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Illusionsby WesleysGirlRating: NC-17 Giles/Wesley Written for Margarks for round 29 of Maleslashminis. Thanks to Minim Calibre for the beta. In Wesley's nightmares, he and Giles battle a seemingly endless horde of demons. It's nearly impossible to tell what they are -- it's too dark, shadows shifting from grey to black, and the demons themselves seem to shift, as well. Just as he stakes what he believes to be a vampire, it changes into something else, stubbornly refusing to turn to dust the way it should. The nightmares are never identical, yet always the same. He and Giles fight until they are exhausted, then fall. He wakes soaked with sweat, his heart thudding at a horrible pace, and sits against the headboard until morning. The nightmares have been going on for weeks. Not every night, fortunately -- if it were every night, Wesley thinks he wouldn't have succeeded in keeping them from Giles for so long. He drinks extra tea laced with extra sugar and stays up reading long after Giles has fallen asleep, his small reading lamp thoughtfully tilted so that its brightness falls across the pages he's reading but not across Giles' pillow. Sometimes, he sets the book aside and watches Giles sleep. In slumber, the lines of Giles' face smooth out, taking at least ten years with them. Wesley thinks that he prefers Giles awake, but there's still something peaceful about watching him like this, along with a faint sense of envy. Wesley eventually falls asleep whether he intends to or not, half propped up by pillows, book falling from his lax hand to his knee or the carpeted floor, which it hits with a thud soft enough that it doesn't wake him. Or perhaps he's simply too weary to be woken by anything less than an emergency. Tonight, as always, the nightmare loses none of its intensity with repetition; Wesley is instantly caught up in it, in terror so overwhelming he can barely force himself to move. And yet move he does, sword materializing in his grip. As always, he is aware of Giles' presence nearby, but the knowledge brings him no comfort, no sense of reassurance. Instead, it is the source of his terror -- he scarcely fears his own death anymore, but the thought of losing Giles drives him to fight more ferociously, to put every bit of dream-energy into each blow. A vampire appears in front of him. He takes a stake from the waistband of his trousers and slams it into the vampire's chest, but the vampire's shout of pain isn't followed by a cloud of dust. Instead, it snarls, jerks the stake free, turns, and plunges the stake into Giles, who goes wide-eyed, gasps for air, and collapses. "Ahhhhhhhh!" Wesley yells hoarsely and struggles with whatever's tangled around his legs. He loses his balance and falls. It feels like a long way down, and when he lands, it's hard and on his arse. He hits his head as well, and his vision sparks and shimmers as he waits to die. "Wesley." It can't be Giles' voice, because Giles is dead. A bright light blinds him. When he throws up his arm to shade his eyes, he discovers that his face is wet with tears. "Are you all right?" Hands touch him and he doesn't try to move away. "Wes." It is Giles, and he's alive, and it was all a dream. Another of those horrible nightmares. Wesley feels a rush of fantastic relief and finds himself clutching at Giles. "There, love. It's all right. Were you dreaming?" Wesley nods against Giles' shoulder. Reality is sinking back in now, and that and Giles' touch warm him. He shouldn't be behaving this way, he knows, and forces himself to straighten up. "I'm fine," he manages gruffly. "Sorry about waking you." "Oh, no, you don't." Giles lets him stand unencumbered, then blocks Wesley's path to the doorway with his body. "Don't shut me out." Wesley moves to Giles' right, and Giles moves to block him again. "Don't shut me in." "You're being unfair," Giles points out gently. It's the gentleness that gets Wesley every time, weakens his resolve, bends him to Giles' will like a tree in the face of a fierce wind. "You've been on edge for weeks. Is this why? Nightmares?" "I'm sure they'll pass," Wesley says. It frustrates him beyond measure that he isn't permitted to deal with the situation on his own. It's not Giles' problem, after all. Yet at the same time Wesley knows that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't consider it a burden to help Giles. In fact, he'd be glad to help. "What are they about?" Giles asks, and Wesley looks away. "Standard nightmares," he mutters, hoping Giles will leave it at that but knowing he won't. Giles nods. "Vampires?" He doesn't, fortunately, speak the name. The Name. It's one they're both just as happy to pretend doesn't exist, what with the histories they both have. Thinking about it, it's a surprise that Angel hasn't been appearing in Wesley's nightmares. "Amongst other things," he admits. There is no way he's going to admit to the deeper fear behind the dreams -- that something he does, with the best of intentions, might end up being a mistake that gets Giles killed. "Well, what would you like to do?" Giles rubs his face blearily, and Wesley feels guilty for having woken him. "Should we consider ourselves up for the day and have some tea? Or would you prefer to go back to bed?" Giles is wearing loose flannel pajama pants and nothing else. His chest hairs are shot through with silver and his shoulders are rounded and strong, and Wesley gets a sudden picture in his head of Giles stretched out on the sheets beneath him. "Bed," he says. "Definitely bed." He begins tentatively, the nightmare skittering around the edges of his memory like a persistent and troublesome insect, but five minutes in he's forgotten it in favor of sliding his mouth over Giles' skin, licking his way into Giles' hot, slick mouth. "I want to fuck you," he whispers to the underside of Giles' jaw. Giles moans softly and cups Wesley's shoulder with one hand. "I want whatever you want," he says. "Yes, please. Fuck me." They abandoned condoms nearly a year ago; Wesley has no intention to explore other relationships, not for as long as he has Giles. He slips his hand between the mattress and the headboard of the bed, where a bottle of lube is tucked, and moments later he's pushing into Giles. I'm never going to let anything happen to you, he thinks as Giles pushes back to meet him. He knows that it's a pointless promise, but it makes him feel better anyway. "Love you," he says out loud; it's what Giles would prefer to hear. They're on their sides and he's pressed up against Giles' back, one arm over Giles' hip and a hand encircled around Giles' cock. Like this, he can imagine being able to protect Giles, being able to keep him safe. "Don't stop," Giles says. Wesley doesn't know if Giles is talking about loving him -- which he'll never stop -- or the fucking. Making love. It's both, and the fact that part of it is just about the raw, primal physical desire doesn't take away from the emotion behind it. "I won't," he says anyway, and thrusts in again, deeper, squeezing his hand tighter around Giles' erection. "I won't." He can feel his own breathing harsh in his throat, can feel Giles trembling. "Are you close?" "Yes. Yes." Giles groans loudly when he comes, shooting hard, slicking Wesley's fingers. The tightening of his body in waves around Wesley's cock threatens to drag Wesley's orgasm from him, too, but Wesley manages to hold off, to keep thrusting until Giles shudders and is still. Then he finally allows himself to thrust faster, his movements quick and fierce. It's not a loss of control, because this is about being in control, so his own orgasm is something he permits rather than something which overtakes him but no less powerful because of it. Perhaps it's more powerful. Afterwards, one hand stroking along Giles' flank almost meditatively, Wesley feels sated, at peace. He can tell that Giles is falling back asleep, which is fine. Good, even, since it means Wesley can relax a bit. Not completely, of course, because he has to remain vigilant. He needs to protect Giles, to keep him safe, and that's exactly what he's going to do. It doesn't matter that it's all an illusion rather than reality. Reality, Wesley has discovered, is incredibly overrated. He thinks he prefers the lie. End.
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