RockStarPeach

Wesley sat at Giles’ desk in his small office in the library of Sunnydale High, scribbling notes in his diary. About what had happened that day, what he’d learned, Buffy’s insubordinate attitude, Giles’ irresponsible pandering, and most importantly, the most efficient way to kill a Flanjoid demon was actually by beheading, not setting it on fire as previously thought.

That would just piss them off, and that was one mistake Wesley didn’t want anybody making, ever again. If he hadn’t been there, with a quick mind and a quicker sword, Rupert Giles would be dead right now. And while there was a petulant, childish part of him that thought that might not be so bad, the fact was, he needed him, if we was ever going to get through to the Slayer.

And… he kind of liked him. Looked up to him, in that way you would an annoyingly pompous authority figure whose approval you desperately craved, even though you’d never say. Giles was rugged, brilliant, strong, honestly compassionate, and kind, when he wasn’t being an insufferable prig. Everything Wesley wanted to be. And he was devastatingly handsome.

Which was as unfortunate as not, because it sometimes made for quite the distraction. He ordinarily wasn’t quite the bumbling fool he knew he’d come off as since he’d come to Sunnydale (well, not entirely, at any rate). But the second he’d stepped into the library and saw Rupert, he’d stumbled over his words, dropped the few books he’d brought with him, nearly tripped on his feet in an attempt to pick them up, and by the time he’d collected himself Rupert was rolling his eyes and sighing impatiently, probably believing him completely inept.

So, he’d overcompensated. He’d shut down and acted superior, like he was the authority and Rupert Giles was an inconvenience, told him to stay out of the way, instead of asking for his help, like he’d initially planned. And Giles had looked down his nose, and mostly ignored him, and kept waiting for him to fail.

Which of course, in turn, had only made Wesley more nervous, and more likely to lose his balance during fencing practice, or nearly choke on his own tongue whenever he spoke.

Until tonight, that was, when he and Giles had been on their own, and Giles had been in trouble, real trouble, for the first time that Wesley had seen. Then it wasn’t hard for instinct to take over, for his eyes to harden, his breath to steady, fear pushed to the back of his mind.

He kicked the beast in the back of its leg, hard enough to knock it off balance, and cause it to cry out. He dodged out of the way when it turned, swinging an arm (currently on fire, thanks to Giles) at him, flames flickering and jumping, threatening to do more harm to Wesley than they were doing to it, and Wesley easily avoided the hostile advances, ducking and weaving, landing jabs and hacking at the tough hide with his sword.

It wasn’t long, he didn’t think, before he saw his chance, and with a detached, carefully calculated move, he stabbed hard into the demon’s thigh, watching it fall to its knees before he raised his sword, hand sure and swift, and swung, taking off its head.

When it was done, and he stood heaving for breath, sword held loosely in his fingers, tip resting on the ground, Giles had been looking at him. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the look, because his expression was closed off, hard to read.

It was possible he was upset that Wesley had interfered, killed the demon that Giles wanted to kill. It was also possible that he was grateful, for Wesley saving his life, since Giles’ brilliant idea of using the flame thrower had ended up a spectacular failure.

It could have been any number of other things as well, but Wesley decided to take it for grateful.

“You’re welcome,” he’d said, voice low and dry and dark, like he’d just gotten a taste for killing, and he wasn’t done yet, and brushed past Giles, out of the warehouse, to go to the car.

They’d driven back to the library in silence, Giles shooting him the occasional sidelong glance from the driver’s seat, and when they’d gotten back, and Wesley had politely demanded the older man’s desk to complete his report, Giles had given it up without a word.

And now, even though his back was turned, and he was staring resolutely at the page in front of him, he knew Giles was looking at him again. Could feel it, little prickles on the back of his neck, tingles down his spine, the silence in the room oppressive, telling, letting him know that Giles wasn’t busy with anything besides staring.

“What?!” Wesley snapped, thumping his pen down and turning his head.

“What?” Giles asked back, quizzically.

“You’re staring.”

“Am I?” Giles asked, and Wesley could see the faint hint of a smile. Giles knew he was staring, and there was obviously a game somewhere. One Wesley couldn’t figure out, and it only frustrated him further.

Wesley cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable all over again. He’d been on a high for the past half hour, the high of the fight, the thrill of victory, knowing he’d done well, had done some good, saved some lives. But now that was starting to fade, replaced by the ever-present uncertainty and inadequacy when he knew Rupert was watching, and he cursed himself for being such an over-eager, attention-starved child.

“Don’t…” he choked out, coughing. “Don’t play stupid. You know you were.”

Giles just smiled at him, letting the corners of his mouth turn up even more.

“Have I done something today that’s offended you more than usual?” Wesley asked, aware he was being snippy, but bloody hell, if Giles was going to stare, showing a complete disregard for manners, then Wesley could be rude as well, if he wanted.

Giles took a step closer, arms that had been folded over his chest as he leaned against the filing cabinet falling to his sides. Wesley swallowed.

“Giles?”

“You were impressive tonight, Wesley,” Giles told him. There was a slight trace of humour in his voice, but Wesley felt his balls tighten and his heart speed up nonetheless.

“Giles?” he squeaked out again, when Giles had crossed the floor to stand in front of him, one hand on his shoulder. “What…?”

“Shhh,” Giles said, a soothing whisper that sent a shiver through Wesley’s body. He turned him around then, hand twisting Wesley so that he was facing the desk again, and Wesley closed his eyes when he felt Giles’ hot breath on the back of his neck.

This was… surreal. This was not happening. This was some kind of sick joke, and Giles was only trying to make a further fool out of him, but Wesley couldn’t seem to find it in him to care.

He sighed, let out a small groan, melted back, relaxing in his chair when he felt a warm, wet tongue glide over his neck, tip of his spine and around, stopping just below his ear. “Fuck,” he breathed, less an actual word than a need for oxygen, and he heard Giles chuckle behind him, warm and amused.

“Yes, that’s the general idea,” the older watcher mumbled, and suddenly Wesley was pulled from his chair, roughly, thrown forward and bracing himself on his hands so his face didn’t get intimately acquainted with the top of the desk.

As it was, the wind was knocked out of him, his ribs sore and probably bruising from the force with which he was pushed, but he was having a very hard time caring about that, what with Giles’ teeth closing tightly over his earlobe, hands moving firmly down his sides.

Wesley briefly wondered if Giles had known. Known how he felt and why he had been making such a fool of himself, because as confident as Giles was, he honestly couldn’t see him making a move like this unless he was sure of the results.

He opened his mouth to protest being manhandled like this, because as much as he really did like it, he was tired of looking foolish, being the butt of the jokes, and he wasn’t going to go along with this. Wasn’t going to let himself get pushed around, yet again, and probably have Giles criticise his technique in this arena as well. Or at least, not unless Giles was nice to him.

A hand came over his mouth then, preventing him from speaking, and when Giles pushed his hips forward against Wesley, driving Wesley’s own into the edge of the desk, Wesley could feel the hard outline of Giles’ cock, and he gasped, mouth opening enough for Giles to slip the tip of one finger inside.

Wesley reacted, didn’t think, and his tongue swirled around it, and he moaned, low rumble in his chest, sending vibrations though Giles’ body as well.

Giles chuckled. “Yes,” he said, and before Wesley could spit his finger out to ask what he was saying ‘yes’ about, he pushed forward again, grinding himself against Wesley’s arse, and continued. “Yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me, yes, I know that you want this, have been wanting it since you got here. Yes, I know that sometimes, you want it so badly that you can’t think about anything else.”

Wesley let his head fall forward slightly, teeth sliding along the finger in his mouth, the words Giles spoke making him weak.

Giles moved his other hand to Wesley’s waist, slid it around to his front, thumb beneath the waistband of his pants, and let his long fingers stroke forward, rubbing Wesley’s hard prick through the cotton. Wesley was absurdly glad he’d worn his good pants today, because he didn’t want to insult Giles by having him touch him through 40% polyester.

“And yes,” Giles growled, hand squeezing tightly on Wesley’s dick, pulling his fingers from his mouth to rest on his back. He pushed Wesley down forcefully, his chest resting on top of his discarded notes, face turned to the side. “That’s what’s going to get you killed one day.”

“I…” Wesley sputtered, trying to shake his head, trying to throw Giles off, wanting to argue. He’d saved the bastard’s life tonight, and he was going to get a lecture? Sod that!

“You’re good Wesley,” Giles interrupted, managing, somehow, to unfasten Wesley’s belt and pants, and lower them slightly, using only one hand, and not even encountering a great deal of trouble. Wesley had the vague notion that he must be well practiced, and wondered how many other young watchers had reaped the benefits of his training. “Do you think I haven’t noticed?”

Again Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but again no words came out, because Giles slipped a hand inside his pants and around his erection, gripping it tight and pulling out, shimmied the two of them so slightly that Wesley was amazed it resulted in his pants and underwear settling square across his thighs, and he pushed his bare arse back shamelessly against Giles’ clothed crotch.

“I’m a watcher. I watch,” Giles said, and gave a gentle press to Wesley’s back, a warning, letting him know he’d better stay put, and Wesley did. Son of a bitch. He planned on moving, he really did, but his body felt boneless and heavy.

Then Wesley felt that hand between their bodies, working at the front of the older man’s pants, and he couldn’t stop an undignified squeak from escaping his mouth when the warm hardness of Giles’ cock settled between his cheeks.

“I watch, and I’m good at it,” he said, starting a gentle rocking motion with his hips, sliding his length up and down, pre-cum spreading out across Wesley’s crack and over his hole. “I watch you, watch how you fight, how you think…” Wesley’s face turned to press his forehead against the desk when he heard Giles suck in a sharp breath of pleasure, and Wesley felt a jolt of pride that Giles was turned on. By him.

“…Watch, and see how you could be good at this, Wesley. How you have it in you to do what’s necessary, to succeed, and how you have the strength and the mind to carry it off.”

Giles shifted his hips then, tip of his cock catching just behind Wesley’s balls on an upstroke, and when he pushed forward it nudged ever so slightly against his entrance. Wesley tensed up, hands flat on the desk and started to push up, heedless of Giles’ earlier non-vocal instructions.

He wanted this, he did, but he hadn’t done it in a while, and Giles hadn’t bothered preparing him, and he was dry, and Giles wasn’t wearing any protection. “Giles…” he panted, but then a hand on the back of his head, rough and quick, pushed him back down.

“I’m talking, Wesley,” Giles told him, voice crisp and cool, only slightly betraying the fact that he was just as turned on, wanted this just as badly. But it was enough for Wesley to give in. Anything to win approval, he thought wryly, and tried to push the thought away, tried to just enjoy.

“But you can’t let yourself be distracted,” Giles continued, his mini-lecture seemingly unaffected by Wesley’s protests, or the fact that his cock was slowly, steadily entering Wesley’s tight hole, pushing past the ring of muscle, as Wesley ground his teeth together against the pain, tears welling in his eyes.

“You need to learn concentration, Wesley. Discipline.”

Giles was all the way in now, and it hurt so bad that some of Wesley’s tears had fallen, and his dick was completely soft. It didn’t seem to put Giles off any though, he only leaned over, pressing his front to Wesley’s back, and started to work the hand on Wesley’s cock up and down, slow and gentle. His thumb slid over the tip, fingers dipping down over his balls, and rocked in and out of him, steady and strong, until he was hard again.

“Good,” Giles praised. “That’s very good. Concentrate on pleasure, and the pain fades to meaninglessness.”

“Gunh,” Wesley grunted, articulately, though in his head it sounded more like ‘piss off, you sanctimonious jerk’, and started to move his own hips in time, pushing back onto Giles’ cock, so huge and hard and tearing him apart in such good ways.

“Now,” Giles said, and Wesley could hear that he sounded winded, like he was getting tired, or close to coming. Probably both. “Finish your work.”

Wesley’s head whipped around quickly, looking back at Rupert like he was insane. The stupid old bastard probably was insane. That’s what you got for too long on the hellmouth. “Do what?!”

“Your work,” Giles said again, still moving inside him, although by looking at his face, you wouldn’t know it. “Your diary entry. Finish it.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now. That’s the point, Wesley. Don’t get distracted. Concentrate on what needs doing, and not what your body thinks it wants.”

“But…”

“No,” Giles snapped, cutting him off, slamming forward and causing Wesley to cry out in delicious pain. “No buts, no excuses. You’ve proven to me tonight that you can do it, if you have to, and you need to employ that same resolve in every situation.”

Wesley let out one more tiny, piteous moan, and pushed up with his hands, Giles letting him this time, and he weakly grabbed his pen in his right hand, while sliding his journal into position with his left.

Why the hell was he doing this again? Shit! Yes, that was right, he remembered, when Giles changed his angle slightly, slowed his pumping to an absolutely torturous crawl, and slid the bulbous head of his cock over Wesley’s prostate, at the same time the nail of his index finger dipped into the slit at the tip of Wesley’s erection. Because Giles was doing things to him that he’d been dreaming about, literally, for weeks.

“Work, Wesley,” Giles gently reminded, and Wesley nodded, and started to write.

It was difficult at first, his whole body shaking with pleasure, to even find the thoughts in his head that he wanted to put down. And once he’d managed that and started to write, it took a few lines before the words were legible, his usually neat and ordered script coming out like chicken scratches.

And then finally, after a good ten minutes, and he’d established a fairly decent balance between fucking himself on Giles’ cock, and relating the events of the day in a way the council would approve of, Giles switched things up. He squeezed Wesley’s prick tighter, pumped it faster, held his hip with his other hand, fingernails digging sharp into the skin. He moved faster, tilted so that he was hitting that spot that made Wesley want to cry and sing and collapse in a heap, over and over.

Wesley’s fingers went lax, and he dropped his pen, his eyelids fluttered and closed, and his shoulders rolled forward, as he awaited his climax. It was so close. So close.

“Don’t come,” Giles warned him, though his voice was cracking, and Wesley knew that the older man wasn’t holding himself to the same command. “Not until you’re finished your work. Concentrate, Wesley. Don’t get distracted.”

Wesley didn’t bother asking what would happen if he disobeyed. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know. Not just yet, anyway, but maybe sometime in the future. He forced out a breath, trying to steady himself, trying to clear his mind through the fog of lust, the burning need to take what he wanted, to snatch his pleasure and to hell with everything else.

He did what he was told. Forced his brain to think about something other than the tingling sensation building at the base of his cock, forced his eyes to see something other than the random patters of black and colour, starbursts behind his eyelids even after he’d opened them, and did as he was told.

Giles sped up, and Wesley wrote. His rhythm faltered, and Wesley wrote. He cried out, driving himself so far inside Wesley that the younger man thought he’d be split in two, teeth digging sharply into Wesley’s shoulder, fingers faltering on his skin, and Wesley wrote.

Giles paused, forehead resting on the back of Wesley’s shoulders, and Wesley wrote. Giles took a deep breath, puffed out an honest to goodness laugh, not mocking or cruel, just happy, sated, and his lips pressed to Wesley’s neck, lingering, soft. Wesley closed his eyes against the overwhelming sensation of being good enough, before he realised that if he wanted to remain that way, he needed to get back to work.

Giles started moving again, lazy this time, no longer chasing his own end, his cock softening inside Wesley, hand still working over his shaft, and Wesley wrote. That kept up for almost fifteen minutes, and Wesley knew that, because he spent almost every other second staring at the clock in the corner of the desk.

Eventually Giles slipped out, but he stayed close, soft cock hanging limply between them, nudging against Wesley, a constant reminder of the pleasure he’d caused. And still, Wesley wrote, almost finished now, the day’s events almost written out. He decided it would be best if he left out his current little adventure, but he couldn’t hide a wicked smirk as he thought of Giles’ face as he watched him write about it.

He resisted, barely, extremely proud of himself, finally putting the last touches on his entry, signature, date and location, witnesses.

He barely had the journal closed in front of him before Giles put a hand on his chin, turning his head, and capturing his lips in a brutal kiss, praise and congratulations, and Wesley hoped he wasn’t too far up his own arse to think he recognised affection there, and Wesley opened his mouth, and kissed back.

A few more flicks of the other man’s wrist, and Wesley was crying out, coming, shooting his load over the desk, and he had the presence of mind to pull his hips back, to hope that he wasn’t damaging the diary, or the wood, or any number of other things, and he almost laughed as he realised that he was only putting his recent lesson to practice, concentrating on the practical, and not letting himself be carried away by the sensual.

He suddenly wished he had come all over Giles’ things.

Until Giles spoke.

“Wesley,” he said, voice like honey, soft and drippy, but through a filter, like he was trying too hard to sound normal. “Wonderful,” he told him, sounding far away, and Wesley was sure it was Giles, and not him, and that made him puff up slightly.

He moved his shoulders, twisted slightly, and smiled when Giles lifted up from his back. He turned over, still grinning, feeling silly, but finding he was okay with it when Giles was looking down at him with such fondness.

“That’s exactly right, Wesley,” Giles said, and Wesley thought his heart would beat out of his chest what Giles leaned down, capturing his lips in another of a kiss. “Very well done.”

Wesley could only nod, let his body move as Rupert’s did, and hope to God that this wouldn’t be the end of them. It was unexpected, sudden, almost forced, but Wesley had wanted it, and also wanted to do it again.

“Thank you,” he managed, through bright red cheeks, and he closed his eyes when Giles placed his palm gently on his face.

“You can handle this, Wesley,” Giles told him, one arm sliding across his back to pull him closer. “This is your calling. You Just have to concentrate.”

Wesley nodded, even though he was having a hard time paying attention to much at that point. Giles was right, Wesley knew. He had to force himself to think, to work hard, to ignore any distractions. To concentrate.

And concentrate he would. He shivered under the touch of Giles’ fingers, shifting slightly under the older man, and he couldn’t help but smile when the hands on him softened, slowed, stopped.

“You’ve done amazingly, Wesley,” Giles said, smiling, kissing. “Keep it up. Please.”

“I will,” Wesley agreed, kissing Giles back, and knowing full well that he’d just agreed to more than just outside-the-box watcher training.

And he didn’t care in the least.

END