Third Time Lucky
Note: This is a sequel
to Second Time of Asking
and takes place about three months after.
"You're too hard on her."
They both are, but it's not like she's complaining, so why Giles has
that edge to his voice is a mystery. She shifts position and the
butterfly-wing pattern of bruises across her body tears and shreds and
darkens just a little and her teeth meet the soft bulk of the pillow
and tear at that.
"I'm doing what needs to be done, and if you can't see that --"
Wesley's voice... God, the two of them sound so fucking pretty with
their English accents. She giggles sometimes when they're telling her
to do stuff, filthy, depraved, delicious stuff, in those plum-perfect
voices that make it all sound even worse.
Depends on where you're coming from, doesn't it, and by then she's
usually just coming, and in her accent, if she had one, which she
doesn't, the thickly tumbling words are just hoarse and demanding and
desperate and she might as well be speaking in tongues for all the
notice they take of her.
Although last week, yeah, Giles must've been paying some attention to
her because he slid his hand into hers when she needed that, and the
fingers that are tracing the edge of a bruise, marking off hurt skin
from clean and having to take the long way 'round because there's not
much on her ass that isn't a rainbow of purple
shading to black, got squeezed until they both heard something crack.
She's high-maintenance, yeah, but they all know that.
"I can see that my -- that she's going to be missing patrol again
because you've trained her to the point of --"
Oh fuck, Giles. Not that again. Not now. Because when they're fucking
and Giles and Wes are kissing, eyes open, hands busy, making even
guttural grunts sound classy, it's fine, it's more than fine, and when
she's kneeling between them, each hand filled with a cock, hard and
slicked, and the two of them are staring up at her with identical
expressions of near-feral intensity, it's way past fine and heading to
perfect, but when Giles says 'my' he'd better not ever follow it with a
word that rhymes with -- oh, whatever the fuck 'Slayer' rhymes
with -- because it pisses Wesley off and he's no fun like that.
And Giles can take him, yeah, in more ways than one, but that's one
fight she never wants to see because now, three months after Wes turned
up resurrected and looking like hell chewed him up and spat him out,
she's not Giles' and she's not Wesley's because she's never going to be
able to choose, but they're both hers, and damn if she wasn't so
fucking stiff and sore she'd remind them of that.
"--trained her as she's supposed to be trained and if your methods
hadn't been inadequate she wouldn't be --"
Out of line, there, Wesley, she thinks, feeling a stirring of anger
because Giles' hand twitches against her ass and that dig hurt him, she
When Wesley's down there sucking Giles' cock like it's his favourite
chew toy, pulling sounds from Giles even she can't get him to make,
below the belt's fine, but in a fight? Not so much. And telling a man
who thinks Buffy died because he let her down that he's inadequate is
just fucking cruel.
That's her Wesley...
And they're fighting now. Fighting over her, but it's not as much fun
as it should've been because she's not some fucking symbol, not some
She's Faith and they're losing her as they jostle and shove for
Three of them, all on top.
Too much to prove, all of them.
Giles, that he's not past it.
Wes that he's not dead.
And she's just looking to believe that she matters to them both and
she's starting to wonder.
"You're fired," she says clearly, but with her face mashed into the
pillow it comes out as a mumble and the tennis-ball back-and-forth of
polite, razor-slash-sharp comments don't slow at all.
"Fucking fired, -- now get the hell out!" she screams, and that works,
that makes it past cotton and whatever the fuck the pillow's stuffed
She can't even turn her head to look at them because it's mean picking
a side to turn to and choosing is what she won't do, ever.
She'd lose them both before she'd do that.
Maybe she already has.
Wesley's hand strokes her hair, damp with tears she didn't shed, tears
that slid treacherously out of disloyal eyes. It's clinging in wet
strands to her face but maybe he thinks it's sweat, which is gross but
doesn't seem to be putting him off. He's not squeamish, Wes. Not at all.
"Don't tell me that you're sorry," she says thickly. "You had fun.
Loved slamming me against walls. Loved watching me fall to my fucking
With her hands tied behind her back and her feet hobbled, she'd been...
limited in her response, to say the fucking least. Going to her knees
had been deliberate though; she'd arched and wriggled and worked her
hands under her ass and out, getting them in front of her as the blows
from the staff he held had punished her for trying. When her bound
hands became a doubled fist he'd been the one to step back...
... and then he'd taken her feet from under her and been on her before
the breath had filtered back into violently-emptied lungs, hurting her
and only stopping when the timer in the corner had gone off with a
cheery chirp, thirty seconds after Giles had come in, sworn and started
to scream at him.
"And I don't care," she carries on. "You hearing me, Giles? Because
he's right. I need to get hurt sometimes. Need to remember what it's
like so I don't fuck-up when I'm slaying." She closes her eyes and
whispers it, but they're both listening now so she can be as quiet as
she wants and know that they're still hearing every word. "But not
every time. You know? Not every fucking time, Wes."
She starts to cry properly. Never cries. Never. And they're all over
her, gentle hands, clumsy kisses, frantic, hissed whispers like she
can't hear them...
"No, it is not my fucking period!"
Nearly kills her, but she rolls over and sits up, pushing hanks of hair
back off her hot, sticky face and glaring at them.
"It's you two. It's you fucking two and I can't fucking
do this --"
Astonished eyebrows. Puzzled exchanged glances. Oh, yeah, they'll bond
over how to unscrew the inscrutability that she turns into every now
and then, but they won't do it any other time, when their dicks aren't
hard and their hands and mouths aren't hungry.
Oh, sorry, was that aloud?
"Faith, perhaps you could simply tell us what the matter is?"
Giles' eyes are tired but there's always enough strength of will to
keep him going just another minute, and another. He doesn't give up,
doesn't quit. Hasn't given up on her, has he, which sorta proves that.
"Could, Giles, but maybe I don't want to. Ever think about that? Ever
think I might get fucking sick and tired of playing mommy to you two?"
Their noses twitch in a synchronised wrinkle and it's enough to take
her anger down a notch. Barely.
"I think I speak for both of us when I say that we don't find you
particularly maternal, Faith," Giles says, solemnly, a smile lurking
far back and deep in his eyes.
"Do you know how much I want to slap that grin off your face, love?"
she says, kneeling up and placing her hands carefully on her thighs.
She's naked; they're not and it doesn't matter. They're staring at her
tits off and on, but that doesn't matter either. For once, she's too
tired to fuck. Too beaten.
"Faith, I think I should just point out --"
"What, Wes?" She's in his face now, and she's angry enough to make his
face the first her fist meets, but she keeps her hands flat and
touching her skin, just hers. "Point out how you two aren't a team and
so there's no way the three of us are? Point out that if we're not
fucking, we're fighting, and even the fucking isn't going so well these
"It isn't?" Giles' voice is quiet and calm. He's been close to her for
longer and it shows sometimes. He's backed off already whereas Wesley's
"Been faking the 'oh, oh, God yes!' bit for a couple of weeks now," she
admits. She holds up her right hand and wiggles her fingers. "Meet my
best buddy. That and the vibe in the top drawer over there."
Wesley's blushing, he really is, but it's mortification, not
embarrassment and Giles isn't looking too happy either.
"The ... sexual element to all this isn't ... if you're unhappy...
"Giles loses it and gives her a look that comes close to breaking her.
"Faith, I'm so sorry."
"Not enough," she says huskily, before she breaks down and crawls into
his lap to be cuddled, which isn't something anyone else could do to
her and live to tell the tale, same way Wes is the only one who can
stroke her hair and not have her twitching and snarling. "You two --
fighting. All the fucking time. Who's senior Watcher. Who makes me
scream higher, come harder. Who matters most to me." She takes a deep
breath. "You know what? It's time you two remembered something."
"And that would be?" Wesley murmurs, his gaze taking a wander over her
"I'm the Slayer. I'm the Chosen One. Me. Fucking
me." She glances between them. "You two are fucking
replaceable and don't think I won't ask for one if this carries on.
Maybe then you'll quit with the power plays and give me some fucking
"We give you all of our time!" Giles says, starting to get on the
"No." She's really certain about that. "You're so busy keeping an eye
on him to make sure he's not getting anything you're not, that you
barely know I exist." She holds out her thumb and forefinger, an inch
apart. "See that? That's how close I was to falling in love with you
two. That's how fucking close I was to being happy. You've spoiled it,
both of you and I fucking hate you for that."
They swap glances again and she screams in frustration, hammering her
fists against her leg, even though it hurts. "See? See that? That thing
you do? You're close. You fuck like you care so why
don't you trust each other when your cocks aren't standing to
Silence. Deep, painful silence.
"Get your fucking act together, or get the hell out," she says finally,
when she's sick of waiting. "Now I'm going to sleep. And I don't want
The door closes behind them and she's asleep before it's stopped
Her eyes are closed, but she knows it was Wes who slammed it.
"So do you think she meant it?"
Giles stares across the room at Wesley. The man looks tired -- they
both do -- but he's leaning forward eagerly, heedless of the fact that
the bottle of beer held suspended between his knees, loose in his
hands, is dripping condensation onto the carpet. Giles notes the
progress of one drip and splash and then takes a sip from his own beer,
decanted into a glass because he's older than Wesley and sometimes it
shows in more ways than the obvious.
Like the grey hairs on his chest, outnumbering the brown. Wesley has
them too, of course, but fewer and seemingly there just to point up the
darkness of the rest of his hair in an elegantly minimalist way.
Bastard can lap him, too, when they're training, and Giles doesn't let
himself think about sex because that way lies... well, something that
hasn't happened yet, but if this keeps up -- oh Lord! --
continues, is inevitable.
Faith's not easy to satisfy on any level. If he hadn't come to care for
her in a way he would once have thought implausible, improbable and
even vaguely disloyal, he wouldn't even try,
But he does care and he's not stepping aside for Wesley.
And he cares for him, too, which makes it all so bloody complicated.
Stubborn, hurting, angry Wesley, gifted with a second chance at life
and too damaged to be anything but suspicious and wary. Wesley with the
careful hands and eager mouth. Wesley who's so like him, and yet not,
that Giles is never quite sure, never quite certain --
Rival, lover, friend, but not in equal measure. Not any more.
"Which bit in particular?" he answers finally when Wesley's starting to
frown. "The part where she says she'll replace us?"
Wesley waves the bottle he's holding in a grandiose, dismissive gesture
and Giles wonders if the beer's chasing more than a cup of tea, which
is the last liquid he saw Wesley drink. He's wondered that before but
never been concerned enough to override his scruples and search
Wesley's room for hidden bottles.
"No. She can't; who else is good enough for her?"
There's an arrogant pride to that which Giles acknowledges with a
private smile. Good to see Wesley's got that much self-confidence, at
least. He's right, of course. There are half-a-dozen Watchers who'd be
only too glad to take on the senior Slayer; the last 'real' one, as he
knows she's thought of by many.
Capable, trained, sympathetic to what she's gone through -- and if they
took one step towards her, he'd bring the Council down in flames before
they took a second.
Well. Maybe not that. They're still recovering from the First's
depredations, after all, and there's a greater good to be considered
and -- no, dammit, they're not firing him twice. He contents himself
with a mild, 'true', following a thoughtful look, as if he were giving
it serious consideration when he wasn't and he won't.
"What, then?" Giles goes on. "The part where she hasn't been enjoying
Giles can't keep his grin from showing. Oh, she knows how to flick them
on the raw, doesn't she? Good girl, even if it is bloody painful being
on the receiving end. Wesley's flushed now, his fingers sliding
restlessly along the neck of the bottle, slipping in the beaded
Impossible not to remember those fingers on him, not to wish --
Resolutely and reluctantly, Giles forces his gaze upward and his cock
-- well, that can do what it wants. It usually does.
"Although, I have noticed that perhaps she hasn't
been entirely... focused?"
Liar, Giles thinks kindly. You didn't notice, any more than I did, and
she'll hate us for that, and who could blame her?
"What, then?" Giles asks.
But he knows, he knows...
"Faith isn't in love with me, if that's what you're worried about,
Wesley. She's never told me that she is, at least,, and knowing her, I
feel sure she would, as she'd get a good deal of enjoyment out of
watching my reaction."
Wesley finishes his beer. "I'm sure she would," he says dryly. "Giles,
never mind her for the moment. I came here looking for a fight that
first day and we both know it. You didn't let me start one and
sometimes I almost wish you had."
"Faith thinks a fight started the moment you walked in and it hasn't
stopped since," Giles points out. "I can't say that she's wrong." He
puts his glass down on the table beside him. "Is besting me really the
prime objective I think it is for you? Or am I --" He pulls a face
because it's so damn American, this. "Projecting my insecurities onto
"How the hell should I know?" Wesley asks, not unreasonably, standing
up and making his way to the small collection of bottles in a corner
cupboard. "I don't think that's what I'm trying to do. I just want to
make this work. And what the hell do you have to be insecure about
Giles reaches out as Wesley goes past and pulls Wesley down into his
lap in one strong, graceless yank. Wesley struggles, but mostly just to
get comfortable, lifting his legs over the arm of the chair and hooking
his arm around Giles' shoulders, and then turns a mildly astonished
face towards Giles.
"What are you doing?"
It's a good question. What is he doing? With
Wesley's arse snug against Giles' lap, his face close enough to kiss,
Giles supposes he could be forgiven for being momentarily distracted.
"She says we only get on when we're fucking," he says slowly, the arm
around Wesley's waist sliding up and taking Wesley's loose T-shirt with
it so that Giles' other hand has a bare, flat stomach to caress. "And I
think we both know that's not enough. No matter how often we do it."
"Quite often," Wesley says, his lips twitching in a smile. "But I take
your point. One can't always be --"
"Aroused?" Giles asks, letting his hand move down a little. "No. One
can't. I can't, certainly." He lets Wesley's T-shirt slide down and
lifts his hand to curve around Wesley's cheek. "But I can give you some
time, Wesley. Time when we're not fighting, not fucking, just being...
"I'm not sure this qualifies as friendly," Wesley says but he's not
moving away. "This isn't something I've ever done with a friend."
"Nor I," Giles admits ruefully. "Poor choice of words; I'm sorry."
Wesley's hand strokes slowly along the back of Giles' neck. "I've never
sat on anyone's knee past the age of nine or so, either" he says. "In
fact, thanks to my father's rather old-fashioned views on rods, the
sparing of, what you just did brought back some rather unpleasant
Giles bites back the urge to apologise. "Is that something you want to
talk about?" he asks cautiously. "And please don't feel obliged to stay
where you are." He tries a smile. "You're actually a little heavy, but
that's an observation, not a complaint."
"I really don't want to discuss my father's disciplinary methods at a
time like this. And I don't feel very at ease in this position, to be
honest," Wesley says. Giles releases him at once and waits, resting his
hands on the arm of the chair. Wesley sighs and stands up. "You could
have just kissed me," he says. "I might have changed my mind."
"I am not, contrary to what you and Faith think, a mind reader," Giles
says coldly. "I'm a man doing a job that's been complicated in a way I
never foresaw and floundering."
"Complicated by me?"
It's tempting to say 'yes' and to shift the blame onto Wesley's
shoulders and watch them sag and curve defencelessly inward. Wouldn't
be true though.
"Faith did that all by herself," Giles says. "And I've only myself to
blame for giving into her."
Wesley grins and perches on the arm of Giles' chair, his arm slipping
back around Giles' shoulders. "I don't feel inclined to blame you.
She's rather hard to push away."
"Try 'impossible'," Giles says with feeling. "She had my trousers
around my ankles while I was still telling myself that I had the
situation under control and we were making good progress in shaping a
relationship based on mutual respect and a certain, necessary distance."
Wesley snorts with laughter and Giles has to join in.
"So my swift seduction in the shower that day wasn't unexpected to you,
no matter how surprised I was?"
"Far from it," Giles assures him. "It's the way she does things and
it's remarkably effective for the most part, as I'm sure you'd vouch
"We're talking," Wesley says abruptly. "Is this what you wanted?"
It is, he supposes, but the slow, gentle stir of Wesley's fingers as
they push through his hair is even more pleasant. Without speaking, or
waiting for a reply, Wesley slides down onto Giles' lap again,
straddling him this time, something the wide, Victorian armchair makes
just about possible. His hands touch Giles first, curling into the
front of Giles' shirt and then relaxing and moving up to rest on Giles'
shoulders, kneading them gently.
Giles runs his hands slowly up Wesley's sides, feeling the heat from
his body strike through the thin, soft cotton, and then tilts his head
back as Wesley kisses him.
It's possible to kiss without becoming aroused, he discovers, or at
least not to the point where more than kissing is needed. He's
perfectly happy and content with the unhurried, almost chaste kisses
that Wesley's giving him; measured, deliberate, considered kisses, as
if Wesley's starting from the beginning, as if the tongue Wesley's
slowly drawing across Giles' lips has never done more than this, has
never been the cause of Giles making sounds he recalls afterwards with
a squirm because they're so very raw, pleading for more in a way that
strips him of dignity.
"I can't do this without you, Wesley," he says, not knowing if it's
entirely true, but knowing that it's what Wesley needs to hear and what
Faith wants. "How we've become -- the three of us -- it's working. It
was, at least. I'm willing to do whatever is needed to convince you
both that it's possible."
Wesley's mouth is warm against his. "No, you're not." His tongue
finally slips past Giles' parted lips and thrusts deep, fierce and
possessive. "You don't know what that is, so how can you? But you'll
need to be, I agree with you there."
He sits back, wincing slightly and rubbing at his legs which must feel
cramped by now. "And so will I."
"You've still got that propensity for being annoyingly literal, I see,"
Giles says mildly.
"Fine," Wesley says, standing up. "You said it was working; Faith said
she was close to loving us both. I agree. It was ... nice. But it
lasted a very short while, didn't it? And the idea of us being equal,
well, that was never going to work, in the training room, or the
bedroom. You can't relinquish control, Giles, and Faith doesn't respond
well to being bullied, however much she respects authority."
He turns away and then, after three steps towards the door, glances
back, his face closed-off as it was when he arrived. "And I won't be
bullied. Not any more. Not by you, or her, or anyone." His lips twist.
"You think you're being very magnanimous, don't you? Not taking the
obvious solution and telling me to leave?"
"Faith wouldn't like it," Giles says automatically.
"No. She's rather determined not to hurt me again, isn't she?" Wesley
looks at him thoughtfully. "I'm not sure she'd mind quite so much if
you left though."
Giles meets his gaze. "I don't intend to put that to the test. Leave
Faith with only you to guide her? No. And if we're to talk of
bullying..." He lets his words trail off.
"Helping her to find her limits --" Wesley begins, his lips set in an
"Oh, I think that could be very useful," Giles says evenly. "If the
person doing it wasn't crippled by self-doubt, insecurities and a
rather disturbing taste for violence."
"Which of us are we talking about?" Wesley asks.
It's a good line to exit on, even if it's accompanied by a sneer that
Giles can't help but feel is unnecessary, and this time Wesley closes
the door quietly.
It sounds like a joke, he thinks. 'How many second chances does it take
for you to realise that no matter where you are, and who you're with,
you'll spoil it?'
And he has, he's sure of that. Taken the warm, unstinting generosity of
two people with no reason to feel warmth towards him; guilt, yes, but
guilt's greasy and cold, acid-green and sour, never warm, never -- and
certainly no need of him when they have each other, and tossed it back
at them dismissively.
Perhaps he's just overwhelmed. Either of them would have been enough;
both of them is -- was --
More than he deserved.
Oh God, he's back there again, is he?
He turns and settles down with no real hope that this time he's found
the perfect position in which to fall asleep within moments. That
position exists, he knows it does. It's not even a position, as much as
a single condition; Giles and Faith within reach.
Faith's usually in the middle, which, as she's the one who gets up to
pee most, makes no sense, but somehow neither of them complain when she
climbs over them, dragging the sheets down, paying toll with a sleepy
kiss if they stir. Wesley always does, feeling the press of her lips on
whatever part of him was closest linger until she returns and it's
Giles' turn to be disturbed. She's fair in that, at least.
Once they fell asleep with him between the warm wriggle of Faith and
the solid safety of Giles and he woke to find Giles' arm around him and
Faith's head tucked into the crook of his own arm. He'd held still,
muscles craving movement and being sternly denied, feeling utterly
happy, until they both woke and stirred, and even though the sex that
followed had them all exchanging smiles for the rest of the morning,
those few moments where he was safe in Giles' arms and cradling Faith
were what he remembered.
Wonderful. It's three in the morning, he's tired, hungover, and has
somehow managed to drive Faith to the point of issuing an ultimatum --
never a good idea to push her that far -- and Giles -- doesn't want him
Those kisses... and Giles had just sat there, when
Wesley had wanted, oh God, what had he wanted? What had Giles expected
would happen when he pulled Wesley down to his knee like that? Faith
loves curling up against Giles. Wesley found them both asleep in that
chair once, their heads touching, Faith's hand lost inside Giles'
sweater, his arms around her in a protective circle.
The chair wasn't big enough for three, but he hadn't minded, really he
The idea of him in Faith's place is ridiculous, though, and he doesn't
know what Giles had been thinking of.
Really, the man's got to see that the current situation's untenable.
Two Watchers, one Slayer? It had been a failure the first time and it
was doomed the second. Giles isn't going to step aside even a little to
make room for him and Wesley's waited long enough for a place of his
Oh God, he doesn't want to be here, alone in this room, with only the
bitter consolation of knowing that the other two are as unhappy as he.
Is that what he's been reduced to? Is that what he's done to them?
Spoiled it for them, as much as for him? When he arrived they were so
He's reached maudlin. Time to get up and get a drink of something that
doesn't leave him drunker. He's wearing a T-shirt and shorts which
makes it a simple matter of standing and walking out -- naked is for
the three of them, when Faith doesn't give them any choice. He's been
told how she waited for Giles to leave one morning and then went
through his wardrobe and got rid of his pajamas.
And then lain on the bed, bare from the waist down, reading a comic and
kicking her feet idly, waiting for the spanking that Giles had
delivered with rather more vim than usual.
Wesley can admit to the silent darkness that he'd have rather liked to
have seen that one.
Giles is such an odd combination of ruthless and indulgent when it
comes to Faith. It puzzles Wesley which, these days, is a synonym for
'irritates'. He'll give into a dozen whims and still train her until
her hand shakes as she reaches for a towel to blot the sweat from her
face or flip her over his knee unceremoniously and administer a series
of stinging slaps if she's cheeky or disobedient. Oddly, when it's done
like that, as far as Wesley can see, it rarely arouses either of them,
although at other times it's all it takes for Giles to get hard and
fuck her until she's writhing under him, sensuous and smiling gleefully.
Wesley can whisper to the waiting night that it always gets him hard.
He can't imagine Giles ever doing it to Buffy but he knows just why
Faith likes it; the simplicity of the swift, expected consequence and
the unspoken agreement that once given whatever she's done is past,
forgiven and forgotten -- well, Wesley can certainly see the appeal of
And if Giles tries it with him, he'll break his bloody arm.
He pushes open the bedroom door and sees that there's a faint light
coming from the front room.
He's still just drunk enough to welcome the idea of a fight. Brooding
and trying, unsuccessfully, to jerk off between sheets that don't smell
right because they were washed before he arrived and Faith's swapped
her detergent allegiance since then, haven't sent him to sleep; perhaps
he just needs to be deprived of any hope that he'll ever again sleep
and wake between people who look up and smile when he walks into the
Giles is still in the chair but he's asleep, the dim light falling over
his face, creating mystery from shadows, each crease in the skin
blurred to a deceptive smoothness. Wesley drags over the ottoman trying
not to think of the last time they fucked Faith over it because he's
about to wake Giles up and he doesn't want to do it with a vacant,
blissful look on his face. He's peeled sweat-damp skin off it himself a
time or two, if it comes to that; it's the perfect height for Giles no
matter who's draped over it, fingers clutching at leather, legs forced
He hasn't fucked Giles yet, although Giles has made it clear that he
can if he likes.
All he has to do is ask.
Sod that for a game of soldiers.
He knows that Giles is awake even before he sits down on the ottoman,
his knees brushing against Giles' but he only gets to stare into sleepy
green eyes when he asks, "When you masturbate, which of us do you think
Giles yawns and scrubs irritably at his face. "I'm flattered you think
I've sufficient energy to do that these days. Neither of you; why would
I fantasise about what I already have?"
Somehow, that's never occurred to him. His own hand slips and grips
with a background of the two of them to urge him on. He's climaxed
recalling the heavy, weighted curve of Faith's breast against his face
as he blindly seeks the impudent point of her nipple with his tongue,
been thrust over the edge by a memory that doesn't exist of Giles
beneath him, head down as he pants and rides out each stroke Wesley
gives him, from hand or cock...
He can't decide if he's insulted, or not.
Giles sighs and glances at his watch. "Why are we having this
particular conversation now? It's very late."
"Couldn't sleep." Hopefully that, although brief, will be sufficient
and he won't have to confess to tangled sheets that don't smell right
and an ache of need for this man and the bitch-darling girl who's
banished them both.
There's a flicker of sympathy in Giles' eyes. "I wasn't either, not
"You were giving a convincing imitation," Wesley tells him. They share
a grin and he's trying very hard to remember that they're supposed to
be fighting. Of course, Giles doesn't know that. Giles still thinks
Wesley cares which of them Faith glances at first when she's at a loss,
or kisses first in the morning.
It'd be so simple if that was all there was at the heart of this; a
straightforward fight for first place in Faith's life. But it isn't,
because that was never what he wanted, not from the first hiss of water
against his skin as their hands pulled him under, took him in.
He wants to belong but not out of pity, not out of guilt. He doesn't
give a fuck if Faith tortured him and Giles ignored him, belittled him
and undermined him. They're past that. He's died since then, for God's
He looks at Giles and sees what Faith saw. Sees the waiting refuge,
sees the strength. He crawls into Giles' lap and kisses him with his
eyes closed so that he doesn't have to see the weariness.
This time Wesley isn't struggling and Giles' arms tighten around him,
returning a kiss that tastes of desperation and trying, through a haze
of fatigue, to work out what to say. In the end he settles for, "I wish
you'd tell me what you want. I'd give it to you, you know. If I could.
I don't like seeing you like this, Wesley."
"I want -- to not have to say it."
"I'm afraid you have to."
It's the voice Giles uses when Faith's pouting, and not just because
she knows how very pretty she looks when she does it. It's inflexible,
stern, and a little cold, and he supposes it works because he genuinely
feels annoyed with her when she's like that. He's not precisely annoyed
with Wesley but he does wish that the man would stop fighting an enemy
that's lying dead at his feet.
Wesley's silent, his breath uneven and his fingers curled around Giles'
in a painful grip. With him this close, Giles can't pretend he doesn't
know how terrified Wesley is and it makes his resolve falter.
"Right. Let me guess then, and please do stop me if I get it right."
There's a faint smile on Wesley's face as he murmurs, "Twenty
questions?" He shifts a little against Giles. "Put out the light?"
It's not until Giles' hand is on the switch of the lamp beside them
that he remembers where he knows those words from.
"'Put out the light, and then put out the light'," he quotes slowly.
"Othello before he kills Desdemona for being unfaithful, as he thinks."
Wesley shakes his head at once. "I'm not jealous of you, or her, if
that's what you mean."
"Really? I am of you, a little," Giles says evenly. "You know Faith
better than I ever will. You've seen her at her best and at her worst.
You compel those extremes in her and I'm -- left feeling rather like
bread and butter. Boring and bland."
There's a startled jerk and Wesley's face, vague in the near-darkness
of the room, turns to him. "You really can't expect me to believe that."
"It's late, it's dark and I'm too tired to lie," Giles says, yawning
just to prove it. "And too old to care much that you look better in
leather and stubble than I ever will again. I said I was a little
jealous, that's all. I can live with it." He draws his hand down the
side of Wesley's face, finding the line where smooth skin ends and
enjoying the scuff of roughness against his fingertips. "You can't want
my job," he says thoughtfully. "It's yours already. On the Council
payroll we're listed as equals and our salary, such as it is, is
identical. I have no more authority than you but you do seem to feel
that I have and act accordingly. There's really no need, you know. We
went through the same training; you've probably killed more demons than
I have by now, and you know Faith well enough to deal with her no
matter how temperamental she gets."
"She listens to you," Wesley says ruefully. "She fights me. Every step
of the way."
"She enjoys it and so do you," Giles says peaceably, trying to stop his
eyes from closing. Holding Wesley like this is astonishingly relaxing
given what they're discussing. He slips his hand behind Wesley's neck
and kisses him dreamily, drowsily, just because he's there. "God, I
love you," he says suddenly, not caring that he'd promised he wouldn't
say that to either of them because it wasn't fair. "Wesley, this isn't
going to last long; we both know that. When Faith -- well, I can't see
what we have surviving her death. We'll be too busy blaming ourselves
and each other to --"
"Morbid, much?" Wesley asks dryly.
Giles pokes him peevishly in the ribs. "Speak English."
Wesley chuckles. "You know what I mean. Why am I suddenly the
optimistic one?" He leans his forehead against Giles'. "You can't say
you love me and in the same breath tell me you'll be a distant dot on
the horizon at a time when we'll need each other most. The two don't go
"Why would you want to be with me when Faith isn't around?" Giles asks.
"Because I --" Wesley pauses and moves back a little. "Even in the dark
this isn't easy to say."
"Englishmen shouldn't fall in love," Giles says moodily. "We're
hopeless at articulating it."
Wesley goes very still. "You think that I'm in love with you?" he
asked. "I'm not -- I didn't say that!"
"You haven't said that you're not," Giles points out, refusing to let
himself feel hurt. "And your actions do tend to indicate it, but if I'm
mistaken then I do apologise."
"I don't know what I am," Wesley says. "Besides unhappy."
"We're back where we started," Giles says. "Why are you unhappy? Tell
me one thing -- anything -- that's making you feel that way. It doesn't
have to be deeply significant. Just -- tell me."
"You squeeze the toothpaste from the middle."
"I do? Well, I don't think that I can stop something that ingrained,
but I'm sure the household budget could stretch to separate tubes of
toothpaste. Another one?"
Wesley takes a shallow breath. "I want -- I need to fuck you, Giles.
It's not part of some power struggle between us, it's not to prove a
point. I just want to."
"Then why haven't you?" Giles asks him gently. "I've given you plenty
of chances, but you never seemed --"
"I don't want to be given anything!" Wesley snaps,
his hands coming up to rest, hot and shaking against Giles' face. "I
just want to fuck you, Giles. I want you there,
mine, I want to feel you come the way I feel Faith. I want to bloody
well fuck you until you stop --"
"Stop what?" Giles asks when Wesley's voice trails away. "Wesley --"
"Stop being so in control," Wesley whispers. "I want to break you,
Giles. I want to see you lost and unsure, I want to hear you beg and I
want to see you cry."
"You don't have to fuck me to get that," Giles whispers back. "Just
tell me you're leaving and you'll see me broken."
Wesley shakes his head, his hands heavy on Giles' shoulders. "I haven't
finished," he says. "I want to do that to you because then we'll be
equal. Then we'll be the same. Faith knows. She's done it. You're too
strong. Too fucking strong and I love you, yes, you're right, I do, but
I love her more because I've seen her break and I'm not sure you can."
"You really don't know me, do you?" Giles says wonderingly. "Not break?
Strong and in control? You see me like that and you're seeing what you
want to see, not the truth. I do what I have to but don't ever think
it's easy. And don't ever think you and Faith aren't equally capable of
that, because you are." He feels indignation rise. "You want to fuck
me? Fuck me. Get off my bloody knee, take me into our bedroom, tell
Faith to stop sulking and move over and then do whatever the hell you
want to do to me." He smacks his hand against Wesley's chest, rocking
him back. "Just don't dress it up in melodrama and don't make more of
it than it is."
Wesley gets up, leaving Giles shivering with the loss of his warmth
until Wesley's hand slips into his and pulls him up into a kiss.
Wesley's mouth is hard against his and Giles doesn't hold back his
response to that, which is why, when they step apart, breathing heavily
and head towards their room, Wesley's tongue is licking his lower lip
reflexively to soothe the sting.
Faith's awake and the air feels disturbed somehow as if someone's run
through it recently. Giles knows damn well she was listening at the
door and wonders how much she heard.
"Told you two to get the hell out," she says, snapping on the bedside
light and glaring at them.
"And we did," Wesley says, peeling his T-shirt off. "Weren't we good?
Now we're back."
Faith transfers her narrow-eyed stare to Giles who shrugs and follows
Wesley's example and begins to undress. "It's proving difficult to
sleep apart, Faith, and not particularly useful either."
"Bed feels big," she admits. Her glare intensifies. "You going to tell
me you love me any time soon?" she asks Giles. Her head turns. "And
what about you? Want to fuck my ass, too, Wes?"
Wesley smiles. "I'd love to," he says with more composure than Giles is
feeling. "But you'll have to wait your turn."
She nods, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. You want to do Giles first. I get
that." She tilts her head and grins at them both. "Want his ass rare,
medium, or well-done?"
"I'm sorry?" Giles says, feeling a stirring of unease. "I don't quite
"Yeah, you do, Giles. We're teaming up to make you whimper. Sounds like
a plan to me." She studies her hand. "Ever been spanked by a woman,
"Once. It tickled," he says, wishing he wasn't naked because with his
cock jerking to attention at her words it really doesn't matter how
calmly defiant he sounds; he's fooling no one.
Faith wriggles out of the sheets and kneels on the bed, spreading her
thighs. She's quite clearly wet. "I haven't forgotten what you did to
me that time I tickled you, Giles. No tickling. Swear." She brings her
hands together with a sharp crack and Wesley's breath catches on a
groan that tells Giles he's on Faith's side, as if there was ever any
doubt. "Just whimpering."
It's not easy. However much he might want this -- and he wants them
together again enough that he'd do this even if he didn't -- it's not
easy to walk to the bed with some attempt at dignity and lie down on
his stomach, legs apart slightly and his face burning.
"Going to tell me before I start?" Faith asks.
"No," Giles says, folding his arms and burying his head in them. The
bed creaks as Wesley joins them and he flinches as Wesley's hand trails
down his back and comes to rest, warmly possessive against his
backside. He can't help tensing, just a little.
"Move your hand, Wes," Faith says.
Giles rolls to his back and stares up at them both. "Before you start
"Yeah, Giles," Faith says softly, leaning down. "No problem. And we'll
kiss it better afterwards, too."
Her lips are gentle against his and her hair falls across his face as
she turns to kiss Wesley.
Faith stares at her hand and then prods the reddened, swollen palm.
It's throbbing, beating in time with the pulse between her legs. She's
slippery down there, messy and hot, but when she drags her hand through
the sticky slickness, just for an instant her hand feels cooler. Then
the heat from her cunt strikes up and her hand burns again, twice as
She whimpers, and she's not sure why. Maybe it's the thrum from her
clit after the heel of her hand rubs against it. Maybe it's the flare
of lust, uncompromising and so very fucking serious in Wesley's eyes as
he watches her bring her hand to her mouth and lick at it, short little
flicks of her tongue as she tries to catch her breath and blow the skin
cool, with her juices coating it, clinging and rich.
Maybe it's because, out of the corner of her eye, she can see Giles and
what she's done to him.
With a soft moan, she twists around and runs her damp hand over the
skin she's marked and bruised, bringing it to her mouth over and over,
long, wet swipes of her tongue now, drawing her palm over Giles' ass
and breathing on it.
She's hearing the sounds he makes but she's not listening, not while
they're still sounds, not words. With a frantic moan that barely makes
it past her lips, she puts both hands on him and bends over, kissing
the hurt better, licking and blowing and kissing, and --
"Faith." Wesley's hands cover hers, brown against the pale skin of
Giles' back, carefully avoiding the flushed, mottled-scarlet skin
below. "He's all right."
She gazes at him. "No! I hurt him. I hurt him and I
didn't mean to, I just --"
"Enjoyed it a little too much to stop?"
It's too laboured and hoarse to sound much like Giles, but it's words
that aren't 'please' and 'Faith' and 'stop', panted out when he's too
short of breath to cry them out and that's good enough for her.
"Giles! Fuck, Giles, I'm sorry --"
He rolls over, which has to hurt, but when she sees the state he's in,
she knows why he's done it. He's hard, cock quivering and rigid, as
messed-up and slicked-up as she is.
"It's fine, Faith," he says. "You didn't do more than I wanted you to,
I promise." His gaze goes to Wesley. "Would you have stopped her?"
Wesley reaches out for Faith's hand and Faith feels his fingers stroke
her palm and watches his cock -- as hard as Giles' -- jerk as he feels
the rough, hot skin. "I don't know. Yes. If I'd thought it was too much
"I thought you wanted it to be too much. Wanted to break me."
There's enough challenge there to wipe away Faith's guilt. Still Giles.
She's glad about that. She's not sure what Wesley wants, not really,
but she's not going to be the one who hurts either of them, not again.
Doesn't mean she didn't enjoy what she just did though, at least while
she was doing it. Doesn't mean she's not thinking, just a little, what
it would be like to have Wesley stretched out and
there for her, waiting for her hand to come down and
strike, again and again. She pictures him over Giles' knee, pictures
him tied, long arms, long legs, spread-eagled and waiting, and swallows.
She'd feel guilty about her thoughts if she hadn't seen Wesley's face
as she spanked Giles and seen how he'd got off on it, tongue passing
over his parted lips, eyes wide, his hand dropping to his cock,
fondling it absently as he watched, too lightly to do more than tease
himself, smiling when Giles begged.
Wesley isn't always all that nice.
Giles and Faith don't give a fuck.
"No," Wesley says softly. "I wanted to break you."
Giles arches an eyebrow, as if to ask how, and she sees the slight
trace of panic flash over Wesley's face, banished when Giles glances
down at his cock and then brings his hand to it, stroking his
fingertips along it and shuddering. Wesley grabs his wrist and slams it
against the bed. "I don't think so, Giles."
Faith sits back on her heels and lets Giles carry on orchestrating his
own downfall without protest. Wesley might be able to get Giles so
desperate to come that he's ready to beg -- and, yeah, now she thinks
about it, it'd do him good, same as it does her good to have Wes and
Giles beat her now and then when they train. Everyone needs to lose
once in a while. Everyone needs to see life from that side of the fence
and to admit that they're not always the strongest.
It's why she lets Giles punish her and it's why he let her do it to him.
Which is a good start, but not enough, so she hopes Wesley realises
that Giles is still the one in charge and does something to change
that, or Giles is going to fall asleep with a smug smile, not a happy
one, and that won't do it for him or Wes.
"Wes?" she asks nudging him with her foot because he's staring at Giles
like he can't see anything but Giles and it's
pissing her off. "He's a Watcher. Make him watch."
He turns blind, blank eyes on her. "Watch what?"
She holds back a sigh, but the eye roll is involuntary. "Us, Wes, us."
It still takes one, two, three seconds to click and maybe she's still
the best at torture because she just knows Wes hadn't thought past
fucking Giles and stopping at the crucial moment, which would've been
cutting off his own nose and all that shit.
This way Wes can come as much as he wants, and so can she, thank
fucking Christ, and because Giles has shared a lot more with her in the
darkness than his body, she knows just how to do this.
It's going to bring back one or two memories for Wes as well, but you
know what, she's still mad as hell that they've been acting the way
they have and she doesn't care.
Giles starts to struggle as his hands are pulled behind him and tied,
really doesn't look happy as his ankles are lashed
to the chair legs and when Faith straddles his lap and kisses him, wet
and hot, with his cock pressed against her belly, he turns his face
Wesley's fingers thread through Giles' hair, mother-gentle, and then
his hands clamp down and hold Giles' head in place so that Faith can
kiss ruler-straight lips until they yield to her whispered words as
much as the kisses, words that don't make much sense, because she's
telling him it's going to be all right, and she's talking about a time
that for Giles might as well be a hundred years away, because he wants
to come now and he's not going to get to do that.
And the hard chair seat must be hell on his ass.
They put the chair at the end of the bed and they fuck while Giles
watches them, unable to look away, although he tries. Faith couldn't
not watch if it was Giles and Wes. Just couldn't. When they fuck, it's
hard and sweaty and real and she's captivated, enraptured and caught.
It's no different for Giles.
She slides down on Wesley's cock, her back turned to him, leaning
forward and slipping her hands down until they grip Wesley's ankles,
giving him a nice view of her ass, and giving Giles a pouting, melting
smile and a blown kiss. The chair's close enough to the end of the bed
that she can see the throb of blood in Giles' cock, watch it darken and
twitch as she moans and sits back, riding Wesley and feeling him slam
up into her.
He stops and she lies back on his chest, kicking her legs out straight.
It's awkward, and it's more by luck than anything else that Wesley's
cock's still in her when she's settled, head turned for his kisses,
Wesley's hand fumbling for her clit and finding it for a few moments
before slipping down to trace around her hole, and what's filling it,
Giles is staring at them, eyes angry, chest heaving up and down with
quick, shallow breaths.
But this isn't quite right still. It's three of them in this, after
all, not two, and she wriggles off Wes and crawls to the bottom of the
"What are you doing?" Wesley asks.
"Come here," she tells him. "We're leaving Giles out, and that's not
Wesley joins her and they start to touch Giles, kissing him -- and it's
Wesley who can't stop once he starts, who cups Giles' head in his
hands, making guttural, hoarse sounds as he pushes his tongue deep, and
if she didn't know better, she'd say it was Wesley who looks the most
imploring, not Giles, who's kissing him back with surprising gentleness.
Faith's kisses her way down Giles' body, chest and arms, then gets off
the bed and goes around to kneel behind the chair. Her fingers touch
the clenched, bound fists until they slacken into curved hands again,
with fingers she can lick and suck.
She gets a sound from Giles with that and smiles.
Back on the bed, after one long look at Wesley, who's just fucking
going to town here, as if he's never had the chance to kiss Giles,
which just isn't true, his hands all over him, his mouth open and
hungry, she goes right for first prize.
Giles, over her protests that she's been doing this for
years, has taught her a lot about sucking cock. Or
maybe he's just shown her how he likes it, but Wesley never complains
so perhaps there's a universally approved way or something.
The state he's in now, she could have a mouthful of come in about
thirty seconds if she went all out, but that's not the plan. So while
Wesley's being about as subtle as a smack in the face, she takes her
time, although it's killing her because she loves feeling their cocks
fill her, mouth or cunt, and Giles smells good, dammit, smells sexy,
and she wants to taste him and swallow around him and instead she's
working her way around the head of his cock, little pointed-tongue
licks, hummingbird fast, cleaning him up and getting nowhere, because
the more she does it, the wetter he gets.
He's not the only one.
She turns her head and sees, with a gasp of outrage, that Wesley's got
one hand on his dick and is this close to coming,
the tip of his cock bumping and rubbing over Giles' stomach.
"No fucking way, Wes," she hisses, tugging on his shoulder. "Not like
He tears his mouth off Giles' and they both look at her as if they've
forgotten how to speak and are astonished that she can.
"Going to let you take a rest now, Giles," she says. "Back to watching
She grabs a pillow and places it at the end of the bed, level with
Giles' spread knees. Then she lies down with her head on it and Wesley
straddles her, bracing his hands on Giles' shoulders, and his cock
pushes into her waiting mouth. Must be quite a view for Giles, but as
Wesley's fucking back to kissing him again, he's missing it.
She takes a certain pleasure in biting down on Wesley's cock -- not
hard, not really -- and reaching over her head to grab at Giles', the
angle too awkward for her to do much more than brush over his balls,
but enough to remind them that she's there.
And Wes finally gets to talking, intense and low, making Giles answer
him, making him talk.
"Do you wish you were free, Giles? Wish it was your cock fucking
Faith's mouth, your hands on me?"
"Yes," Giles says. "You know I do."
"Tell us," Wesley demands. "Tell us that you want us."
His cock slips free of Faith's mouth and he slides down and
starts to fuck Faith as if he can't help it, panting and flushed, his
eyes closed, each thrust sparking shivers and chills because she's so
"How can you not know it?" Giles says tensely. "How can you kiss me and
live with me and fuck me and spend hour after hour with me and not know
that I love you both? What the hell am I doing wrong that you have to
ask, that we're doing this?"
Wesley stops and shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits, sounding
defeated as he moves off Faith. "I just know that it's not enough. I
"Will you make me fucking come and then talk?" Faith screams. Her
body's aching and jangling with frustration. "Fuck, Wes..."
"Poor Faith," Giles says without an ounce of sarcasm and she wants to
sob with gratitude, because Giles knows her, knows she's not good at
waiting and if self-denial had a face, she's punch it bloody. "Wesley's
holding back -- and making you suffer terribly -- because he wants to
fuck me, don't you, Wesley? And although I'm sure he's quite capable of
coming twice, he's not sure how long he can keep me like this."
There's a trace of amusement in Giles' voice as he goads Wesley and it
has Faith's eyes narrowing. He's supposed to be all on edge and he's
the calmest of them all.
She scrambles up and stands with her legs spread wide, brushing his
face with her tits until he gets the message and begins to suck at a
nipple, teasing it with his teeth. She wraps her hand around his cock
and lowers herself onto it slowly, inch by fucking inch.
Slayer. Leg muscles to die for. She could take ten minutes doing this
and she wouldn't even be trembling at the end, but she's a Slayer who's
in a hurry, so as Giles gasps and her tit slips free of his mouth, she
slams down on his waiting cock, riding him hard, taking what she needs
and feeling Wesley's hands on her as she does it, warm on her back and
then sliding between her legs to the pooled wetness there.
His slick finger jabs up into her ass and she comes, crying out and
sobbing, hearing them whisper her name, feeling her body shake and
clutch and shatter.
She collapses against Giles and she's not sure what she's saying but
Wesley moves to untie Giles and he's still hard inside her, but she
doesn't care about that; she just wants his arms around her and
she gets that the instant that he's free.
"Shh, Faith, shh." Giles sounds a little concerned and he's trying to
push her back so that he can see her face.
She shakes her head and squirms closer to Giles, breathing in his
scent, the tickle of hair on his chest familiar and as reassuring as
the steady thump of his heart.
"Faith, you need to let us --"
Wesley sounds apologetic and she's dimly surprised at that because
Wesley never says sorry and makes it sound good.
Then Giles makes this soft, needy sound and she remembers how she felt
a few minutes ago and sighs, turning to kiss Wesley who's white-faced
and looking as far from being together-guy as you can get.
She doesn't know what she expects when they fuck. Not for it to take
long, not after all this build-up. Not for it to be anything like the
miracle Wes seems to think that it will be.
And maybe it isn't, but it's close enough. Giles moves to the bed and
kneels on it, looking at Wesley and waiting. There's no patience in his
eyes, and that's not what Wesley needs anyway. He needs want and
desperation and love and that's pouring off Giles now.
Faith gets the lube and tosses it to Wesley who catches it deftly and
does what needs to be done to himself, biting down on his lip.
"Please, Wesley," Giles says, and there's nothing fake about it. "Fuck
Wesley puts his arms around Giles and kisses him again, pushing him
back without breaking the kiss, slicking him up and still not stopping,
his mouth on Giles' the whole time. By the time he's inside Giles,
fucking him with slow, steady strokes, Faith's crying and she's not the
Giles comes, his hand stretched out, groping for Faith's. She gives him
the one that's still throbbing and hangs on as his climax robs him of
speech and sense of self.
Then they watch Wesley come and hold him and kiss him and tell him that
they love him.
And just as they're falling asleep, with Wesley between them, Giles
reaches across and takes Faith's hand.
"Going to tell me now?" she whispers, in the last moments before sleep
"Again?" he asks and that doesn't make sense, because he's never told
her. She'd have remembered. "Oh, very well. I love you, Faith."
Wesley mumbles something and his arm tightens around her.
It feels different sleeping on the edge of the bed but Faith doesn't
It's safer this way.
Return to Home
Click here if you'd like to send