Radiant Cool Eyes
Giles kept a flat in Camden, a dusty hideaway in a dreary building that had, somehow, been untouched by the trends and trials that had affected the neighborhood surrounding. It was a fair hole in the middle of everywhere, and every surface was dripping with books.
Xander trailed his fingers over a particularly large tome, uncovering the faint sheen of leather. "How long have you had this place?" he asked.
Giles hung his keys, neatly, on a hook beside the door. "I lived here when I was working at the museum."
"The museum." Xander squinted at Giles, wondering if that M was supposed to have been capitalized. "Sounds respectable."
Giles' teeth glinted in the dark. "It does, doesn't it?" He hung his coat over his keys. "I've been here off and on in the past few weeks. If you're hungry--"
"I'm okay." Xander shifted his weight, wondered about mystery Giles, and respectability, and beds.
Giles moved towards the kitchen. "Tea, I think," he said, as if answering a question. He paused. "Get some rest, Xander."
Xander nodded. He rolled his shoulders back, suddenly feeling every blow he'd received in the past forty-eight hours, every punch he'd thrown, every creak in his spine after he'd knelt in front of Giles and-- "I think I'll take a shower," he announced.
Giles' voice echoed around the wall. "There are towels on the counter."
"Pip pip," Xander said to himself. "Right-o."
Xander woke in a strange, narrow bed, neon and moonlight prying sleep away. He pushed back his blanket, reached for his eye patch. He shut his other eye as he adjusted it, then stood, walked to the window, the drapes still open. He considered pulling them shut.
There was rustling in the outer room, and he pushed the door of the bedroom open, padded out in bare feet, chill air against his legs. Giles sat in an armchair, its cushions worn but thick, a book in hand, a cup of tea steaming at his side. Xander squinted; the pages weren't ragged and the binding was machine-stitched. Not research, then--or, not important research.
Giles looked up as he approached. "Did I wake you?"
Xander shook his head. "Keep reading," he said, dropping to his knees, slipping his hands over knees, up thighs. Giles twitched, and Xander grinned, pressed his palm firmly down. Giles bucked, and Xander unfastened trousers, spat into his palm inelegantly before wrapping his hand around Giles' cock, listened to him hiss.
The book dropped to the floor--Xander considered feigning shock--and Giles tipped his head back, groaned softly. Xander bent his head, but Giles reached out, pushed him back.
"Giles, what--"
Giles shook his head and urged Xander to stand, a smile flickering over his lips as he tugged Xander's boxers down. He touched his finger to the tip of Xander's cock, traced circles down as Xander shuddered. Then he grasped Xander's hips, pulled him forward and down, until he straddled Giles' lap. He rocked, imbalanced, and Giles pulled him forward, until they unevenly aligned, and Xander moaned without meaning to.
"What," he began again, but Giles circled Xander's cock with his hand, pulled Xander's still-wet palm around his.
Their fingers entangled, and Xander yelped, thrusting forward awkwardly.
"I," he gasped, staring down at their cocks, their hands, feeling ridiculous and aroused, "I don't know what's happening," he said. Giles did something with his wrist, and Xander twisted. "Fuck."
"Not," Giles said, "quite yet."
Xander would have laughed, but it was a while before he had the breath for it.
When next Xander woke, it was the same strange, narrow bed, and he was still alone. The sheets smelled like sweat, and sex, and cloves. His eye patch was askew, and daylight filtered through the closed drapes.
Outside, some kids were shouting laughter, a raucous and alien sound.
Xander closed his eye as he adjusted his eyepatch, then felt around the tangled bedsheets, certain his boxers would be somewhere. And he desperately wanted to be dressed, because he smelled bacon and, if he was truly lucky, coffee.
The bedroom door cracked open, and Giles appeared, bearing a mug of steaming liquid. "It's only instant," he apologized.
"I don't care," Xander said, and he grasped his boxers finally, pulled them on without a hint of modesty. "Gimme."
Giles snorted and handed the mug over. "When you're civilized again, I've made breakfast."
Xander nodded, and Giles retreated, and everything felt a little more like home.