?

Log in

 
 
20 January 2007 @ 11:39 pm
Quiet Strength  
Quiet Strength


Disclaimer: A full disclaimer can be found here, but please be assured that none of this is mine.

Rating: R

Pairing: Giles/Wesley

Author’s Notes: Alpha reader darkhavens, beta reader kitty_poker1. Thank you, ladies, for your wonderful insights.

Summary: Within each man is the strength that he needs to survive.




It’s been years since I’ve seen him. The last time we met, he begged me not to send him away, not to send him back to them. He promised that he would obey, that he would never question, as long as I allowed him to stay at my side.

I couldn’t then. My life was too chaotic, what with the school being leveled and finding myself without any work at all. I had barely enough to care for myself; there was no way that I could have provided for him as well.

So I sent him back to his father, back to the Council. I kissed him once, patted his rump and sent him on his way as I would a spoiled child. And it hurt. It hurt more than I could have believed. I knew that I had lost him, my own. Wesley.

Years later, and it is I who await his word.




After Sunnydale, we make our way to L.A., hoping to find some type of solace. What we find is little more than controlled chaos.

When we walk into the lobby of Angel’s hotel, broken and battered, my Wesley is there, as though awaiting our arrival. I can see his intake of breath as he gazes into the empty eyes of my children. “Wes,” I whisper.

Upon seeing him, I lose all interest in discussion. I can only think of how good it would be to hold him in my arms once more. Finally, after hours of storytelling, after the children are fed, watered and sent to bed, I find myself alone with the one who belongs only to me.

“Wes?” A quiet, Southern twang interrupts my thoughts and I turn to see the girl, Fred, looking at Wesley with a question on her lips. “Comin’?”

Wesley shakes his head no, his eyes seeking out my approval. Fred watches him a long moment before walking away.

Turning, I touch his hand. “Have you set aside space for me?”

“Yes,” he answers.

Up into the hotel, past long hallways leading nowhere, we walk in silence. Our journey ends in rooms that are almost barren, although I see signs of Wesley scattered here and there. “Here we are, Mr. Giles,” he quietly states.

Once in the room, he drops to his knees, sliding the shoes off my sore feet. Socks follow, then slacks, pants, shirt and vest. I stand nude, mostly asleep, while Wesley quickly disrobes and leads me into the bath. Once there, he fills the tub with what appears to be nearly boiling water and steps into it, encouraging me silently to join him.

The water soothes, and my tired muscles rejoice at the sensation of Wesley’s strong hands moving over them. He cleans me thoroughly, his touch lingering nowhere, before bathing himself and stepping out to collect the towels.

A quick rubdown and he leads me to the bed, settling in beside me as my exhausted mind gives out and I drift into dreams.

The fatigue lasts for weeks. I can see it in the children as they try to mourn, as they try to let go of the horrors they have seen. They struggle through each day, seeking out each other as they try to find the answers to why this tragedy occurred.

Wesley swiftly falls back into the role I ripped away from him so many years ago. You would not know to watch him as he moves through the crowd, offering his knowledge and his sympathy, but, at night, he finds his own comfort at my feet.

We talk, long drawn-out conversations that end in laughter and tears. We touch, slowly and then more swiftly as our bodies begin to remember what feels best. We sleep, my Wesley wrapped around me as though terrified that I will disappear into the night.

I find myself once again drawn into the role of protector. The relief that flits across my Wesley’s face brings me joy and reminds me of the uncertain, timid man he once was. Although I can see how he has grown, how he has matured, he remains quiet and almost shy in his demeanor.

I once again fall in love with this beguiling creature and find myself acting out for his pleasure. My rants become filled with more descriptive language, my defense of him more stringent. Buffy laughs as I posture for my pet and she whispers to me that it’s nice to see me happy again.

Happy.

I watch him interact with those who have become his family. They’ve told me all about Wolfram and Hart and their plans to take over the practice. Wesley’s eyes follow me as I express my displeasure, as I instruct Angel on how Wesley should be treated.

That night he cries as I hold him, my cock buried deep within. He tells me his dreams and fears, he gasps out my name as I gently move him toward his little death. I reassure him as well as I can, letting him know how much I think of him, of his skills, of his knowledge. And I tell him then of my love for him.

And suddenly, it’s time to go. Wolfram and Hart awaits its new masters, and I am needed in England. The majority of the girls are gone now, and my own children are eager to move on.

In a hidden corner, Wesley shakes in my arms, the fear of what’s to come palpable. I feel the same, my own thoughts torn and jumbled.

He kisses me softly, his eyes bright. “Please, please tell me again.”

I hold him tightly, his breath warm against my ear. “You and I are one; we will never be separated, no matter where we find ourselves in this life or the next. We may love others, we may find ourselves mourning their loss, but you belong to me and I to you and there is nothing in this world that can take that away.”




Less than a year later, I am sitting in my office when I hear the news. Wesley is dead. Illyria, the god that stole Fred’s life away, was by his side as he passed. I sit throughout the night, pensive and withdrawn.

Then I feel it, a tickle along my leg, as if someone has settled on the floor at my feet, and I smile, knowing that death will never be strong enough to part us.

The End