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Because if I write it, I don't like deleting it and this is as good a place for it as anywhere, in my darling little LJ ::pets it::
I'm feeling all restless and fidgety. Got a Giles/Oz in my head, the Giles/Spike/Wes is puttering along slowly and I just finished a non smutty historical Spike fic for another birthday, but I'm having trouble putting all the wonderful ideas down on paper. They're slippery little suckers :-(
He wakes from dreams of him, wakes shivering with need, a hand blindly searching the bed. Those first moments are filled with a savage elation, a wave of energy, potent and raw. He feels capable of anything, everything, all...
Too soon the wave ebbs and leaves him stranded, alone in a desolation he crafted. Alone. The day is spent in a fretful, spiteful mood, dwelling on the memories, despising himself for not thrusting them from him. He slips away to the washrooms to deal with the inevitable result of his lost battle, angry, impatient fingers standing in for clever, coaxing, teasing ones. He never comes until he closes his eyes and pretends he’s not alone and then his lips peel back from clenched teeth as he forces silence on himself as a punishment for weakness.
And when he sleeps that night he’s never quite sure if he wants to dream again or not, but he’s certain of one thing.
If Ethan comes back to Sunnydale – if he dares – it’ll be a dream come true for one of them and a nightmare for the other. Because Giles is dreaming in colour. Scarlet, crimson and red.
I'm feeling all restless and fidgety. Got a Giles/Oz in my head, the Giles/Spike/Wes is puttering along slowly and I just finished a non smutty historical Spike fic for another birthday, but I'm having trouble putting all the wonderful ideas down on paper. They're slippery little suckers :-(
He wakes from dreams of him, wakes shivering with need, a hand blindly searching the bed. Those first moments are filled with a savage elation, a wave of energy, potent and raw. He feels capable of anything, everything, all...
Too soon the wave ebbs and leaves him stranded, alone in a desolation he crafted. Alone. The day is spent in a fretful, spiteful mood, dwelling on the memories, despising himself for not thrusting them from him. He slips away to the washrooms to deal with the inevitable result of his lost battle, angry, impatient fingers standing in for clever, coaxing, teasing ones. He never comes until he closes his eyes and pretends he’s not alone and then his lips peel back from clenched teeth as he forces silence on himself as a punishment for weakness.
And when he sleeps that night he’s never quite sure if he wants to dream again or not, but he’s certain of one thing.
If Ethan comes back to Sunnydale – if he dares – it’ll be a dream come true for one of them and a nightmare for the other. Because Giles is dreaming in colour. Scarlet, crimson and red.