Faith jerks in shock, her muscles clenching, and what happens next is inevitable. Despite Giles' disapproving "tsk tsk", surely not because of it, Wesley's hands tighten on her hips, initially as a prelude to pulling her off him, but actually to hold her still as his come spurts inside her. She quivers and he knows that she's coming too, tugging him against her to hide her heaving breasts from Giles.

"Get the fuck out!" she shrieks. "Fucking pervert."

"I would have phoned first but -- " Giles trails off and Wes knows that the bastard is smirking at the spectacle of him sitting there with his bare arse on display, his naked Slayer still quivering around his spent cock, juices pooling out of her.

"You fucking -- " she starts again furiously and he smoothes one hand down Faith's back as she shakes with either anger or the after effect of her orgasm, or a heady combination of both.

"Giles -- " He swallows because he sounds too angry and he's not going to play it like that although the bastard deserves it. "Giles, could you please give Faith and me some privacy and go into the kitchen while we, er, dress?"

There's no way that he's actually going to suffer the indignity of swivelling his head to glare at Giles, but he can see from Faith's flaring nostrils and the white outline of her tightened lips that he's still looking at them --; at her.

"Get the fuck out," she repeats in a bitten-off, frosty voice that he's never heard from her before.

"I'll give you five minutes to freshen up and then we'll talk. Or rather I'll talk and you'll listen," Giles says smoothly. "I'm sure you'll both have explanations but I think the events rather speak for themselves, don't you?"

And finally Wesley hears Giles walking across the creaking floorboard in the direction of the kitchen. Faith sags in his arms, before hauling herself off him.

"Upstairs," she hisses urgently, pointing at the closed door.

It might feel like a retreat but it's certainly the better part of valour when his trousers are at half-mast and he nods, and they scramble upstairs without dressing, exchanging glances in silence; meaningful, indignant -- oh, sod it, it's no use.

Wesley collapses against a wall in the bathroom, his shoulders heaving with laughter as Faith swipes between her legs, cleaning up with vigorous, furious energy and transferring her glares to him.

"Not funny, Wes," she hisses.

"Oh, but it is," he manages to gasp out. "It's hilarious. His face --"

She walks over to him with a wet flannel in her hand, cold water dripping all over the floor. Before he can stop her, she's applying it to his cock, which shock and his climax have rendered insignificant.

"That's cold!"

He reaches for a towel and dries off, sobered by the hurt in her eyes. "Faith, I'm sorry," he says. "Unforgivable of me, I know, it's just --"

"He's here to take me away and you're laughing," she says dully. "Big joke, right?"

He fastens his jeans and pulls her to him, feeling her hair tickle his bare chest. "You know damn well that wasn't why I was laughing. It was a shock and I regressed to a guilty teenager for a moment for which I do apologise, but Faith, you can't think for a moment that I'm going to allow that to happen. Now let's get some clothes on and go and talk to him."

"Your gun," she whispers. "Get your gun, Wesley."

"My gun?" he echoes, trying to work out the ramifications of her request; how far she wants him to take it, because he's not sure he'll be able to say no.

"Just to scare him," she clarifies and there's more hurt burgeoning on her face that he might have thought otherwise. "Like we could get him in the car at gunpoint and drive him into the middle of nowhere - well some place that's even more nowhere than here and then push him out and we can get the fuck out of Dodge."

As plans go it's not completely without merit. Even though he has no idea where Dodge will be if he can't get them false passports. "Go and put some clothes on," he says gently and because she's still looking at him warily, like he's a joke without a punchline, he slides his hand around the back of her neck and pulls her to him. "It will be all right," he murmurs against her lips, stealing a kiss that she's still happy to give. "I promise."

"Don't make promises like that," she warns him. "Don't get my hopes up, OK?"

She walks out of the bathroom without a backwards glance and he wishes that he and Faith could just re-create their Stockton breakout using the frosted glass window in front of him.

He doesn't know what Giles was thinking coming here. What he thought he could achieve but he won't have to wait long to find out. And then he thinks of Giles seeing them fuck. Watching Faith grinding on top of him, and it makes him feel hot and cold in equal measure. A flush staining his face again so he has to splash it with water. Then he hears Faith step out on to the landing and he's out of the door so that as they go downstairs to where Giles is waiting for them, sitting in the exact bloody spot where they were shagging, his hand is on Faith's shoulder and they're united. They're together.

Giles lifts up his head and tries out a cold smile that doesn't accessorise with the heavy shadows ringing his red-rimmed eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he lifts the tumbler with a healthy measure of Wesley's whisky in it. "Thank you for such a fervent welcoming committee," he says dryly.

"What did you bloody well expect?" Wesley demands. "Not exactly the best timing in the world, was it?"

"Sorry," Giles says, not even trying to make it sound sincere. His gaze goes from Wesley to Faith and back again. "I'm glad to see that you two are getting on so well these days." The words might be innocuous but the tone makes them an insult and Wesley feels Faith stiffen under his hand.

"United in adversity," he tells Giles lightly. "And as you're the principal source of the adversity, we've you to thank, I suppose."

He moves towards a chair, taking Faith with him, and when she's sitting in it, tense and upright, her lips set in an angry, mutinous line, he perches on the arm beside her.

"I don't think any of my actions have been prompted by a wish to make you grateful to me," Giles says, taking a sip from his drink.

"That's good, because we're not!" Faith snarls. Wesley strokes her hair but she shrugs him off and leans forward, looking as if she's a breath away from attack. "Stop fucking with us, Giles. What are you here to do? Arrest me? Are there cops outside? Are there?"

Giles winces as her voice gets strident and shakes his head. "No. Just me."

"And Buffy's pulling your strings long-distance, is she?" Faith says scornfully. "Trusts her little lap-dog to fetch her a bone all by himself?"

Giles flinches exquisitely at Faith's well-placed barb. Just the tiniest shudder that anyone else but Wesley would miss. But he notes it and the strained corners of the bland smile Giles gives her. "If you're trying to get me on side, Faith, so you can plead your case, then I have to say you're failing miserably."

"Fu -- "

Wesley knows what's coming and his hand tightens on her shoulder hard enough to make even her wince. She shuts her mouth with an aggravated little huff.

"Faith does have a point, Rupert. Where is the redoubtable Miss Summers?"

Giles shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, the soft glow of the lamp hitting the lines on his face; more of them than there used to be. He looks old, thinks Wesley. Not just tired from the agonies of battle, but creased and careworn. "Buffy --  she's decided to return to the States --  after we er, decided that she could be effective in a -- "

He rambles on for long, agonising minutes and from the softening of her features Wes can tell that Faith's reading between the lines too. Giles has lost his Slayer to a pair of ghosts and Wesley's anger and resentment melt away and he's left helpless as to what to say. What he can do.

" --  so she's gone because Faith's disgraceful, melodramatic escape really was the last straw -- "

"No, it wasn't," Faith says softly, getting up in one graceful stretch because she's crossed her sitting still threshold. "It so wasn't, Giles, and you know it."

"Buffy's gone and it's all your fault," Giles insists, holding the glass up to the pair of them in a mocking salute. "Bravo, Faith, you finally got what you wanted."

"That's hardly fair," Wesley protests but she shakes her head and keeps looking at Giles with an expression that he can't decipher.

"Whatever, y'know," she comments obliquely. "Man, Giles, you look like shit. At least come and eat something before you try to haul my not sorry ass back to prison."

"Eat?" Giles says blankly as if it's something he's never heard of, some strange new craze dreamed up by teenagers with too much time on their hands.

"Yeah," Faith says. "Eat. Take that whisky off him, Wes and I'll see if we left anything in the fridge."

She leaves and Giles gives him a defiant look and tosses back what's left in his glass before Wesley can assure him that he has no intention of depriving him of what comfort there is in a smoky single malt. Not much, not really, but some, perhaps.

"Why are you here?" Wesley says, crossing the room and sitting on the couch, close enough to be able to see that Giles didn't shave with his usual care and to find the fleck of brown in one of his green eyes. "Is it because with Buffy gone you need Faith back on duty? Because she will, you know. She's not rebelling, Giles; she was frightened." He feels his anger rise. "By you. By Buffy. By what you had planned."

"I know," Giles says, setting the glass aside on the table. It clinks because his hand is shaking slightly but his voice is steady enough. "And, no, that isn't why I'm here, although that's good news, certainly."

Wesley thinks that through. "Good news? So I take it that ludicrous notion of imprisonment has been laid to rest?"

There's a shrug from Giles that says enough without his muttered, "Of course it bloody has."

"Then why --"

Giles rounds on him, his face contorted, eyes blazing. "I was worried about you, you fool! Both of you. D'you really think I'd let you go and not find you? Not make sure that you were all right when it was down to me that you left?"

"Guilt." Wesley says flatly. "I see."

Giles breathes unevenly, his mouth a tight line. "Not entirely, but if that's how you choose to read it, I won't argue."

The man is absolutely infuriating. "It's late, Rupert. I'm neither in the mood for riddles or you turning up here and being bloody-minded as usual. Look, come into the kitchen and eat something."

He doesn't wait to see if Giles is going to follow but hurries to the kitchen where the company is infinitely more charming even if it is slamming a frying pan down on the stove hard enough to send sparks flying.

"Gonna spit in his freakin' omelette," he hears her mutter and he can't help but smile.

Giles is still obviously wallowing in misery on the couch so he can fill his arms full of pissed off, tense Slayer. "He's not going to send you to prison," he whispers in her ear and she stiffens just that little bit more.

"Like to see him try." She pushes him out of the way so she can start cracking eggs into a bowl. "Not exactly sure why he's here then."

"He says he was worried about us," he says hesitantly, keeping his voice low and his hands off her because she's still in such a curious mood,

"Yeah, he was plenty worried when he had me bound and drugged so B could keep getting  rustic on my ass. We got any bacon left?"

There's a little cough from the door and Giles is standing there, looking as if the wooden frame is the only thing keeping him upright.

"I do regret that decision, Faith," he says, stiffly formal. "I hope you'll accept my apology."

He expects Faith to give Giles another mouthful of blistering invective but she just nods her head, gives Giles a narrow-eyed stare then gestures at the chair. "Accepted, I guess. Sit, eat, then you can tell us why the fuck you're really here."

Giles obeys her without comment, which is enough in itself to have Wesley feeling that of the three of them only he's acting normally. Which, as he's feeling confused, worried and vaguely annoyed, is a sobering thought.

A silence falls as they wait for Faith to finish cooking a cheese omelette which smells good but sticks to the pan, so that when she places a plate in front of Giles, it's clearly with the expectation that he's going to sneer at the salvaged fragments.

Instead, he picks up his knife and fork, gives her a quick, grateful smile and begins to eat; slowly, as if each forkful is an effort to lift, chew and swallow.

When Faith plunks down a cup of tea, dark and with a few stray leaves floating on top, he reaches for it and then hesitates, watching his hand shake slightly.

"Oh God," he says quietly, and starts to go to pieces in front of them.

It's horrible. It's just -- not Giles. Giles is the strong one, the one with all the answers, all the power. Giles isn't -- can't be -- vulnerable, like them, prey to emotions and needs. Faith and Wesley exchange identical, stricken looks as Giles pushes his plate away, knocking it into the mug of tea which totters and spills out some of its contents in a tannic flood, and lowers his head to his hands, his elbows propped on the table.

He's crying, has to be, because tears are slipping out between his fingers, trickling over strong hands, capable hands, but the sounds he's making aren't sobs but short, harsh breaths, painful and desperate, as if he's forgotten how to breathe and he's starting to panic.

Wesley drags a chair over and sits beside him, close enough that he can hug the curved, bowed back awkwardly with one arm as his free hand fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief that isn't there.

"Here." Faith hands him a vaguely damp tea towel which he offers to Giles but as his head is bowed with grief and despair the gesture goes unnoticed.

"It's all right, Giles," he finds himself saying, his hand automatically patting a shoulder rigid with tension. "It's been a long day, you've driven miles -- "

"It's not why he's crying, Wes," Faith hisses and Giles finally lifts his head and his face is so bleak that Wes rather wishes he hadn't. "Lost B, lost your Slayer, that's gonna hurt."

He expects Giles to bark out a retraction but he just nods dumbly and reaches for his tea.

Wes tries to remember what it felt like all the times he'd lost Faith. To the Mayor, to prison, to darkness and there are a myriad of emotions to sift through; regret, relief, anger but nothing like this bone deep despair of Giles.

"You and me -- we're different, Wes," Faith sighs before he can say anything.

"You are," Giles agrees quietly. "You've only just found each other."

They exchange looks. "Yes," Wesley says. "We have."

He reaches for Faith's hand but she's moving, crouching down by Giles, utterly unself-conscious as she leans on his knee, staring up at his puzzled face.

"She'll come back, Giles," she says. "Won't be able to keep away. She might talk it up about being a big girl now, but she needs you. Always will." And her smile's warm as she glances over to Wesley and says, "Slayers need Watchers. That's the way it goes. Can't have one without the other, ain't that right, Wes?"

"Indubitably," he agrees gravely, just to watch her wrinkle her nose at his choice of word.

"Be that as it may," Giles begins, but Faith's not done.

"Was a time when you were my Watcher, Giles."

He frowns as he smiles at her in some bemusement, looking confused. "Well, for a week or so, I suppose -- but it was never official, not really."

"You were my Watcher," she insists.

"Faith -- " Wesley says, a note of warning in his voice, because he's not sure where she's going with this.

She dimples up at Giles. "Never looked at B the way you look at me," she says and there's no taunt, just this matter of factness to her words, which makes Giles stare at his cup of tea like he's hoping it will transform into a handy temporal fold. "Still want to know why you're really here, Giles, but, hey, think I already guessed it."

And he knows exactly where she's taking it now. And part of him wants her to stop but the flash of anger is back in Giles eyes, which is far better than the desolate mask that he's been wearing and Faith deserves the right to have her say. Or her fun. It's a judgement call.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says to her shortly and her smile widens and she places her hands on his knees, just resting them there.

"Oh yeah? Seen the way you've been watching me, how you insisted that you were in the room when I got strip searched. And I've seen the way you stare at Wes when he's been training and all the sweat is just dripping off that manly chest -- "

Wes wonders if she's seen the way that he looks at Giles, which is nothing more than a hangover left from the Sunnydale days when he hero-worshipped him but all her attention is focused on Giles and his eyes aren't just flashing now, but darkening, lip curling and he makes a move to get up but Wes can see the tension in Faith's arms as she keeps him right where she wants him.

"Is there a point to all this, Faith?" Giles asks and Wes marvels at the disinterested tone he's trying to assume.

"Only that you're here because you've been jerking your cock to the bone imagining me and Wes fucking each other. How many times did you come? Was the real thing even better than you dreamt about? Which one of us did you want to fuck first, huh? Huh?"

She's in his face now and doesn't look that surprised when Giles' hand comes crashing down on her cheek, snapping her head back with the force of the blow.

Wesley's moving, mouth open with angry, furious words surging up ready to be spat out, but Faith just shakes her head and prods gingerly at her face, already starting to show the imprint of Giles' hand. "Didn't answer my question, Giles."

"Hit her again and I'll bloody well hurt you," Wesley warns, finding his voice as Giles' hand clenches into a fist. She might be a Slayer and that might, in comparison to what she's used to, have been a love-tap, but he's still not having Giles touch her like that.

Wesley stares at the handprint, scarlet now, but fading, and frowns, trying to pin down -- oh God. And he wonders why it matters so much that he and Giles have both marked her skin tonight.

"You -- " Giles blinks at Faith and then visibly gathers his dignity, or what's left of it, around him. "You will apologise to me, Faith."

She yawns. "Isn't this where we came in? Won't say sorry for telling the truth, Giles. Or for asking awkward questions you don't want to answer."

"Oh, I can answer them," he says. "I simply don't see why I should satisfy your prurient curiosity."

Her eyebrows lift and she turns to Wes. "Translate, Wes?"

"He thinks you're getting off on being nosy about his sex life," Wesley says dryly.

She laughs. "Does Giles even have a sex life? News to me."

The man in question stands up, with Faith following him a heartbeat later. "I refuse to continue this discussion, or to be insulted like this by the pair of you."

"You insulted me first," Faith says and there's a darkness to her now. "Watching me, eyes on me  --  I'm good enough to jerk off over, but you're too fucking ashamed to admit it?"

"I do not --" Giles looks between them both and flushes unexpectedly.

"Liar," Faith says, all but bouncing on her toes, quivering with -- what? Anger? Anticipation? Wesley's not sure, just as he's not sure why the thought of Giles doing -- that, is so arousing, so sweetly filthy. Giles' cock, hard and hot, with images of Faith tipping him over, making him shoot --  God, just as they've done for him time after time --

"We are not having this conversation," Giles insists, his voice crisp enough to snap Wesley out of his reverie in time to see Faith sinuously stepping towards Giles who's backing away until he's pressed up against the wall and looking surprised to find himself there with no visible means of escape against a Slayer who's eying him like he's a particularly juicy mouse.

"Bet you never thought of B like that, did you?" she asks, pressing herself against Giles who lifts his chin and stares at some point in the middle distance. "It was me you were thinking of when you had your hand wrapped around your cock, wasn't it?"

And Wesley can't help it; the seductive cadence of her words is wrapping round his own cock, making it hard as he imagines not Giles jerking off on his own, but Faith there with him, her crooked fingers gripping his shaft --

"Stop this immediately." Giles swallows convulsively as Faith presses up even tighter against him.

"What did you imagine Faith doing to you, Rupert?" He's startled to hear himself speak, saying words that have been ricocheting around his own head. "Or maybe you were fantasising about what you were doing to her."

She shoots him a surprised but grateful look, eyes searching his and he nods once.

"Did you want to fuck me all those years ago in Sunny D?" she taunts and Giles is bright red and from the way she's circling her hips ever so slightly, Wesley is sure that Giles is hard too. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Giles. Wes did, told me so too. Maybe if you'd just tag teamed and fucked me over one of the tables in the library then -- "

Giles interrupts her with an anguished groan that sounds like it hurts and then his hands are tangling in Faith's still damp hair, keeping her head still so he can attack her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.

Wesley has stopped breathing, which means there's nothing but the wet, messy clash of their kisses to break the silence that's descended now Faith's stopped speaking. Nothing to see but Giles' strong, large hands lost in the dark tendrils of hair and the curve of Faith's back as she bends into Giles, her body tight against his, her head thrown back so that she's there to be kissed.

Because she's not struggling. Writhing, squirming, rubbing up against Giles, yes. But not struggling.

One step takes him close enough to see Giles' eyes slide shut as Faith's tongue darts out to meet his. Two steps bring him near enough to walk into the heat they're giving off and start to sweat. Three has him stroking hair and bringing his fingers down to curve around the nape of a neck.

When Giles turns his head, startled by the touch because Faith's hands are occupied in squeezing his arse, Wesley leans in and kisses him. Their mouth meet and slide, collide and cling. It's something Wesley's thought about doing now and then. Kissing Giles. Just because it's the ultimate in 'knock and run'. Just because he doesn't know what Giles would do and he wants to. Guesses that Giles, cool, calm, doesn't flap when his kneecaps are threatened, Giles wouldn't be so fucking unflustered when Wesley's mouth was exploring his.

In the brief, split-second before Wesley's lip was cut open on a fist that is.

It'd be worth it though. Just to know, to be able to make the next fantasy just that little bit more colourful.

Not that he fantasises about Giles often.

But the next time he does, he'll know how he tastes, how the pulse in his neck beats when the skin over it is touched, how he likes to suck hard on a bottom lip and lick across an upper.

And Giles isn't punching him, not yet at least, but Wesley's lips are stinging and throbbing anyway.

Faith's squashed between them and now she wriggles around, making Giles whimper into his mouth so she can tug Wesley free.

"My turn," she says warningly. "Kiss me."

His mouth still tastes of Giles, of tea and tears, and she still tastes of Giles too, but like herself, hot and sweet. She keeps thrusting her arse backwards, keeping Giles locked in the game with each brush of her backside against his cock but her mouth is entirely focused on Wesley.

She doesn't waste any time on niceties, just plunges her tongue between his lips, dragging his hand under her T-shirt so he can rub the peaked nipple with his thumb.

"God, I can't --  this is wrong -- " Giles stammers, trying to
struggle out of Faith's arms even as his hand make new shapes under
her top.

Faith is shoved up against him as Giles tries to work himself out from between the wall and her frantically undulating body and Wesley can see the hurt on her face and didn't he just swear that he wouldn't let Giles do that to her again?

So he keeps Giles exactly where he is by the simple act of reaching past Faith and placing his hand on the other man's crotch, curling his fingers delicately around denim and cock, tightening his grip just enough that Giles leans in towards the touch and sways.

"I'm not doing this," he murmurs almost to himself and steps out from between them and smiles.

"You already are, Giles," Faith says and peels off her T-shirt.

And if Wesley had to pick a place for this to happen -- and he doesn't exactly know what 'this' is, because that would require thought, rational, coherent thought and he's incapable of that right now -- it wouldn't be the kitchen, all hard floor, sharp edges, brightly lit. No. Not the perfect place at all, but if they move from here, whatever urgency of need is fuelling this explosion might splutter and die and he knows that he doesn't want it to.

But Faith is possessed of enough self-assurance for all of them, and bossy too, and she grabs their hands and tugs them through into the sitting room, where it's dim with lamp light, carpeted and there's that couch, deep and long and already possessed of a damp spot.

And Giles is too busy watching the sway and jiggle of a perfect pair of breasts to resist.

They end up standing in front of the couch in a circle, close enough to be touching, and Faith, who might as well have a tall hat and a whip -- and isn't that an interesting image -- because she's appointed herself ringmaster, starts to unfasten Giles' shirt with nimble fingers, head tilted back and smiling up at him with a perfect confidence that he's not going to stop her.

Except he does, stepping back, his eyes going to Wesley, shadowed with panic, as his hands capture Faith's and hold them away from him.

"I didn't come here for this," he says, but his thumbs are stroking the wrists he's cuffed with his hands and when Faith sighs and brings his hands to her breasts, Giles's fingers curve to match the rounded slope of them and don't fall away.

"Thought about it though," she breathes, closing her eyes and swaying forward so Giles can apply more pressure; pinching her nipples between finger and thumb.

And now the look that Giles gives him is more conspiratorial, even challenging as he shuffles nearer the couch, Faith following because he's doing something to her breasts that Wesley can't see but it's making her bite her lip.

Giles ends up sprawled on the couch, Faith standing between his splayed legs and Wesley is half desperate to see what happens next, half feeling like a third wheel.

"You just gonna stand there with a hard on, Wes, or are you going to throw your hat into the ring?" She half turns so he can see the jut of her breasts in profile and when he collapses next to Giles on the sofa, he's got a lapful of Faith who's intent on stripping him of his shirt, sucking at his neck so she can get a yelp out of him when she suddenly bites down hard.

Then she leans back, almost preening because Giles is staring at her tits and absent mindedly rubbing his clothed cock and Wesley's own hands are sliding past the waistband of her jeans so he can cup the firm curve of her ass.

"What do you want, Faith?" he asks softly because whatever it is he'll give it to her, make Giles give it to her too.

She thinks about it for a second, lips twisting. "Want it to be all about me," she says almost wistfully, then she gives Giles a heavy-lidded look which he returns with interest. "Just for once." She emphasises the last word. "You got that, Giles? Wes and me with you in the guest spot."

"I really didn't follow you up here for this," Giles says wryly, the ghost of a grin on his face as he shrugs.

"Well it's a pity to have driven so far and come away empty handed," Wesley comments, and Faith snorts.

"Cheap pun, Wes," she smirks, looking remarkably self-possessed as she sits half-naked on his lap.

He runs his fingers lightly over her stomach and opens the button on her black jeans with a small, soft pop.

"All about you -- " he repeats thoughtfully. And he thinks he understands that. Because all that she's suffered at Giles' hands has been because for Giles it's always about Buffy. Ultimately, absolutely, eternally about Buffy.

"Recompense," he says aloud, which has Faith's brow furrowing and Giles sighing with comprehension and relief, as if finally he understands why this is happening and what his role is. "Payback," he says to Faith, who shrugs and leans back against Giles like a sultry, sexy seductress, winding her arm over her head and around his neck and arching up her hips.

Wesley slides to his knees and peels her jeans free and then she's naked and he doesn't waste time, not with her skin glowing golden and the dark prickle of her hair damp and curling because she's already wet for him. For them.

He leans forward as she tips her head back for Giles to kiss her, his large hand cupping her breast, thumb flicking at the nipple and as his tongue darts out over her clit, he knows Giles is watching him and that's annoying and arousing and challenging all at once.

He can't help wondering how those hands will feel on him. Not certain that he'll get to fuck Giles -- not even sure he wants to -- but he wants to be touched by Giles. Wants to be kissed.

Wesley's got a score of memories of Giles being snide, sarcastic and generally a thorough, complete pain in the arse. He wants to watch those green eyes darken with something other than disapproval when he looks at Wesley. As the thick, rich taste of Faith's juices coat his tongue and lips, he knows he wants -- just once -- to hear Giles beg.

Faith groans, the sound enough to make Wesley wish he wasn't still wearing his trousers, dammit, and shimmies so that she's got Wesley's tongue right where she wants it. Demanding little madam, and he loves her for it.

He delicately pries Faith's folds open so he can fuck her with his tongue, rubbing her clit hard with the heel of his hand so she mewls into Giles' mouth. She's bucking her hips so violently with every thrust that he's in danger of having his nose broken.

"No, this won't do," he hears Giles say and Faith's being inched away from him, settled on Giles' lap, his large, calloused hands spreading her thighs and holding them open for him.

"Yeah, this works," she says approvingly, curling her hand round his neck to tug him closer. "C'mon get back to it, Wes."

And though his senses are swimming from the sight and smell and, God, the taste of her, now he's aware that every time she shifts restlessly, she must be able to feel Giles' hard on against her and well, for some reason the thought spurs him on to greater endeavours.

She comes on his tongue in a spicy surge when he plunges three fingers in her and suckles hard at her clit, then he stays on his knees delicately licking her clean until she prods him with her foot.

"Get your clothes off," she demands, hauling herself away from Giles so she can point at him. "You too."

"There's really no need to be quite so bossy, Faith," he says, stripping his jeans off while Giles is still dealing with his shoes and socks.

"Yeah, there really is," she snarks, scooching forwards on the couch so that she when she sits up she's in the perfect position to anoint the head of his cock with a sloppy wet kiss.

Giles gasps quietly, hands stilling on his belt buckle as they both turn to look at him. He licks his lips nervously, eyes fixed on Faith's mouth pursed just a hair's breadth away from the wet tip of Wesley's cock.

"I think Giles is feeling left out," he tells Faith and there's no smug satisfaction in his voice as he thought there would be. If anything he sounds sympathetic.

"It's all right, I'm perfectly fine," Giles demurs, hands coiling into fists. "I --  you were right. I like watching the pair of you."

"Do you want to see me suck Wes' cock?" Faith asks, grasping it in her hot hand and rubbing her cheek against it.

Giles nods slowly. "Among other things."

The other things take two minutes to arrange themselves into a mutually beneficial arrangement. Faith splayed out on the cushions, head tipped back against the arm of the couch so she can take Wes deep into her throat while Giles buries his head between her thighs.

There's something slightly unnerving about pushing slowly between Faith's lips, feeling the flicker and suck of her tongue and mouth and being aware, always, that watching him is Giles. Not that Giles is watching Wesley's face; his eyes, as he lifts them up a little, are on the slow slide of Wesley's cock as it vanishes and reappears, but it's still enough to make Wesley feel on edge.

Then Giles lifts his head, sliding his fingers into Faith, who comes perilously close to biting down as she moans in approval, and he stares directly at Wesley.

It's electrifying. Tingles and heat and his muscles tightening and he thinks he makes a soft sound that Faith takes as encouragement to do something really inventive with her tongue but good though it feels, for that instant where Giles' eyes and his meet, it's all he's thinking about. He could come just from that, he thinks, dizzy with lust. The hunger and the need and the knowledge that Giles is there, naked, although Wesley still hasn't seen, hasn't looked  -- .

Giles rises to his knees, one hand still between Faith's thighs, fingers deep in her slick folds, and slowly, deliberately strokes along his cock, a light touch that lasts about ten endless seconds before his hands around it, squeezing hard as he jerks himself off, never looking away from Wesley.

They're definitely having a moment and Faith is the bridge that separates them or brings them closer together. He's not sure which, but then the girl herself frees her mouth as she comes, arching up against Giles' hand so Wes can see his eyes cross as he feels those muscles tightening and spasming and clutching at his fingers. He has to wonder what they'd feel like around his cock.

Faith collapses back on the couch, breathing heavily, then leans forward to tap her index finger against the head of Giles' cock; the only part of it not covered by his gently corkscrewing hand.

"Don't," she says sharply. "Got plans for that, but first I wanna see you guys kiss again." Wesley's sure she winks at him. "Here, in front of me so I don't miss anything."

It would be polite to spit out some vague objection but he wants to kiss Giles again; wants him shuddering and he still hasn't begged either.

"Very well, come here, Wesley," Giles says, getting to his feet and no, it's not going to be like that.

"Why don't you come here?" he counters as frostily as he can when his dick is practically flat to his stomach and he can't take his eyes off Giles' cock which bobs happily with every step he takes.

Faith folds her arms and sighs. She's enjoying herself far too much. "You both come and stand in front of me right the hell now," she growls. "Thought it was meant to be about me, not some macho pissing contest."

And that makes it so much easier to meet Giles halfway, as it were. There's a little tussle as they try to negotiate who should be touching who and where, which Wesley solves by grabbing the back of Giles' neck and smashing his mouth down on his. Giles' mouth opens immediately to the fierce, bruising pressure and a half-step forward each brings their cocks together.

Faith mutters, "All right," sounding half-awed, half-gleeful and if they hadn't been busy, Wesley thinks he and Giles would have both rolled their eyes in unison at that but they are busy and the kiss, rough and avid to start with, doesn't show any signs of turning gentle. It's not porn, choreographed and careful; it's spit and teeth and hands raking over flesh as they sway, locked together and getting short of breath. Giles' cock against his is maddening, touching him in all the wrong places and never for long enough, but still the perfect object to rub up against. Giles breaks the kiss, dragging his mouth down to Wesley's throat and sucking up a mark on it. The wet head of his cock digs into Wesley's belly and he reaches down and grabs it, thumbing across that slippery smoothness and getting Giles' teeth in his shoulder as a thank you.

There's a movement from the side and it's Faith, coming to wriggle between them, her tits warm as they're squashed up against Wesley's chest.

"You two," she says. "You're really getting into this. Are you sure you never --?"

And their 'no!' is perfectly in unison and she giggles.

"Want you to fuck me," she says. "But upstairs, 'cause we're going to need a bed and stuff."

Wesley exchanges a glance with Giles. "I -- I don't mind," he says awkwardly. "If it's fine with Faith, that is. And you can go, uh, first, that is --"

And they're a minute away from killing the mood dead in a flurry of, 'no, no; after you' but she sighs and deals out a smack on both their arses and skips back before they can do more than glare.

"You're both going to do it," she says. "At the same time. God; am I the only one who's ever had a three-way before?"

Wesley's quite grateful when Giles narrows his eyes and says evenly, "No, Faith, you're not."

Grateful and then insanely curious, but that can wait.

Getting up the stairs should be awkward but Faith pushes him against the banister and kisses him roughly, tongue darting into his mouth for an instant before she pushes him towards the stairs., "Go on, get -- " she growls, then turns to Giles, who's been watching them with darkening amusement, and rubs her palm against his cock like it's a dog with a wet nose. "And you too."

Then the three of them stumble up the stairs and Faith is kissing Giles as he shoulders open the bedroom door, dragging him towards the bed without ever opening her eyes. Wesley glances at his aunt's bed covered by the patchwork quilt made by her great aunt and sends up a silent prayer of forgiveness. Especially when Faith jumps on the bed and bounces experimentally with an expectant, wicked grin. Tomorrow, he's going to schedule in another spanking which she thoroughly deserves.

"There's a tub of Vaseline in the bathroom cabinet," she tells Giles, making it sound like the most darkly seductive sentence ever spoken.

"Does she order you round quite this much?" he asks Wesley and there's no malice, just amusement.

"Tries to but I never listen," he says to Giles' retreating back and then crawls on to the bed, so he can seize Faith's wrists and pin them over her head, while she squirms with delight. "Is this what you want?"

She shakes her head. "It's what I need. He owes me, owes both of us." Her brow wrinkles. "And I kinda feel sorry for him."

He lowers his head, listening to Giles' hurried footsteps on the stairs and wondering where he's going. "Well, if you're sure," he says before his mouth closes over the tight kernel of her nipple.

"Yeah and 'sides, God, I want to get fucked by both of you."

She's practically being fucked by him as it is. Her legs are wrapped round his waist as they exchange hot, wet kisses; his cock nudging against the sodden folds of her cunt and only Giles' polite cough at the doorway makes Wesley drag his mouth away.

"He's just keeping me warm, Giles," Faith says, scooching up the bed and beckoning him with a crooked finger. "Guess I'd better go on top, don't you think?"

"Do you ever go anywhere else?" he asks tartly, throwing the Vaseline at Wesley and following it up with a condom that explains his detour. Why Giles is travelling that well-prepared Wesley doesn't know, but he's not inclined to cavil.

Her smile is practically malevolent as Giles props the pillows behind him and she crawls over to him. "Well, we haven't done it doggy style yet but Wes has fucked me right into this very mattress. Good times, man."

And she deserves the ringing slap Wesley gives her on her upturned arse. "Less talking and more fucking, perhaps? Just a suggestion, Faith."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles good-naturedly, straddling Giles' hips and taking hold of his cock so she can lower herself down.

He loves her. He was more or less convinced that he did but now he knows for certain as she reduces Giles to a trembling mess. His head is thrown back, eyes tight shut, hands clutching the quilt compulsively as Faith eases him into her cunt, maybe a millimetre at a time before lifting herself up so she can rub her clit against the wet head of Giles' cock. Wesley can see the muscles in her thighs quivering with the strain but she just turns her head, winks at him, and lets Giles have just a fraction more of tight, wet cunt.

Giles has been silent all this time but as he feels Faith lifting herself up, he moans quietly as if he's in great pain. Point of fact, he probably is. "Please," he whispers hoarsely. "I beg of you -- "

"All you had to do was ask," Faith says and sinks down on him.

Does that get her a cancelled spanking, or an extra hard one, Wesley wonders, because, yes, Giles pleading is as purely satisfying -- and erotic -- as it gets, but dammit, he'd wanted to be the one who got him to do it.

Reflecting that they've got the whole night ahead of them, he decides to be magnanimous.

She's not moving, even though Giles is panting and groaning and trying to stay still because he doesn't want to look like the completely needy bastard he really, truly is. "Wait," she says in a commanding lilt of a voice. "God, Giles, you've waited years; you can't wait another minute while Wes slicks us up and gets his cock in my ass?"

Giles shudders and she leans forward to kiss him, which means she eases up just a little so that Wesley can see the thick jut of Giles' cock, glistening and flushed and, more to the point, he can see the dark pucker of her arsehole, waiting for the prod of a finger to open it, the thrust of his cock to claim it.

Thinking of how tight she's going to be with Giles' cock embedded in her; thinking of how his cock and Giles' are going to be stroking deep, side by side, nearly has it all ending before it's begun. The cool, greasy feel of the Vaseline on his fingers doesn't do as much as it should to calm him down either, but they're waiting for him and it would be unconscionably rude to dally. Not when Giles is moaning under his breath and cursing them both, until Wesley starts to think that Faith isn't the only one who needs a  -- well. Best not go there.

He brings a generous glob of Vaseline to the crease of Faith's pretty little arse and when she squeaks at the coldness, pulling away and snapping, "Fuck, Wes! Warn a girl!", he's got two fingers waiting for her as she relaxes back into position. She moans in time with Giles, sucking them into her heat, fucking herself on them with no indication of discomfort.

Slayers. They fuck with bodies built to take anything and they feel everything, too. She's squeezing around his third finger and Giles is chanting her name on a rising yell her mouth's doing nothing to silence and he can't wait any longer.

He pulls his fingers out of her, his other hand caressing the swell and jut of her hip, and applies the thick cream to his cock after rolling on the condom.

She's hot, so very hot, as he places the head of his cock against that pucker, pressing in slowly, his hands pulling her cheeks apart.

She's wiggling frantically, trying to get more of him in her and her frantic undulations makes Giles' eyes roll up into the back of his head. "For fuck's sake -- " he hisses.

Wesley is already halfway there, transfixed by the way her arsehole is dilating around his cock; feeling the rigid length of Giles' shaft guiding his way and if she doesn't stop mewling and shimmying, this is going to be over far, far too soon.

He sends his hand crashing down on her backside in a sharp warning as he thrusts completely inside her, root deep in his Slayer's arse, his balls brushing against Giles' and he grits his teeth and rests his forehead between her shoulder blades.

"Fuck -- " Faith whispers in a tiny voice. "Didn't have to hit me -- " She straightens her spine, gets him in even further than he thought possible. "Could barely feel it. Do it harder next time."

Giles' eyes are closed to slits, lips pulled back in a rictus of agony and Wesley wonders whether they've sent him spiralling into cardiac arrest. Then his lips shift into a crooked smile as he raises his head and his hips so he can bite one pouting nipple into his mouth and ram his cock back into Faith's cunt.

By the time Wesley starts fucking into her properly, she's sandwiched between them; knees hugging Giles' waist; face buried into his neck as he thrusts up and all of Wesley's vague theories about one of them withdrawing as the other one rams his cock into her have exited stage left, because she's tight and it's bloody wonderful but she can take them both, at the same time, and judging from the way she's shoving her hips down, trying to keep them inside her, she's loving every second of it.

Giles isn't really capable of speech anymore. All that spills out of his mouth is an eulogy to the joys of Faith's cunt. "So tight --  so very tight -- ", which is accurate but he still hasn't made Giles beg. Hasn't made Faith either.

As he takes a handful of hair to tug her head back and slaps the flat of his palm against her jiggling rear-end, Wesley feels like a god.

He lets them both have four, five, oh God, yes, six more of the increasingly synchronised thrusts, as Giles and he work together and she matches her movements, necessarily more restrained than usual, to theirs as if she does this every night.

Just thinking about that makes him shudder because it'd kill them all, he knows it would.

And then, as Faith's starting to keen, her back damp with sweat against his knuckles as he winds the hank of hair he's holding tighter around his hand and Giles is starting to lose words, graceless, frantic grunts exploding out of him with every exhalation, Wesley stops moving and holds Faith in place, his hands sliding to her hips.

"Wes!" She twists her head and gives him the mother of all glares. "Going to -- don't stop, don't you fucking dare stop."

And beneath her, Giles pushes up all that he's able and growls when he can't do much more than slide an inch deeper because that's not enough.

Poised like this, with the smooth hot throb of Faith around him and there, just there, rubbing against him, separated by not so very much, the bulk and pressure of Giles' cock, it's difficult to remember why he wanted to stop.

"Behave," he says, and the slap she gets this time is as hard as he can make it and judging by the hiss of pleasure Giles gives, she's clamped down on them both as she cries out.

"Fine," she says, through teeth that have snapped shut. "Trusting you, Wes." The aggrieved pout becomes a challenging smile. "So what've you got in mind?"

In reply, he yanks her up from her splayed pose across Giles' chest, forcing her to sit upright so he can cup her breasts.

"Stop it," he says sharply because he wants to drag out every glorious second of this. Their cocks are in her deeper now, thanks to gravity and the way she's squirming in his arms, grinding down hard. "Want to come," she growls and he really wishes he had a pair of handcuffs and a good length of rope. Maybe next time.

"Be still and be quiet," Giles suddenly says in a commanding voice so different from his fevered cries of a minute ago. "Listen to your Watcher."

Her hair's hanging in her face so she doesn't notice the wink that he gives Wes. "Fuck that, wanna fucking come!" she shrieks venomously, trying to swivel her hips until Giles hauls himself up and clamps his hands around them, holding her immobile.

Oh, they really should have done this years ago. Not just fucked her towards incoherency, but given her a firm hand. Stood unbowed in the face of her insolence, her glorious wilfulness. Worked as a team.

"I think she needs another good, hard spanking," Wesley says and she clenches viciously tight round both of them at the thought. "Can you keep her still?"

"I'll endeavour to do my best," Giles says dryly, knuckles whitening with the strain of trying to contain her thrashing limbs. "And if I can make a suggestion? Stop cupping your hand; she'll feel the blows a little more that way."

"Fucking bastards, fucking talking about me like I'm -- "

He stops her invective with a volley of slaps, one hand back in her hair to shunt her forward so he can reach her arse. It stings his palm, but it's worth it for the way her skin pinks up and the unrelenting pressure as she tightens and tightens around their cocks. She's hissing between her teeth and he doesn't think it's from the effort not to come, but more because she's coming and can't stop.

"Can you reach her clit?" he barks at Giles.

And it has to be what she wants but that does the trick and she's begging now, the words pouring from her the way her juices are. "No, Wes, no, Giles, no, please, no, fuck, fuck, don't -- "

Giles gives her an astonished look, even as his hand's moving forward but Wesley knows what's troubling her. His hand stills, resting against the fire he's set in her skin and he kisses her shoulder with a tenderness he doesn't mind showing on his face, because neither of them are looking at him.

"All about you," he murmurs. "You get to come first, my darling girl." Giles does something to her clit that tears a scream from her and he adds, although no one's listening, "And we get to watch -- "

She wouldn't usually like this; the vulnerability of being the only one out of control, writhing and spasming around them, between them, head thrown back, body shaking and shuddering. She's holding nothing back, but he wants, so very much, for her to trust them both enough to enjoy it. Then he sees the look on Giles' face as he watches her and Giles couldn't look that pleased if she wasn't happy because that's what they want, it's what they both want.

Thanking whatever god is listening that fucking her not so long ago is giving him some small measure of control now, because he wants to come last, he slips his arm around her, cuddling her for a moment before she sinks forward onto Giles' broad chest, still doubly impaled, still linking them both.

"Wesley," Giles says, his voice tight and tense. "I can't -- I'm going to come -- God, please--"

He wishes he could reach Giles to kiss him again, reassuringly this time, but he can't. Instead, he dips his fingers in the Vaseline again, although God knows he doesn't really need to, because Giles' cock and balls are slick enough, and without finesse, because Giles is flushed and trembling and close to the edge, and without thinking about it too much, he lets his fingers slide and skate down behind Giles' balls, finding the place he wants more because of the choked gasp than anything else, and pushes inside Giles's body and watches the man break utterly.

Giles is deathly silent, it's Faith who cries out as he plunges up into her one final time, muscles corded, mouth open on a scream he can't get out.

Wesley holds Faith steady as Giles keeps arching upwards. He can feel the other's man's cock swelling alongside his, spurting inside her and Faith's arms are going to be covered in bruises because gripping her tightly is the only thing that's stopping him from thrusting into her, finishing this.

Giles slumps back on the bed, pulling out of her on the downstroke. He opens his eyes slowly, and reaches up to cup Faith's cheek. "Thank you," he gasps. "Thank you."

And she's recovered enough to press a quick kiss into the palm of his hand. "Nada," she says breathlessly. "It was nothing."

"It bloody wasn't," Giles says indignantly and Wesley doesn't have time for the post-mortem when he's going to die if he doesn't come.

She's sopping wet with a mixture of her and Giles' juice dripping out of her, which shouldn't turn him on as much as it does but it does and he gives her a quick series of shallow thrusts just to get her panting again before he pulls out of her ass and peels off the condom.

"On your back," he mutters hoarsely and she's not moving fast enough; trying to cant her hips to keep him inside her.

"Why?" she asks as he withdraws and crouches back, cock hard and wet, so he can take her ankles and flip her over. "Oh! Pervert."

Giles is propped up on his elbows, watching them intently as Faith parts her legs, peering down at the sticky, beautiful mess of her cunt, running her fingers along the parted folds and staring up at him from under her lashes. "Wanna fuck me in Giles' come?" she asks sweetly, back in control. "Dirty boy."

He's hanging on to his sanity by one last, frayed thread and her words are going to tip him over. "Put your legs over my shoulders, Faith."

She's rubbing her clit gently, hips circling ever so slightly and looking at him with this cat-that-got-the-cream smile. "Say please, Wes."

It's her idea of payback and he's really not in the mood. "Just bloody -- "

He doesn't know which one of them is more surprised when Giles suddenly shakes off his post-coital sloth so he can lean forward and smack her hard between the legs. "I've already told you, do what your Watcher says."

She winces but the look she gives Giles is more heated than hurt. "Gonna kiss that better, Giles?"

He grins, a dirty, knowing smirk of a smile that Wesley wouldn't have thought him capable of, but they're all finding out that they've been wrong about each other tonight.

"I think not, for Wesley's sake."

But as she sighs with sudden capitulation, her legs hooking over Wesley's shoulders, Giles shifts to lie beside her and turns her face with a gentle hand before kissing her.

Wet. Hot. He's reduced to simplicity as he sheathes himself in her, and, yes, knowing Giles' cock was here just a minute earlier adds a certain piquancy to it all but he didn't need it to make this good. He watches Faith pull free of Giles' mouth and stare up at him, lips parting on a voiceless cry as he hammers into her, sparing a fraction of his attention for Giles, who's pinching Faith's nipple with absolutely no sign of gentleness now, and he feels distant from them both because his climax is gathering.

He comes at the precise moment Faith bites into her lip, whimpering, and Giles runs his hand over Wesley's hip, arse and thigh in a caress that grounds him, makes it real again, so that as his cock jerks and spills deep inside her he's keenly aware of the way they all sound, and smell, and feel. He loses control of himself as they watch and he doesn't give a fuck because they've done it too, with him watching and sharing, and he gives them everything he's feeling and then  collapses onto Faith, chest heaving, trembling and panting and reaches out to tug Giles close because right then he needs them both.

It's not so much afterglow as recovering from a near-death experience. They're a hot sweaty tangle of limbs; soft kisses on patches of damp skin, fingers winding through sweaty hair, murmured exhalations that don't mean anything.

Wesley can feel lassitude seeping through his limbs and he could stay there forever but Faith's squirming under him and he realises his softening cock is still inside her.

"Crushing me," she grunts indistinctly and with a moan of protest he rolls over, which puts him in the perfect position to rest his head against Giles' shoulder, who snakes an arm round his waist.

"No, don't," he tells her but she's sitting up, cupping one hand over her pussy. "Come back."

"I'm all gross," Faith whines, scooting down the bed. "Shower."

She's hobbling across the floor, not looking back and Wesley meets Giles' quizzical expression. "This may comes as some surprise but Faith doesn't really understand the significance of well, snuggling."

Giles smiles wryly, tracing a path along Wesley's arm. "I'm shocked to my very core."

This easy banter, the light, affectionate touches, are not something he expected from Giles, but they're welcome all the same. As is the kiss that Giles presses against his shoulder.

"Maybe she needs some positive reinforcement," Giles says. "On the whole snuggling issue."

And now it's Wesley's turn to look quizzical. "You're awfully solicitous of her well-being all of a sudden," he says mildly.

Giles shrugs tiredly. "And yours. I'm trying to make amends, Wesley. Let me, please."

There's the sound of running water from the bathroom as Wesley considers the slightly querulous plea. "Well, I doubt the bath's big enough for three but she might deign to let one of us scrub her back."

There's a soft chuckle and then Giles says, "I'm more than happy to wash your back, too, Wesley."

Wesley processes that as best he's able given that his body's still recovering from the ecstatic excesses of the evening. "Giles --"

"Oh, I do so love putting that flustered look on your face," Giles says, grinning at him. "I'm not professing undying love, Wesley, nor am I reading more into this than I should. I'm simply feeling remarkably relaxed and allowing myself the luxury of being honest with someone I trust. Do you have any idea how rarely I can do that?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Wesley admits. "I suppose in your position you have to be circumspect."

"Lord, yes," Giles says. He looks at Wesley. "We're equally as messy as Faith, but given that we can't get much messier and we'll be bathing soon --?"

Wesley doesn't bother answering him; just shifts closer still so that he and Giles are, quite definitely, snuggling. And kissing, with the afterglow investing each kiss with an evanescent heat, although arousal is beyond them both for the moment.

Giles' body is scarred in more places than Wesley had expected, and despite the slight sag of his belly from age and a desk job, he's still strong. Not someone Wesley would want to fight, although he's fairly confident -- without being overly pleased about it -- that he could take Giles now.

"Do you want us back in London?" he asks. "Is it safe for her to return?"

Not fair, perhaps, to ask Giles that when his hand's stroking Giles' arse in slow, measured sweeps and he's kissing the man's shoulder, but when it comes to safeguarding Faith's interests, he's shameless.

"Buffy's gone now," is all Giles says, his arm briefly tightening round Wesley. It's inconclusive and unsatisfying as answers go, but somehow that seems fitting.

There's a muffled thud and curse from next door and the hazy, dream-like interlude with Giles is shattered because she's naked a few feet away from him and from the continued cursing has one of those ferocious scowls on her face which he's beginning to know how to tease away.

He knows that he's moving off the bed with indecent haste but there don't seem to be any handy etiquette guides on how to remove the awkwardness from these grief-fuelled, dead-of-night encounters. "It sounds as if Faith could use a hand," he says blandly. "And I --  we really need to clean up."

"We do," Giles agrees, glancing down at himself and giving a fastidious shudder as he uses the sheet to clean himself a little. As he strips it off the bed a moment later, Wesley doesn't comment. "Go in to her," Giles says. "I'll take care of this if you tell me where the clean linen is." He clears his throat. "And if you -- is there a spare room at all?"

Despite his own ambivalence and awkwardness or maybe because of it and he really wants to see Giles discomfited again, Wesley summons up a smirk.

"I'm afraid you'll have to brave the cursing girl in the bathroom to get fresh sheets out of the airing cupboard," he says tartly. "And well, we'll sort out the sleeping arrangements shortly."

He doesn't wait to hear Giles' views on the topic but he leaves the bathroom door open as he walks in to find Faith standing in the bath in a foot of water, wrestling with the rubber shower attachment.

She barely glances at him, but then he's mesmerised by the viscous glaze coating her thighs and the memory of how it got there.

"Fucking thing won't stay on," she snaps, trying to shove the bulbs on to the gushing taps.

"You need to turn the water off --  here, let me."

He deals with the necessary adjustment to the plumbing, breathing in the mingled scent of sex and sweat coming off them both, and then leans on the wall as she showers off, her hand vanishing between her legs as she directs the jet there, water pouring down the inside of her thighs and swirling down the open plug hole. After a moment, he steps in and takes it from her, slipping his arm around her and playing the water over both of them as he kisses her.

It's not an ideal situation, as the bath is slippery and cramped, although the languorous, drowsy kisses she's giving him are pleasant, and when Giles appears in the doorway, hesitant and averting his eyes, it's no real hardship to break away from her. Giles takes some fresh sheets from the cupboard and drops them outside the door and then glances at them both.

"Fill the tub, Wes," Faith orders, sitting down in the few inches of water still swirling around as the drainage leaves a little to be desired. "Giles needs to play with his rubber duck too, you know,"

Giles smiles as Wesley starts to fill the bath. "I do?"

She nods, drawing up her legs. "Come on in, Giles."

"There's no room," he demurs. "I can wait until you're both done, honestly."

"Then come here and do my back," she says in a voice that makes it an order.

Giles walks over and crouches beside the bath, scooping up some of the amber-tinted water in his hand and letting it spill over Faith's breasts. "You're very beautiful," he says suddenly.

Wes watches her reaction with interest. Her eyelashes flutter down and she's suddenly hugging her knees to her chest and shielding her body from Giles' increasingly amused gaze. It's not as if he hasn't seen every inch of her; touched most of it too with either his lips or his hands.

"Whatever," she grunts unwillingly. And she's blushing now. It is without doubt the cutest thing Wesley's ever seen her do. In fact, it may well be the only cute thing he's ever seen her do. "Don't start getting mushy on me, Giles. We fucked, that's all."

Giles glances at Wesley, who shrugs and rolls his eyes. "You still need to clean up," he points out non-committally, gesturing towards the sink.

Faith's still doing a very good impersonation of a blushing maiden as Giles busies himself with a flannel. She's hunched over and frowns when she notices that Wesley's looking at her. "What?" she asks belligerently.

"I think we need to do some work on your post-coital manners," he tells her, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. From the way her jaw tightens, he doesn't quite succeed but he decides to soldier on. With Giles in the room, eyes gleaming with suppressed mirth reflected in the mirror above the sink, he doesn't think she'll be able to kill him single-handed. Maybe just maim him. "When a man you've just fucked tells you you're beautiful, it's polite to say thank you."

"Fuck off, Wes," she says sourly, sliding underneath the water.

He turns off the taps as the water's lapping at the edge of the overflow and watches her body turn indistinct and wavery under the water, tremulous and dream-like. Then she explodes up, gasping and snorting and pushing back her sopping hair and the illusion that she's insubstantial fades.

"It's not polite to say that either," he remarks. "You just fucked me, as well, remember?"

Giles finishes at the sink and comes back over to the bath, sitting on the edge of it and -- to give him credit -- not using the towel in his hand to do more than rub absently at his wet groin and thighs before letting it fall to the floor.

Wesley still thinks that they're all hovering on the edge of becoming terminally embarrassed about being naked in front of each other. Well, perhaps not Faith, who's sliding soaped-up hands over her breasts and, which is even more erotic somehow -- under her arm pits. He's rarely watched a girl wash herself before, and she's briskly efficient, which doesn't make it any the less intimate.

"Yeah, and if you don't shut the fuck up about it, it's the last action you'll be getting in a while," she snarls. "God, what is it with you Brits? Want me to write you a thank you note or something?"

Giles tweaks the sponge from her, lathers it up and puts his hand on the back of her head, pushing her forward a little. Gathering her hair in his hand, he lifts it and begins, as ordered, to wash her back. "I think Wesley's concerned that you're missing out, Faith," he says mildly. "It doesn't have to end when you come. It's rather pleasant to --"

"Cuddle and kiss, yeah, right." She hunches up her shoulders. "I'm more a thanks, now get dressed, get the fuck out, girl, you know?"

"That might work with your casual encounters, but I find it less than flattering," Wesley says, a little sharper than he'd intended.

She stands up, sending the water slapping against the sides of the bath. "Yeah? Well, deal with it."

Without meeting their eyes, she grabs a towel and disappears, leaving wet footprints and a small lake on the floor.

Wesley can't look at Giles; knows that he'll see amusement, maybe even a hint of condescension on the other man's face so he concentrates on fumbling through the bathroom cabinet.

There's a polite cough from somewhere behind him. "At the risk of sounding appallingly Californian, I'm afraid that Faith has severe intimacy issues."

"You noticed then?" he says tartly, squeezing a thick blob of paste on to his toothbrush. There's a gentle touch on his shoulder, which unlocks something inside him so he's saying words that he never thought he'd say to a man, not least this one. "I know how it looks but it's not just about sex, Giles. She irritates me beyond all measure and she's rude and arrogant and I love her because she's all of those things and other things too but she'd kill me if I told anyone about them." He puts the toothbrush down on the side of the sink and wonders why he can't turn round to face Giles. "God, it's doomed. I'm in love with a woman who thinks that love is a perversion."

"Not perversion, weakness," Giles insists quietly, hand on his shoulder again, more forceful as he tugs Wesley round to look at the thoughtfully sympathetic look on his face. "Uncharted territory. Tell me something, Wesley -- "

He raises his eyebrows in a co-operative gesture. "Within reason."

"Could you be with her minus a signed declaration of love?" Giles' expression turns slightly dreamy. "There are other benefits."

And Wesley thinks of Lilah and signed dollar bills and he thinks of Fred and the pink smudge of her lipstick on half empty Styrofoam cups of coffee and shakes his head decisively. "All or nothing."

"Ah," Giles murmurs. "I see."

And Wesley thinks he really does, but it's not making it any easier to see a way through this.

"It's hopeless," he insists.

Giles frowns at that. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he says, "but you and Faith weren't lovers in London, were you?" There's an inward look on his face as if he's examining a score of memories for hints or clues that Wesley and Faith were fresh from fucking in a broom closet when they arrived at meetings.

"No," he says. "It took recent events to make that happen." He's still damned if he's going to thank Giles for what he did to precipitate it, though.

"Then don't you think that you're rushing her?"

There's a lot he could say in reply to that; reminding Giles of all the years he's known her, the ways that they've been closer than most people ever get, stuck together with blood and destiny, their paths crossing again and again until now he knows he doesn't ever want her to leave again.

Because she's a Slayer and she's his and how much time will they have, anyway?

"What's the average lifespan of a Slayer, Giles? How much time do I have?"

Giles flinches and he's sorry because Buffy's died and he can't imagine how Giles dealt with that, nor how he will when the inevitable happens. He starts to mutter an apology, but Giles shakes his head.

"It's different now, Wesley. Faith and Buffy are both considerably older than most Slayers and although I'm not sure that a Slayer can retire, they're not fighting alone these days."

"It only takes one vampire," Wesley says.

Giles snorts. "Please let me be there when you tell Faith that one vampire could best her."

Put like that, it's ridiculous, but he knows he's right. One second of inattention, one stumble, and the newest of vampires could tear her throat out.

"I don't have time. We don't have time." Where is this panic coming from? The feeling that he has to make her tell him that she loves him, force her to say it, chain her at his side so that she can't run away --  

Giles makes this strange fluttering movement with his hands.

"When they leave, they go so quickly." Wesley explains, even as he wishes that he could stop talking. "They go with so many things left unsaid and I won't let that happen again."

And Giles and he stand there in a shabby bathroom with the ghosts of their dead all around them. And while Giles leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, it should be ridiculous, incongruous, not so touching that he wants to cry.

"What's done can't be undone," Giles says gravely. "I'm hardly in a position to counsel you against sleeping with your Slayer, but I can see it's rather complicated matters given Faith's er, reticence."

Giles words echo around the chipped tiles. "Can it be undone?"

"Did you say something, Wesley?"

He shakes his head with a vague smile. "No, just thinking out loud." He picks up his toothbrush resolutely. "Thank you, Rupert."

"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" He didn't know Giles could look quite so coy. "And Faith, of course." He stretches tiredly. "I need to get to bed before I fall over -- "

The awkwardness is back in the room with them like an unwelcome witch at a Christening. Because he might have let him fuck Faith, might have allowed her to suck his cock (and even now, just the sound of the words in his head are enough to make his dick twitch) but he's bloody well not letting him share a bed with her. "Spare room," he says shortly. "I slept in there last night but the linen was fresh."

Giles retreats with some muttered entreaty to let Wes have the bathroom to himself and he manages to kill long minutes with toothbrush and flannel and even shaves before he's forced to face the inevitable and creep into the room next door so he can brush up against the stiff line of Faith's back as he crawls into bed next to her.

"I'm asleep," she hisses when his hand brushes her arm.

Eventually, so is he.

He wakes because Faith's screaming. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration, but after approximately three hours sleep her shriek is resonating inside his head rather painfully, and the adrenaline rush has left his heart hammering.

"Faith? Faith --"

"Wes, you're never gonna believe what he's done?"

Something Faith-shaped and fully dressed lands on the bed beside him, rocking it and making him wince as he pries his eyes open a little further.

"Faith, please --"

"Giles is like the sweetest guy on the planet, you know?"

No. He doesn't.

"He says thanks for last night --"

Bloody well better. Wesley realises belatedly that Faith's fluttering some pages in front of him and squints at them. "Giles has gone?"

She's staring at the papers like all her Christmases have come at once.

"I asked if Giles has gone?" he repeats tetchily and she bops him on the head with the sheaf of pages.

"I said, didn't I? Geez, you're grumpy this morning." The depths of her denial are fathomless. "Look! It's the fucking President's signature, Wes."

She's making no sense at all, so he sits up and snatches the top sheet which she keeps waving in his face, makes out the logo of the Department Of Justice and scans his eyes downwards --

"Read it out loud," she urges, bouncing up and down and he stumbles through the legalese that describes her official pardon for one count of manslaughter, one count of murder in the first degree, four counts of grievous bodily harm --

"Congratulations," he says flatly because now she has no reason to stay. With him. He's going to rip Giles from limb to limb and enjoy every bloody moment of it.

Her fingers are tracing each word with far more tenderness than she's ever touched him. "Didn't even do it because we fucked. It's dated last week," she says with satisfaction. "And he wrote me --  us, this really cute letter."

"Give it to me," he barks and he's finally got her attention and a little furrow between her eyebrows too.

"Could give it you," she muses, eyelashes swooping down flirtatiously. "But I think you need me to fuck the bad mood out of you before I let you read Giles' letter."

It would take an orgy to reduce his seething fury to manageable proportions and he's really not in the mood. Not when Giles is playing fairy godmother all over the place.

"I don't think you could," he says coldly. "And of course this isn't some kind of payment, you silly girl. He must have been negotiating this for weeks."

He watches the happiness fade from her face and the familiar, closed-off expression she hides behind when she's hurt replace it.

"You're a --"

"Complete shit," he supplies, grabbing her wrist. "Yes, I am. I'm sorry, Faith. You woke me and I was startled and -- come here."

He pulls her to him, paper rustling, and kisses her gently. "I'm very pleased," he whispers against her lips. "You deserve this chance to start again, Faith. I wish --"

"You could've been the one to do it?"

She's astonishingly perceptive sometimes.

"Yes," he admits. "And perhaps I could have done. When we were at Wolfram & Hart I'm sure it would have been possible, but frankly I never thought of it and I'm not sure I'd want you pardoned through their auspices. This is better. Cleaner."

She leans back and shrugs. "Whatever. Just glad I've got it, you know. Think I should get it framed?"

He gives her a small smile. "No. A safe place might be better." Something occurs to him. "Buffy."

"Fuck, where?" she yelps, pretending to be scared before collapsing in giggles.

He gives her shoulders a little shake. "She knew that he was doing this; he wouldn't have told you in case he couldn't pull it off, but he would have told her."

Enlightenment floods her face and she grimaces. "She wouldn't have liked that," she said quietly. "No matter how much better we were getting on, there's some shit she'll never get over, you know? She wouldn't have wanted the slate wiped clean."

"Well, she's not really part of the equation any more," he reminds her, watching the pretty patterns of her shifting face.

"Not right now," she agrees and waggles more paper in his face. "Still haven't read Giles' letter."

And before he can, she snatches it away again and starts to read:

Dear Faith and Wesley,

I hope you'll forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I wanted to make an early start and avoid any awkwardness as a result of the very pleasant way we spent last night. Thank you for taking pity on me and letting me snatch a few crumbs of comfort from you both.

I hope you've both read the attached documents. I know they only go a small way towards compensating you, Faith, for the unpleasantness you had to endure. I want you to know that your work at the Council and your transformation over the last few years have not gone unnoticed and are very much appreciated by me and other the members of the Board.

This is why we'd like you to accept the new position of Senior Slayer -- 

"Hear that, Wes?" she crows. "Senior Slayer. Me! You're already Senior Watcher so we're like a matched pair and I get wads of cash."

She mentions a figure that makes him blanch with its reckless generosity and then she's bouncing on the bed again while the frame creaks alarmingly. Giles should have told him. Should have let him be the one to put that blinding beam on her face.

"Hey, reckon I'll get a passport now? We can take a vacation. We could go to Brazil for real!"

He's slightly mollified by her choice of pronoun even as he's rigid with resentment that bloody Giles has given her what he can't: security, hope, another way.

He manages to keep his voice calm, as he holds out his hand. "May I?"

She pauses from bouncing and throwing exotic destinations at him to give him the letter so he can read the last paragraph:

Though the changing nature of your relationship is slightly unprecedented, I expect you both back at the Council on Monday morning, ready to assume your duties.

Best wishes

Giles

'Changing nature'? He's muttering that tactful, reserved phrase under his breath as he shoves the covers back and gets out of bed, naked and shivering in the cool air.

Faith frowns. "Hey, Wes; you don't want to celebrate?" She winds her arms sinuously around his waist, which, given that she's still kneeling on the bed means that she's in the perfect position to nuzzle against his wholly uninterested cock. Traitorously, it begins to stir anyway. A jubilant, randy Slayer is a potent aphrodisiac.

"Faith -- please. I need to --" He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh." She pouts, then shrugs. "Hurry back?"

He pushes the letter at her. "Actually, I think we should leave."

She sits back on her heels and there's this quizzical expression that doesn't suit her on her face. "You mad at me, Wes?"

He runs his hand through his hair, feeling tired and grubby. "No. I'm just -" Her eyebrows lift slowly and he succumbs to the need to be honest even if it kills their changing bloody relationship stone-dead. "To be perfectly honest, I'm furious. Not with you; with Giles. And myself, I suppose."

"Why?" she demands, her voice almost on the querulous setting. "Aren't you happy that I'm free?"

And isn't that a leading question, one that almost has him blushing in shame? "Of course I'm happy --  for you," he insists doggedly, inwardly sighing as she jumps off the bed and blocks his path to the door. "But I'm your Watcher and Giles should have discussed this with me first. I should have been involved in the -- "

"Say fucking what?" she growls so menacingly that the hairs on his arms stand up. "This has nothing to do with you and Giles. It's about me!"

With any other woman, the relentless quest for attention would be irritating. With Faith though, it's heartbreaking. "Yes, but -- "

"If you cared about me then you wouldn't give a fuck about how or who or any of that bullshit, you'd be happy for me," she flings at him. "You don't give a fuck about me unless you're fucking me. You're the same as every other sad sack piece of shit who's had me."

And he understands why she's angry and hurt, he really does and he hates himself for making her feel that way, but she's gone too far, been too unfair.

"Fine," he spits. "I won't fuck you then. In fact, I'm not going to fuck you for the foreseeable future. Not until you get it into your incredibly dense head that I do care for you, that I bloody love you and it has nothing to do with Giles or the Council or any of the other obstacles you keep throwing up because you're too much of a coward to be honest about how you really feel."

Speechlessness lasts for long enough for her eyes to narrow and her face to flush. "Like you could keep it zipped now you're finally getting some!" she sneers. "Fuck the Watcher/Slayer thing, Wesley; you're still a man and you're all the fucking same. It's all you want."

"It's part of what I want," he says, getting calmer in the face of her anger as if he realises how dangerous it is for both of them to be in a temper. "I won't deny that. But if it were all I want then why would I give it up in the hope of persuading you to trust me when I say that I love you?"

She blinks once, twice and then one of her most endearing expressions; the furrowed brow and the half-smile appear. "Wes, you're like a fucking pretzel, you know that?" She hugs him and smooshes her lips against his. "Fine. We won't fuck."

She twirls away, mercurial as ever, and heads downstairs. Even before "You'll be begging for it in a week" floats back he knows that she's not taking him seriously.

Part Four

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