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I'm posting this unbeta'd snippet. Just want to see how it looks. The plot is very AU and it's going to get worse but I might change it. Working title is, umm....'Retroactive' It's set in S4, Spike in bathub days. why did they have to end?
It had been years since Rupert Giles woke instantly, alert and eager to begin the day. Oh, if he were in danger he could; that instinct was honed to too sharp an edge to be blunted by age, illness or boredom...but nowadays, unemployed and drifting through a life that had once been mapped out in straight lines, sleep was too seductive a haven to leave willingly.
So he woke gradually, his mind clinging to dreams, sleep clinging to eyelids – woke to find himself hard and aching. This wasn’t the usual transient arousal that left him before he’d stumbled, yawning, to the bathroom. This was need, pure and primal, and he half smiled as he pushed back the covers, his hand moving downwards automatically, his eyes still shut.
Before his fingers could curl around his cock and discipline its unruly behaviour with a stern, merciless, hypocritical hand, the bed creaked and dipped as a weight –no, two weights – landed on it. Giles gasped, his eyes opening, his hands reaching out. Reaching out blindly. A hand was laid across his eyes even as they opened, firmly warm, and his gasp was swallowed by lips pressed against his in a kiss. That alone might not have prevented him from lashing out, but the cool hand around his cock and the tongue and mouth that lapped and licked at the captured flesh was.
Giles lay quietly, his mind as busy as the mouths that touched his body, responding to the kiss, moving his hips in subtle encouragement, trying to guess who his early morning visitors were. The one kissing him was male. It wasn’t the mild rasp of a chin that needed shaving that told him; that confirmed it perhaps, but the roughness of the hand, the faint scent of aftershave...and the mouth that was enthusiastically and expertly taking care of his problem and being far too kind to that wayward member – that was male. Giles could tell the difference. It was a lesson once learned, never forgotten. The mouth was cool. Very cool. Refreshingly so – “Spike! What the hell are you doing?” Giles roared.
Fully awake, he pushed the figure beside him away and glared down at a pale head, pale face and impish blue eyes. Spike tried to speak with his mouth full, frowned, and reluctantly sat up, one hand still wrapped around the base of Giles’ cock. “Saying hello,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.”
Giles glared at him until Spike’s hand fell away and then turned to meet the eyes of – “Wesley? Oh, God. Wesley. No! Don’t kiss me again.”
Wesley looked disappointed but sat back obediently. He and Spike were both naked and as much as Giles was seething with fury and embarrassment, he couldn’t help wishing that his revelation had been delayed by, oh another thirty seconds, perhaps. It would have made thinking clearly much easier for a start.
It had been years since Rupert Giles woke instantly, alert and eager to begin the day. Oh, if he were in danger he could; that instinct was honed to too sharp an edge to be blunted by age, illness or boredom...but nowadays, unemployed and drifting through a life that had once been mapped out in straight lines, sleep was too seductive a haven to leave willingly.
So he woke gradually, his mind clinging to dreams, sleep clinging to eyelids – woke to find himself hard and aching. This wasn’t the usual transient arousal that left him before he’d stumbled, yawning, to the bathroom. This was need, pure and primal, and he half smiled as he pushed back the covers, his hand moving downwards automatically, his eyes still shut.
Before his fingers could curl around his cock and discipline its unruly behaviour with a stern, merciless, hypocritical hand, the bed creaked and dipped as a weight –no, two weights – landed on it. Giles gasped, his eyes opening, his hands reaching out. Reaching out blindly. A hand was laid across his eyes even as they opened, firmly warm, and his gasp was swallowed by lips pressed against his in a kiss. That alone might not have prevented him from lashing out, but the cool hand around his cock and the tongue and mouth that lapped and licked at the captured flesh was.
Giles lay quietly, his mind as busy as the mouths that touched his body, responding to the kiss, moving his hips in subtle encouragement, trying to guess who his early morning visitors were. The one kissing him was male. It wasn’t the mild rasp of a chin that needed shaving that told him; that confirmed it perhaps, but the roughness of the hand, the faint scent of aftershave...and the mouth that was enthusiastically and expertly taking care of his problem and being far too kind to that wayward member – that was male. Giles could tell the difference. It was a lesson once learned, never forgotten. The mouth was cool. Very cool. Refreshingly so – “Spike! What the hell are you doing?” Giles roared.
Fully awake, he pushed the figure beside him away and glared down at a pale head, pale face and impish blue eyes. Spike tried to speak with his mouth full, frowned, and reluctantly sat up, one hand still wrapped around the base of Giles’ cock. “Saying hello,” he replied. “I’ve missed you.”
Giles glared at him until Spike’s hand fell away and then turned to meet the eyes of – “Wesley? Oh, God. Wesley. No! Don’t kiss me again.”
Wesley looked disappointed but sat back obediently. He and Spike were both naked and as much as Giles was seething with fury and embarrassment, he couldn’t help wishing that his revelation had been delayed by, oh another thirty seconds, perhaps. It would have made thinking clearly much easier for a start.
