Libraries And Hallways
There had been a time, once, when Rupert Giles would have found the idea of being in any sort of romantic relationship with Xander Harris quite absurd, not to say deeply unethical.
But then, there was a time when Xander was merely a distraction, an obstacle to be overcome in Giles' attempts to make Buffy a better slayer, and a liability in the fight against the evil forces of the world.
Wait, no. There was never really such a time, only a time when Giles perceived it to be so.
Perceptions change, of course, and Xander had proved time and again his strength and dedication to the cause in a way that awed Giles when he thought about it, and especially when he thought of his own dissolute youth.
More than this, Xander had, without even trying, found a place in Giles' heart that he doubted anyone had occupied before.
Giles could pinpoint the moment when his attraction to Xander became conscious.
He'd walked into the library one afternoon, back in the days when he was still, nominally, a school librarian and life was in many ways rather simpler. The place had appeared deserted, not unusually. Or so he had thought, for then he'd heard a rustle or a shuffle or something -- at any rate a noise -- from somewhere in the stacks, back where few students ventured, amongst the school's collection of texts on accounting and finance.
Experience had taught Giles that you could never be too careful in Sunnydale, so he had quietly extracted a stake from his jacket pocket, crept up the stairs and tiptoed into the gloom in the direction of this disturbance. Peering carefully around the corner of one set of shelves his eyes alighted on Xander sitting in a corner -- sitting masturbating and apparently in the throes of ecstasy.
His eyes were shut, head tilted slightly back, and he was chewing on his bottom lip. His legs were splayed, pants shoved down to his knees, shirt pushed up and out of the way. The waistband of his boxers was hooked under his balls to allow his hands free access to his cock.
It was thick and hard and shiny, from spit or precum Giles couldn't tell, and both hands worked it, base and tip, whilst his hips quivered and his chest heaved.
For several seconds Giles stared with an open mouth, and only when he became aware of his own erection straining in his slacks did he tear his gaze away, silently retreating to his office for a glass of water to wet his dry lips.
When some minutes later Xander appeared from the stacks Giles was standing behind the counter, glass in one hand and book in the other, trying to look nonchalant. He said mildly, "Xander, hello. I didn't -- um, how long were you back there?"
Xander flushed scarlet, and mumbled something about a biology assignment, his head dipping to avoid Giles' gaze.
It shamed him to realise it, but there was something about that last, unconscious act of submission that made Giles' heart beat just a little faster.
It was beating faster still that night as Giles imagined telling Xander in a stern voice that he knew what he had been doing, telling him that such things were certainly not tolerated in his school library, that he'd be going straight to Principal Snyder if Xander didn't strip there and then, go right over Giles' knee, take his punishment and say thank you.
His palm had just made contact with the smooth, soft flesh of Xander's ass when Giles came, shuddering with effort and shame.
He'd put it down to sexual frustration in the morning, and though he made sure that he never quite returned to that particular mental image, he found it impossible thereafter to look at Xander without feeling some level of attraction. The boy wasn't beautiful exactly, not like Angel, but the more Giles thought about him the more he considered Xander to be as handsome a lad as he'd ever encountered.
But he was also far too young and far too straight for it ever to be a realistic proposition. And besides, Giles was old enough now to recognise lust for what it was, and to know it would eventually fade.
Though it never did.
Love was more subtle. It had crept up on Giles like he had crept up on Xander, and only when he said the words aloud did he realise that he meant it.
When that happened, they were in Toronto, hunting down a troll running amok in the suburbs. In the months after Sunnydale had become a gigantic crater, the survivors of the battle had been trying to put their world back together. Activated slayers were scattered everywhere, on every continent, and the overstretched Council was struggling to cope after the destruction of its headquarters, even though Giles had assumed control and was providing some measure of stability.
But though he really ought to have returned to London to oversee the construction of the new building, and to co-ordinate the Council's efforts in general, he had preferred instead to remain with Xander, seeking out activated slayers and dealing with demonic crises.
Xander had been fragile for a time. The loss of Anya and the loss of an eye had hit him harder than he had admitted, probably even to himself, and Giles had wanted to ensure he had someone there in case it all got too much.
But it hadn't. Indeed, his stoicism would have done Oz proud, but perhaps their many long, Scotch-fuelled conversations in the evenings had allowed him to deal with his grief. And by God they had talked about many things: their parents, their friends, their past. And of course Anya, and all those that they had lost: Jenny, Joyce, Tara. Even Larry, for Xander eventually made the surprising confession that they had had a brief, mostly physical, relationship with Larry in high school.
And turnabout is fair play, so Giles told Xander about his relationship with Ethan, the first person he'd fallen in love with and possibly his greatest regret.
"And I thought evil Inca mummy girls were a bad idea."
They had definitely bonded, to put it in the American vernacular.
But it was days later, in the hallway of a Toronto hotel, fuzzy with whisky, that they embraced as they bid each other goodnight and Xander whispered, "I love you, Giles."
"And I love you." Giles replied, taking it at first as the easy words of two intoxicated friends, but then rapidly becoming aware just how much he meant it and being shocked almost sober by the realisation.
The embrace lasted just a little too long, but they parted and after a moment of silently contemplating each other with wide eyes, they entered their own rooms on either side of the corridor.
Giles closed the door behind him and stood against it for a moment, heart thundering in his chest. Then he swallowed, purposefully turned and opened the door again, about to cross the hall to knock on Xander's door -- but Xander was already in front of him, about to knock on his.
There was another moment of silence as each waited for the other to speak.
"Look, what you said just now -- did you actually mean it?"
"Well, I -- of course, but, um --"
"I'm serious. Are you really in love with me?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so."
Xander said nothing, but dipped his head, apparently embarrassed.
Giles' heart started to beat a little faster at the sight. He reached out to take Xander's jaw in one broad hand, lifting his head and leaning in until their lips touched. Their kiss was gentle at first but soon became fierce, and Giles pulled Xander into his room, shoving the door closed behind him.
They fell back against the now closed door and writhed against it, mouths soon hot from stubble rash. Xander muttered, "oh Christ, oh Jesus," as Giles' hands slid over his body and squeezed his cock through his jeans.
Eventually he started pleading. "Please can we -- I want -- please --"
Giles growled into the kiss and his hands tore at Xander's shirt buttons and he soon had it stripped from Xander's body, then as he kicked off his shoes his jeans were undone and shoved roughly down his legs. When Xander was naked Giles pulled him further into the room before pushing him onto the bed and regarding his partner.
Xander had thickened out since that day in the library but he was no less attractive. If anything, he was even more so.
He lay there for a moment, hard and flushed, watching Giles watch him.
"Hey, when do you get naked?"
"All in good time. First I want you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Touch yourself."
A gasp. "That's just kinky, old man."
A chuckle. "You've really no idea."
Xander didn't immediately respond, and Giles said in a firm voice, "do it."
Slightly self-consciously, Xander spat on his hand and began to stroke himself. Giles watched.
"For the avoidance of doubt: I do love you, Xander."
The strokes picked up a little speed. "And I love you."
The first time Xander came that night, Giles wasn't touching him -- but the second and third times he was.
Later, Xander lay his head on Giles' chest and spoke of his one concern. "You do know that Andrew's going to be really jealous -- though actually I'm not sure of who..."