“Am I taking advantage of you?” Giles asks, eyes curious as he traces
oval bruises his fingers made, and licks and laps at love bites placed
just low enough to be hidden behind a shirt collar.
Xander laughs, the sound trapped in his throat by the gag, spit-dark,
that serves so many purposes, then lowers his eyes swiftly as Giles
frowns.
A glance at the clock, mouth and hands are freed, and the question
hangs between them, unanswered, until Xander tilts his head just so and
Giles reaches down to unfasten his collar.
“God, I hope so,” Xander says, standing from kneeling without using his
hands, as heâs been taught. He stretches out for one long moment,
before coming to curl up on the bed against Giles, his movements
awkward, as they never are when heâs under instructions.
“Why?” Giles asks, stroking over skin crossed, like a letter written
when paper was scarce, with lines of correction, written in red.
A shift, too subtle not to be deliberate, brings Xanderâs mouth close
enough to kiss and the answer to that is deferred for a while but when
the kiss ends, Giles raises his eyebrows and waits.
“If youâre not,” Xander says finally, “then Iâm wasting my time. Or
doing something wrong.”
It takes Giles no time at all to decide he doesnât understand that and
he says so.
Xander stirs the collar, lying forgotten on the bed, with one bare
foot. “When thatâs on my neck, thereâs nothing you canât take from me,
so it doesnât come into it. Itâs not my choice.”
“True,” Giles agrees. “Thatâs what you wanted.”
“Thatâs what I begged for,” Xander says, correcting him, because no
matter how adept he is at concealment outside this room, in it, his
honesty is as real as toothache and as painful.
“And so -?”
“So when itâs not, when itâs us pretending to be normal -” Giles blinks
at that but lets him finish, “ -I kinda like there being something you
take that you shouldnât.”
“Why?” Giles asks in a whisper, seeing the answer hover, feeling like a
mouse who looks up into the empty blue and sees it fill with feathers
and sharp, eager claws.
Xander smiles and hooks the collar to him with one foot, stretching
down and picking it up. “You hurt me better when youâre feeling guilty,
Giles. You know that.”
He holds out the collar. “Weâve got time before class. Put in on again. please?”
And the leatherâs worn so thin at that hole
that Giles knows theyâll need a new collar soon. He canât just move to the
next hole along.
Xander likes it on that one. Likes it tight.
7/6/04
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