![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Slightly shorter this one; around 4,000 words. Thanks as ever for all the kind feedback; happy you're all enjoying this as we certainly enjoyed writing it.
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Seven
Faith jerks in shock, her muscles clenching, and what happens next is inevitable. Despite Giles' disapproving "tsk tsk", surely not because of it, Wesley's hands tighten on her hips, initially as a prelude to pulling her off him, but actually to hold her still as his come spurts inside her. She quivers and he knows that she's coming too, tugging him against her to hide her heaving breasts from Giles.
"Get the fuck out!" she shrieks. "Fucking pervert."
"I would have phoned first but -- " Giles trails off and Wes knows that the bastard is smirking at the spectacle of him sitting there with his bare arse on display, his naked Slayer still quivering around his spent cock, juices pooling out of her.
"You fucking -- " she starts again furiously and he smoothes one hand down Faith's back as she shakes with either anger or the after effect of her orgasm, or a heady combination of both.
"Giles -- " He swallows because he sounds too angry and he's not going to play it like that although the bastard deserves it. "Giles, could you please give Faith and me some privacy and go into the kitchen while we, er, dress?"
There's no way that he's actually going to suffer the indignity of swivelling his head to glare at Giles, but he can see from Faith's flaring nostrils and the white outline of her tightened lips that he's still looking at them -- at her.
"Get the fuck out," she repeats in a bitten-off, frosty voice that he's never heard from her before.
"I'll give you five minutes to freshen up and then we'll talk. Or rather I'll talk and you'll listen," Giles says smoothly. "I'm sure you'll both have explanations but I think the events rather speak for themselves, don't you?"
And finally Wesley hears Giles walking across the creaking floorboard in the direction of the kitchen. Faith sags in his arms, before hauling herself off him.
"Upstairs," she hisses urgently, pointing at the closed door.
It might feel like a retreat but it's certainly the better part of valour when his trousers are at half-mast and he nods, and they scramble upstairs without dressing, exchanging glances in silence; meaningful, indignant -- oh, sod it, it's no use.
Wesley collapses against a wall in the bathroom, his shoulders heaving with laughter as Faith swipes between her legs, cleaning up with vigorous, furious energy and transferring her glares to him.
"Not funny, Wes," she hisses.
"Oh, but it is," he manages to gasp out. "It's hilarious. His face --"
She walks over to him with a wet flannel in her hand, cold water dripping all over the floor. Before he can stop her, she's applying it to his cock, which shock and his climax have rendered insignificant.
"That's cold!"
He reaches for a towel and dries off, sobered by the hurt in her eyes. "Faith, I'm sorry," he says. "Unforgivable of me, I know, it's just --"
"He's here to take me away and you're laughing," she says dully. "Big joke, right?"
He fastens his jeans and pulls her to him, feeling her hair tickle his bare chest. "You know damn well that wasn't why I was laughing. It was a shock and I regressed to a guilty teenager for a moment for which I do apologise, but Faith, you can't think for a moment that I'm going to allow that to happen. Now let's get some clothes on and go and talk to him."
"Your gun," she whispers. "Get your gun, Wesley."
"My gun?" he echoes, trying to work out the ramifications of her request; how far she wants him to take it, because he's not sure he'll be able to say no.
"Just to scare him," she clarifies and there's more hurt burgeoning on her face that he might have thought otherwise. "Like we could get him in the car at gunpoint and drive him into the middle of nowhere - well some place that's even more nowhere than here and then push him out and we can get the fuck out of Dodge."
As plans go it's not completely without merit. Even though he has no idea where Dodge will be if he can't get them false passports. "Go and put some clothes on," he says gently and because she's still looking at him warily, like he's a joke without a punchline, he slides his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her to him. "It will be all right," he murmurs against her lips, stealing a kiss that she's still happy to give. "I promise."
"Don't make promises like that," she warns him. "Don't get my hopes up, OK?"
She walks out of the bathroom without a backwards glance and he wishes that he and Faith could just re-create their Stockton breakout using the frosted glass window in front of him.
He doesn't know what Giles was thinking coming here. What he thought he could achieve but he won't have to wait long to find out. And then he thinks of Giles seeing them fuck. Watching Faith grinding on top of him, and it makes him feel hot and cold in equal measure. A flush staining his face again so he has to splash it with water. Then he hears Faith step out on to the landing and he's out of the door so that as they go downstairs to where Giles is waiting for them, sitting in the exact bloody spot where they were shagging, his hand is on Faith's shoulder and they're united. They're together.
Giles lifts up his head and tries out a cold smile that doesn't accessorise with the heavy shadows ringing his red-rimmed eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he lifts the tumbler with a healthy measure of Wesley's whisky in it. "Thank you for such a fervent welcoming committee," he says dryly.
"What did you bloody well expect?" Wesley demands. "Not exactly the best timing in the world, was it?"
"Sorry," Giles says, not even trying to make it sound sincere. His gaze goes from Wesley to Faith and back again. "I'm glad to see that you two are getting on so well these days." The words might be innocuous but the tone makes them an insult and Wesley feels Faith stiffen under his hand.
"United in adversity," he tells Giles lightly. "And as you're the principal source of the adversity, we've you to thank, I suppose."
He moves towards a chair, taking Faith with him, and when she's sitting in it, tense and upright, her lips set in an angry, mutinous line, he perches on the arm beside her.
"I don't think any of my actions have been prompted by a wish to make you grateful to me," Giles says, taking a sip from his drink.
"That's good, because we're not!" Faith snarls. Wesley strokes her hair but she shrugs him off and leans forward, looking as if she's a breath away from attack. "Stop fucking with us, Giles. What are you here to do? Arrest me? Are there cops outside? Are there?"
Giles winces as her voice gets strident and shakes his head. "No. Just me."
"And Buffy's pulling your strings long-distance, is she?" Faith says scornfully. "Trusts her little lap-dog to fetch her a bone all by himself?"
Giles flinches exquisitely at Faith's well-placed barb. Just the tiniest shudder that anyone else but Wesley would miss. But he notes it and the strained corners of the bland smile Giles gives her. "If you're trying to get me on side, Faith, so you can plead your case, then I have to say you're failing miserably."
"Fu -- "
Wesley knows what's coming and his hand tightens on her shoulder hard enough to make even her wince. She shuts her mouth with an aggravated little huff.
"Faith does have a point, Rupert. Where is the redoubtable Miss Summers?"
Giles shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp hitting the lines on his face; more of them than there used to be. He looks old, thinks Wesley. Not just tired from the agonies of battle, but creased and careworn. "Buffy -- she's decided to return to the States -- after we er, decided that she could be effective in a -- "
He rambles on for long, agonising minutes and from the softening of her features Wes can tell that Faith's reading between the lines too. Giles has lost his Slayer to a pair of ghosts and Wesley's anger and resentment melt away and he's left helpless as to what to say. What he can do.
" -- so she's gone because Faith's disgraceful, melodramatic escape really was the last straw -- "
"No, it wasn't," Faith says softly, getting up in one graceful stretch because she's crossed her sitting still threshold. "It so wasn't, Giles, and you know it."
"Buffy's gone and it's all your fault," Giles insists, holding the glass up to the pair of them in a mocking salute. "Bravo, Faith, you finally got what you wanted."
"That's hardly fair," Wesley protests but she shakes her head and keeps looking at Giles with an expression that he can't decipher.
"Whatever, y'know," she comments obliquely. "Man, Giles, you look like shit. At least come and eat something before you try to haul my not sorry ass back to prison."
"Eat?" Giles says blankly as if it's something he's never heard of, some strange new craze dreamed up by teenagers with too much time on their hands.
"Yeah," Faith says. "Eat. Take that whisky off him, Wes and I'll see if we left anything in the fridge."
She leaves and Giles gives him a defiant look and tosses back what's left in his glass before Wesley can assure him that he has no intention of depriving him of what comfort there is in a smoky single malt. Not much, not really, but some, perhaps.
"Why are you here?" Wesley says, crossing the room and sitting on the couch, close enough to be able to see that Giles didn't shave with his usual care and to find the fleck of brown in one of his green eyes. "Is it because with Buffy gone you need Faith back on duty? Because she will, you know. She's not rebelling, Giles; she was frightened." He feels his anger rise. "By you. By Buffy. By what you had planned."
"I know," Giles says, setting the glass aside on the table. It clinks because his hand is shaking slightly but his voice is steady enough. "And, no, that isn't why I'm here, although that's good news, certainly."
Wesley thinks that through. "Good news? So I take it that ludicrous notion of imprisonment has been laid to rest?"
There's a shrug from Giles that says enough without his muttered, "Of course it bloody has."
"Then why --"
Giles rounds on him, his face contorted, eyes blazing. "I was worried about you, you fool! Both of you. D'you really think I'd let you go and not find you? Not make sure that you were all right when it was down to me that you left?"
"Guilt." Wesley says flatly. "I see."
Giles breathes unevenly, his mouth a tight line. "Not entirely, but if that's how you choose to read it, I won't argue."
The man is absolutely infuriating. "It's late, Rupert. I'm neither in the mood for riddles or you turning up here and being bloody-minded as usual. Look, come into the kitchen and eat something."
He doesn't wait to see if Giles is going to follow but hurries to the kitchen where the company is infinitely more charming even if it is slamming a frying pan down on the stove hard enough to send sparks flying.
"Gonna spit in his freakin' omelette," he hears her mutter and he can't help but smile.
Giles is still obviously wallowing in misery on the couch so he can fill his arms full of pissed off, tense Slayer. "He's not going to send you to prison," he whispers in her ear and she stiffens just that little bit more.
"Like to see him try." She pushes him out of the way so she can start cracking eggs into a bowl. "Not exactly sure why he's here then."
"He says he was worried about us," he says hesitantly, keeping his voice low and his hands off her because she's still in such a curious mood,
"Yeah, he was plenty worried when he had me bound and drugged so B could keep getting rustic on my ass. We got any bacon left?"
There's a little cough from the door and Giles is standing there, looking as if the wooden frame is the only thing keeping him upright.
"I do regret that decision, Faith," he says, stiffly formal. "I hope you'll accept my apology."
He expects Faith to give Giles another mouthful of blistering invective but she just nods her head, gives Giles a narrow-eyed stare then gestures at the chair. "Accepted, I guess. Sit, eat, then you can tell us why the fuck you're really here."
Giles obeys her without comment, which is enough in itself to have Wesley feeling that of the three of them only he's acting normally. Which, as he's feeling confused, worried and vaguely annoyed, is a sobering thought.
A silence falls as they wait for Faith to finish cooking a cheese omelette which smells good but sticks to the pan, so that when she places a plate in front of Giles, it's clearly with the expectation that he's going to sneer at the salvaged fragments.
Instead, he picks up his knife and fork, gives her a quick, grateful smile and begins to eat; slowly, as if each forkful is an effort to lift, chew and swallow.
When Faith plunks down a cup of tea, dark and with a few stray leaves floating on top, he reaches for it and then hesitates, watching his hand shake slightly.
"Oh God," he says quietly, and starts to go to pieces in front of them.
It's horrible. It's just -- not Giles. Giles is the strong one, the one with all the answers, all the power. Giles isn't -- can't be -- vulnerable, like them, prey to emotions and needs. Faith and Wesley exchange identical, stricken looks as Giles pushes his plate away, knocking it into the mug of tea which totters and spills out some of its contents in a tannic flood, and lowers his head to his hands, his elbows propped on the table.
He's crying, has to be, because tears are slipping out between his fingers, trickling over strong hands, capable hands, but the sounds he's making aren't sobs but short, harsh breaths, painful and desperate, as if he's forgotten how to breathe and he's starting to panic.
Wesley drags a chair over and sits beside him, close enough that he can hug the curved, bowed back awkwardly with one arm as his free hand fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief that isn't there.
"Here." Faith hands him a vaguely damp tea towel which he offers to Giles but as his head is bowed with grief and despair the gesture goes unnoticed.
"It's all right, Giles," he finds himself saying, his hand automatically patting a shoulder rigid with tension. "It's been a long day, you've driven miles -- "
"It's not why he's crying, Wes," Faith hisses and Giles finally lifts his head and his face is so bleak that Wes rather wishes he hadn't. "Lost B, lost your Slayer, that's gonna hurt."
He expects Giles to bark out a retraction but he just nods dumbly and reaches for his tea.
Wes tries to remember what it felt like all the times he'd lost Faith. To the Mayor, to prison, to darkness and there are a myriad of emotions to sift through; regret, relief, anger but nothing like this bone deep despair of Giles.
"You and me -- we're different, Wes," Faith sighs before he can say anything.
"You are," Giles agrees quietly. "You've only just found each other."
They exchange looks. "Yes," Wesley says. "We have."
He reaches for Faith's hand but she's moving, crouching down by Giles, utterly unself-conscious as she leans on his knee, staring up at his puzzled face.
"She'll come back, Giles," she says. "Won't be able to keep away. She might talk it up about being a big girl now, but she needs you. Always will." And her smile's warm as she glances over to Wesley and says, "Slayers need Watchers. That's the way it goes. Can't have one without the other, ain't that right, Wes?"
"Indubitably," he agrees gravely, just to watch her wrinkle her nose at his choice of word.
"Be that as it may," Giles begins, but Faith's not done.
"Was a time when you were my Watcher, Giles."
He frowns as he smiles at her in some bemusement, looking confused. "Well, for a week or so, I suppose -- but it was never official, not really."
"You were my Watcher," she insists.
"Faith -- " Wesley says, a note of warning in his voice, because he's not sure where she's going with this.
She dimples up at Giles. "Never looked at B the way you look at me," she says and there's no taunt, just this matter of factness to her words, which makes Giles stare at his cup of tea like he's hoping it will transform into a handy temporal fold. "Still want to know why you're really here, Giles, but, hey, think I already guessed it."
And he knows exactly where she's taking it now. And part of him wants her to stop but the flash of anger is back in Giles eyes, which is far better than the desolate mask that he's been wearing and Faith deserves the right to have her say. Or her fun. It's a judgement call.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he says to her shortly and her smile widens and she places her hands on his knees, just resting them there.
"Oh yeah? Seen the way you've been watching me, how you insisted that you were in the room when I got strip searched. And I've seen the way you stare at Wes when he's been training and all the sweat is just dripping off that manly chest -- "
Wes wonders if she's seen the way that he looks at Giles, which is nothing more than a hangover left from the Sunnydale days when he hero-worshipped him but all her attention is focused on Giles and his eyes aren't just flashing now, but darkening, lip curling and he makes a move to get up but Wes can see the tension in Faith's arms as she keeps him right where she wants him.
"Is there a point to all this, Faith?" Giles asks and Wes marvels at the disinterested tone he's trying to assume.
"Only that you're here because you've been jerking your cock to the bone imagining me and Wes fucking each other. How many times did you come? Was the real thing even better than you dreamt about? Which one of us did you want to fuck first, huh? Huh?"
She's in his face now and doesn't look that surprised when Giles' hand comes crashing down on her cheek, snapping her head back with the force of the blow.
Wesley's moving, mouth open with angry, furious words surging up ready to be spat out, but Faith just shakes her head and prods gingerly at her face, already starting to show the imprint of Giles' hand. "Didn't answer my question, Giles."
"Hit her again and I'll bloody well hurt you," Wesley warns, finding his voice as Giles' hand clenches into a fist. She might be a Slayer and that might, in comparison to what she's used to, have been a love-tap, but he's still not having Giles touch her like that.
Wesley stares at the handprint, scarlet now, but fading, and frowns, trying to pin down -- oh God. And he wonders why it matters so much that he and Giles have both marked her skin tonight.
"You -- " Giles blinks at Faith and then visibly gathers his dignity, or what's left of it, around him. "You will apologise to me, Faith."
She yawns. "Isn't this where we came in? Won't say sorry for telling the truth, Giles. Or for asking awkward questions you don't want to answer."
"Oh, I can answer them," he says. "I simply don't see why I should satisfy your prurient curiosity."
Her eyebrows lift and she turns to Wes. "Translate, Wes?"
"He thinks you're getting off on being nosy about his sex life," Wesley says dryly.
She laughs. "Does Giles even have a sex life? News to me."
The man in question stands up, with Faith following him a heartbeat later. "I refuse to continue this discussion, or to be insulted like this by the pair of you."
"You insulted me first," Faith says and there's a darkness to her now. "Watching me, eyes on me -- I'm good enough to jerk off over, but you're too fucking ashamed to admit it?"
"I do not --" Giles looks between them both and flushes unexpectedly.
"Liar," Faith says, all but bouncing on her toes, quivering with -- what? Anger? Anticipation? Wesley's not sure, just as he's not sure why the thought of Giles doing -- that, is so arousing, so sweetly filthy. Giles' cock, hard and hot, with images of Faith tipping him over, making him shoot -- God, just as they've done for him time after time --
"We are not having this conversation," Giles insists, his voice crisp enough to snap Wesley out of his reverie in time to see Faith sinuously stepping towards Giles who's backing away until he's pressed up against the wall and looking surprised to find himself there with no visible means of escape against a Slayer who's eying him like he's a particularly juicy mouse.
"Bet you never thought of B like that, did you?" she asks, pressing herself against Giles who lifts his chin and stares at some point in the middle distance. "It was me you were thinking of when you had your hand wrapped around your cock, wasn't it?"
And Wesley can't help it; the seductive cadence of her words is wrapping round his own cock, making it hard as he imagines not Giles jerking off on his own, but Faith there with him, her crooked fingers gripping his shaft --
"Stop this immediately." Giles swallows convulsively as Faith presses up even tighter against him.
"What did you imagine Faith doing to you, Rupert?" He's startled to hear himself speak, saying words that have been ricocheting around his own head. "Or maybe you were fantasising about what you were doing to her."
She shoots him a surprised but grateful look, eyes searching his and he nods once.
"Did you want to fuck me all those years ago in Sunny D?" she taunts and Giles is bright red and from the way she's circling her hips ever so slightly, Wesley is sure that Giles is hard too. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Giles. Wes did, told me so too. Maybe if you'd just tag teamed and fucked me over one of the tables in the library then -- "
Giles interrupts her with an anguished groan that sounds like it hurts and then his hands are tangling in Faith's still damp hair, keeping her head still so he can attack her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.
Part Eight
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Seven
Faith jerks in shock, her muscles clenching, and what happens next is inevitable. Despite Giles' disapproving "tsk tsk", surely not because of it, Wesley's hands tighten on her hips, initially as a prelude to pulling her off him, but actually to hold her still as his come spurts inside her. She quivers and he knows that she's coming too, tugging him against her to hide her heaving breasts from Giles.
"Get the fuck out!" she shrieks. "Fucking pervert."
"I would have phoned first but -- " Giles trails off and Wes knows that the bastard is smirking at the spectacle of him sitting there with his bare arse on display, his naked Slayer still quivering around his spent cock, juices pooling out of her.
"You fucking -- " she starts again furiously and he smoothes one hand down Faith's back as she shakes with either anger or the after effect of her orgasm, or a heady combination of both.
"Giles -- " He swallows because he sounds too angry and he's not going to play it like that although the bastard deserves it. "Giles, could you please give Faith and me some privacy and go into the kitchen while we, er, dress?"
There's no way that he's actually going to suffer the indignity of swivelling his head to glare at Giles, but he can see from Faith's flaring nostrils and the white outline of her tightened lips that he's still looking at them -- at her.
"Get the fuck out," she repeats in a bitten-off, frosty voice that he's never heard from her before.
"I'll give you five minutes to freshen up and then we'll talk. Or rather I'll talk and you'll listen," Giles says smoothly. "I'm sure you'll both have explanations but I think the events rather speak for themselves, don't you?"
And finally Wesley hears Giles walking across the creaking floorboard in the direction of the kitchen. Faith sags in his arms, before hauling herself off him.
"Upstairs," she hisses urgently, pointing at the closed door.
It might feel like a retreat but it's certainly the better part of valour when his trousers are at half-mast and he nods, and they scramble upstairs without dressing, exchanging glances in silence; meaningful, indignant -- oh, sod it, it's no use.
Wesley collapses against a wall in the bathroom, his shoulders heaving with laughter as Faith swipes between her legs, cleaning up with vigorous, furious energy and transferring her glares to him.
"Not funny, Wes," she hisses.
"Oh, but it is," he manages to gasp out. "It's hilarious. His face --"
She walks over to him with a wet flannel in her hand, cold water dripping all over the floor. Before he can stop her, she's applying it to his cock, which shock and his climax have rendered insignificant.
"That's cold!"
He reaches for a towel and dries off, sobered by the hurt in her eyes. "Faith, I'm sorry," he says. "Unforgivable of me, I know, it's just --"
"He's here to take me away and you're laughing," she says dully. "Big joke, right?"
He fastens his jeans and pulls her to him, feeling her hair tickle his bare chest. "You know damn well that wasn't why I was laughing. It was a shock and I regressed to a guilty teenager for a moment for which I do apologise, but Faith, you can't think for a moment that I'm going to allow that to happen. Now let's get some clothes on and go and talk to him."
"Your gun," she whispers. "Get your gun, Wesley."
"My gun?" he echoes, trying to work out the ramifications of her request; how far she wants him to take it, because he's not sure he'll be able to say no.
"Just to scare him," she clarifies and there's more hurt burgeoning on her face that he might have thought otherwise. "Like we could get him in the car at gunpoint and drive him into the middle of nowhere - well some place that's even more nowhere than here and then push him out and we can get the fuck out of Dodge."
As plans go it's not completely without merit. Even though he has no idea where Dodge will be if he can't get them false passports. "Go and put some clothes on," he says gently and because she's still looking at him warily, like he's a joke without a punchline, he slides his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her to him. "It will be all right," he murmurs against her lips, stealing a kiss that she's still happy to give. "I promise."
"Don't make promises like that," she warns him. "Don't get my hopes up, OK?"
She walks out of the bathroom without a backwards glance and he wishes that he and Faith could just re-create their Stockton breakout using the frosted glass window in front of him.
He doesn't know what Giles was thinking coming here. What he thought he could achieve but he won't have to wait long to find out. And then he thinks of Giles seeing them fuck. Watching Faith grinding on top of him, and it makes him feel hot and cold in equal measure. A flush staining his face again so he has to splash it with water. Then he hears Faith step out on to the landing and he's out of the door so that as they go downstairs to where Giles is waiting for them, sitting in the exact bloody spot where they were shagging, his hand is on Faith's shoulder and they're united. They're together.
Giles lifts up his head and tries out a cold smile that doesn't accessorise with the heavy shadows ringing his red-rimmed eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he lifts the tumbler with a healthy measure of Wesley's whisky in it. "Thank you for such a fervent welcoming committee," he says dryly.
"What did you bloody well expect?" Wesley demands. "Not exactly the best timing in the world, was it?"
"Sorry," Giles says, not even trying to make it sound sincere. His gaze goes from Wesley to Faith and back again. "I'm glad to see that you two are getting on so well these days." The words might be innocuous but the tone makes them an insult and Wesley feels Faith stiffen under his hand.
"United in adversity," he tells Giles lightly. "And as you're the principal source of the adversity, we've you to thank, I suppose."
He moves towards a chair, taking Faith with him, and when she's sitting in it, tense and upright, her lips set in an angry, mutinous line, he perches on the arm beside her.
"I don't think any of my actions have been prompted by a wish to make you grateful to me," Giles says, taking a sip from his drink.
"That's good, because we're not!" Faith snarls. Wesley strokes her hair but she shrugs him off and leans forward, looking as if she's a breath away from attack. "Stop fucking with us, Giles. What are you here to do? Arrest me? Are there cops outside? Are there?"
Giles winces as her voice gets strident and shakes his head. "No. Just me."
"And Buffy's pulling your strings long-distance, is she?" Faith says scornfully. "Trusts her little lap-dog to fetch her a bone all by himself?"
Giles flinches exquisitely at Faith's well-placed barb. Just the tiniest shudder that anyone else but Wesley would miss. But he notes it and the strained corners of the bland smile Giles gives her. "If you're trying to get me on side, Faith, so you can plead your case, then I have to say you're failing miserably."
"Fu -- "
Wesley knows what's coming and his hand tightens on her shoulder hard enough to make even her wince. She shuts her mouth with an aggravated little huff.
"Faith does have a point, Rupert. Where is the redoubtable Miss Summers?"
Giles shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp hitting the lines on his face; more of them than there used to be. He looks old, thinks Wesley. Not just tired from the agonies of battle, but creased and careworn. "Buffy -- she's decided to return to the States -- after we er, decided that she could be effective in a -- "
He rambles on for long, agonising minutes and from the softening of her features Wes can tell that Faith's reading between the lines too. Giles has lost his Slayer to a pair of ghosts and Wesley's anger and resentment melt away and he's left helpless as to what to say. What he can do.
" -- so she's gone because Faith's disgraceful, melodramatic escape really was the last straw -- "
"No, it wasn't," Faith says softly, getting up in one graceful stretch because she's crossed her sitting still threshold. "It so wasn't, Giles, and you know it."
"Buffy's gone and it's all your fault," Giles insists, holding the glass up to the pair of them in a mocking salute. "Bravo, Faith, you finally got what you wanted."
"That's hardly fair," Wesley protests but she shakes her head and keeps looking at Giles with an expression that he can't decipher.
"Whatever, y'know," she comments obliquely. "Man, Giles, you look like shit. At least come and eat something before you try to haul my not sorry ass back to prison."
"Eat?" Giles says blankly as if it's something he's never heard of, some strange new craze dreamed up by teenagers with too much time on their hands.
"Yeah," Faith says. "Eat. Take that whisky off him, Wes and I'll see if we left anything in the fridge."
She leaves and Giles gives him a defiant look and tosses back what's left in his glass before Wesley can assure him that he has no intention of depriving him of what comfort there is in a smoky single malt. Not much, not really, but some, perhaps.
"Why are you here?" Wesley says, crossing the room and sitting on the couch, close enough to be able to see that Giles didn't shave with his usual care and to find the fleck of brown in one of his green eyes. "Is it because with Buffy gone you need Faith back on duty? Because she will, you know. She's not rebelling, Giles; she was frightened." He feels his anger rise. "By you. By Buffy. By what you had planned."
"I know," Giles says, setting the glass aside on the table. It clinks because his hand is shaking slightly but his voice is steady enough. "And, no, that isn't why I'm here, although that's good news, certainly."
Wesley thinks that through. "Good news? So I take it that ludicrous notion of imprisonment has been laid to rest?"
There's a shrug from Giles that says enough without his muttered, "Of course it bloody has."
"Then why --"
Giles rounds on him, his face contorted, eyes blazing. "I was worried about you, you fool! Both of you. D'you really think I'd let you go and not find you? Not make sure that you were all right when it was down to me that you left?"
"Guilt." Wesley says flatly. "I see."
Giles breathes unevenly, his mouth a tight line. "Not entirely, but if that's how you choose to read it, I won't argue."
The man is absolutely infuriating. "It's late, Rupert. I'm neither in the mood for riddles or you turning up here and being bloody-minded as usual. Look, come into the kitchen and eat something."
He doesn't wait to see if Giles is going to follow but hurries to the kitchen where the company is infinitely more charming even if it is slamming a frying pan down on the stove hard enough to send sparks flying.
"Gonna spit in his freakin' omelette," he hears her mutter and he can't help but smile.
Giles is still obviously wallowing in misery on the couch so he can fill his arms full of pissed off, tense Slayer. "He's not going to send you to prison," he whispers in her ear and she stiffens just that little bit more.
"Like to see him try." She pushes him out of the way so she can start cracking eggs into a bowl. "Not exactly sure why he's here then."
"He says he was worried about us," he says hesitantly, keeping his voice low and his hands off her because she's still in such a curious mood,
"Yeah, he was plenty worried when he had me bound and drugged so B could keep getting rustic on my ass. We got any bacon left?"
There's a little cough from the door and Giles is standing there, looking as if the wooden frame is the only thing keeping him upright.
"I do regret that decision, Faith," he says, stiffly formal. "I hope you'll accept my apology."
He expects Faith to give Giles another mouthful of blistering invective but she just nods her head, gives Giles a narrow-eyed stare then gestures at the chair. "Accepted, I guess. Sit, eat, then you can tell us why the fuck you're really here."
Giles obeys her without comment, which is enough in itself to have Wesley feeling that of the three of them only he's acting normally. Which, as he's feeling confused, worried and vaguely annoyed, is a sobering thought.
A silence falls as they wait for Faith to finish cooking a cheese omelette which smells good but sticks to the pan, so that when she places a plate in front of Giles, it's clearly with the expectation that he's going to sneer at the salvaged fragments.
Instead, he picks up his knife and fork, gives her a quick, grateful smile and begins to eat; slowly, as if each forkful is an effort to lift, chew and swallow.
When Faith plunks down a cup of tea, dark and with a few stray leaves floating on top, he reaches for it and then hesitates, watching his hand shake slightly.
"Oh God," he says quietly, and starts to go to pieces in front of them.
It's horrible. It's just -- not Giles. Giles is the strong one, the one with all the answers, all the power. Giles isn't -- can't be -- vulnerable, like them, prey to emotions and needs. Faith and Wesley exchange identical, stricken looks as Giles pushes his plate away, knocking it into the mug of tea which totters and spills out some of its contents in a tannic flood, and lowers his head to his hands, his elbows propped on the table.
He's crying, has to be, because tears are slipping out between his fingers, trickling over strong hands, capable hands, but the sounds he's making aren't sobs but short, harsh breaths, painful and desperate, as if he's forgotten how to breathe and he's starting to panic.
Wesley drags a chair over and sits beside him, close enough that he can hug the curved, bowed back awkwardly with one arm as his free hand fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief that isn't there.
"Here." Faith hands him a vaguely damp tea towel which he offers to Giles but as his head is bowed with grief and despair the gesture goes unnoticed.
"It's all right, Giles," he finds himself saying, his hand automatically patting a shoulder rigid with tension. "It's been a long day, you've driven miles -- "
"It's not why he's crying, Wes," Faith hisses and Giles finally lifts his head and his face is so bleak that Wes rather wishes he hadn't. "Lost B, lost your Slayer, that's gonna hurt."
He expects Giles to bark out a retraction but he just nods dumbly and reaches for his tea.
Wes tries to remember what it felt like all the times he'd lost Faith. To the Mayor, to prison, to darkness and there are a myriad of emotions to sift through; regret, relief, anger but nothing like this bone deep despair of Giles.
"You and me -- we're different, Wes," Faith sighs before he can say anything.
"You are," Giles agrees quietly. "You've only just found each other."
They exchange looks. "Yes," Wesley says. "We have."
He reaches for Faith's hand but she's moving, crouching down by Giles, utterly unself-conscious as she leans on his knee, staring up at his puzzled face.
"She'll come back, Giles," she says. "Won't be able to keep away. She might talk it up about being a big girl now, but she needs you. Always will." And her smile's warm as she glances over to Wesley and says, "Slayers need Watchers. That's the way it goes. Can't have one without the other, ain't that right, Wes?"
"Indubitably," he agrees gravely, just to watch her wrinkle her nose at his choice of word.
"Be that as it may," Giles begins, but Faith's not done.
"Was a time when you were my Watcher, Giles."
He frowns as he smiles at her in some bemusement, looking confused. "Well, for a week or so, I suppose -- but it was never official, not really."
"You were my Watcher," she insists.
"Faith -- " Wesley says, a note of warning in his voice, because he's not sure where she's going with this.
She dimples up at Giles. "Never looked at B the way you look at me," she says and there's no taunt, just this matter of factness to her words, which makes Giles stare at his cup of tea like he's hoping it will transform into a handy temporal fold. "Still want to know why you're really here, Giles, but, hey, think I already guessed it."
And he knows exactly where she's taking it now. And part of him wants her to stop but the flash of anger is back in Giles eyes, which is far better than the desolate mask that he's been wearing and Faith deserves the right to have her say. Or her fun. It's a judgement call.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he says to her shortly and her smile widens and she places her hands on his knees, just resting them there.
"Oh yeah? Seen the way you've been watching me, how you insisted that you were in the room when I got strip searched. And I've seen the way you stare at Wes when he's been training and all the sweat is just dripping off that manly chest -- "
Wes wonders if she's seen the way that he looks at Giles, which is nothing more than a hangover left from the Sunnydale days when he hero-worshipped him but all her attention is focused on Giles and his eyes aren't just flashing now, but darkening, lip curling and he makes a move to get up but Wes can see the tension in Faith's arms as she keeps him right where she wants him.
"Is there a point to all this, Faith?" Giles asks and Wes marvels at the disinterested tone he's trying to assume.
"Only that you're here because you've been jerking your cock to the bone imagining me and Wes fucking each other. How many times did you come? Was the real thing even better than you dreamt about? Which one of us did you want to fuck first, huh? Huh?"
She's in his face now and doesn't look that surprised when Giles' hand comes crashing down on her cheek, snapping her head back with the force of the blow.
Wesley's moving, mouth open with angry, furious words surging up ready to be spat out, but Faith just shakes her head and prods gingerly at her face, already starting to show the imprint of Giles' hand. "Didn't answer my question, Giles."
"Hit her again and I'll bloody well hurt you," Wesley warns, finding his voice as Giles' hand clenches into a fist. She might be a Slayer and that might, in comparison to what she's used to, have been a love-tap, but he's still not having Giles touch her like that.
Wesley stares at the handprint, scarlet now, but fading, and frowns, trying to pin down -- oh God. And he wonders why it matters so much that he and Giles have both marked her skin tonight.
"You -- " Giles blinks at Faith and then visibly gathers his dignity, or what's left of it, around him. "You will apologise to me, Faith."
She yawns. "Isn't this where we came in? Won't say sorry for telling the truth, Giles. Or for asking awkward questions you don't want to answer."
"Oh, I can answer them," he says. "I simply don't see why I should satisfy your prurient curiosity."
Her eyebrows lift and she turns to Wes. "Translate, Wes?"
"He thinks you're getting off on being nosy about his sex life," Wesley says dryly.
She laughs. "Does Giles even have a sex life? News to me."
The man in question stands up, with Faith following him a heartbeat later. "I refuse to continue this discussion, or to be insulted like this by the pair of you."
"You insulted me first," Faith says and there's a darkness to her now. "Watching me, eyes on me -- I'm good enough to jerk off over, but you're too fucking ashamed to admit it?"
"I do not --" Giles looks between them both and flushes unexpectedly.
"Liar," Faith says, all but bouncing on her toes, quivering with -- what? Anger? Anticipation? Wesley's not sure, just as he's not sure why the thought of Giles doing -- that, is so arousing, so sweetly filthy. Giles' cock, hard and hot, with images of Faith tipping him over, making him shoot -- God, just as they've done for him time after time --
"We are not having this conversation," Giles insists, his voice crisp enough to snap Wesley out of his reverie in time to see Faith sinuously stepping towards Giles who's backing away until he's pressed up against the wall and looking surprised to find himself there with no visible means of escape against a Slayer who's eying him like he's a particularly juicy mouse.
"Bet you never thought of B like that, did you?" she asks, pressing herself against Giles who lifts his chin and stares at some point in the middle distance. "It was me you were thinking of when you had your hand wrapped around your cock, wasn't it?"
And Wesley can't help it; the seductive cadence of her words is wrapping round his own cock, making it hard as he imagines not Giles jerking off on his own, but Faith there with him, her crooked fingers gripping his shaft --
"Stop this immediately." Giles swallows convulsively as Faith presses up even tighter against him.
"What did you imagine Faith doing to you, Rupert?" He's startled to hear himself speak, saying words that have been ricocheting around his own head. "Or maybe you were fantasising about what you were doing to her."
She shoots him a surprised but grateful look, eyes searching his and he nods once.
"Did you want to fuck me all those years ago in Sunny D?" she taunts and Giles is bright red and from the way she's circling her hips ever so slightly, Wesley is sure that Giles is hard too. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Giles. Wes did, told me so too. Maybe if you'd just tag teamed and fucked me over one of the tables in the library then -- "
Giles interrupts her with an anguished groan that sounds like it hurts and then his hands are tangling in Faith's still damp hair, keeping her head still so he can attack her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.
Part Eight
Tags: