sore right now."

Faith rotated her shoulders and sighed. "Got that right. Did you two have to be so rough on me?"

There was a languor to her voice, a husky invitation, and Giles, as always, felt his cock harden in response.

"You know we did."

She kicked off her black jeans and hooked her thumbs inside the skimpy pair of scarlet panties that were all she was wearing, peeling them down, her breasts swaying gently as she bent over to step out of them. "Guess you'd better come and kiss me better then."

Giles smiled at her. "I think I could do that for some of the bruises at least." He glanced at Wesley. "But I didn't cause them all."

He waited until Wesley began to unbutton his shirt with unhurried fingers before joining her under the near-scalding, powerful spray.