Summary: Giles thinks about the two conflicting
sides of him.
Spoilers: Minor through the series. Set sometime this summer.
Disclaimer: Joss owns 'em, not me.
Rating: R, for sexual content. But alas, not NC17. < g >
Feedback: I love some!
Thanks to Tracy, who rocks as a Goddess, a beta reader, and a friend. Also
to Laura for inspiring me with her stories.
by: Amy
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How unfair life is. I often think about the future and my past as if they're
one and the same thing. Maybe they are. What happened years ago has molded
me into what I am, actions that were taken shaped who lived and who died,
who
was lost and who was saved.
I have such a dark soul sometimes.
None of them see it. Those children who are so full of light that they tend
to blind those who look straight at them, think of me as someone who is
sturdy, someone who is strong and wise and a friend and mentor. As much as
I
wish that's all I was, all I am, it isn't.
I'll wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, startled, the sweat-soaked
sheets tangling around me. I don't know what I dream, don't want to know
what I dream. But I do know that my dreaming frees me. There's a small
piece of me that clings to the memory of what I was at my most wicked. The
power I felt, even the fear was a thrill. Sometimes just the remembrance
of
it still is.
I go to work as if nothing is different, as if I'm still the man who lives
under the sun and battles the darkness. But perhaps I'm lying, even to
myself. Perhaps I'm just a man who holds a candle up to his face to deceive
those who only want to see me in the light. Perhaps my life was destined
to
be in darkness, and the candle is the only thing I can grasp that doesn't
give me away.
I hate loving these thoughts. I hate that they're such an intricate part
of
me, that Ripper and Rupert are so irrevocably entwined with one another.
Sometimes I'm amazed that all those I know really see me for who I want to
be
seen as.
Of course, saying that I only want to be Rupert is lying. I want to be both
of them, all of me, which is impossible. A far dream. One of them always
has to be in total control. It's as if I'm battling my mind every waking
moment, and most when I'm asleep. I wonder sometimes if this is how Angel
feels.
Occasionally, I'll falter and my sane side will slip away. It doesn't
happen often, less and less since I met my Watcher's duties as an adult,
but
sometimes. And then, for hours afterward, I'll detest myself, tell myself
what I should have done differently, how I could have reacted instead of
how
I did.
Yesterday at my apartment was one such occasion. Drinking my coffee,
watching Willow type away on the contraption she persuaded me to buy,
seemingly calm on the outside. I sat three feet from her, just watching her,
burying the temptation to walk over and ravish her, shove her down on the
desk or couch or floor and cover her with hot kisses, have her touch me in
ways I could only hope she's imagined.
My body rapidly grew warm, then hot at these thoughts when suddenly there
was
a slightly bulge in my trousers. I casually straightened my knees and sat
comfortably, for I found that my obvious attraction to her wasn't bothering
me, as it should have been. I looked at the pale skin of her neck, the hair
covering a bit of her profile as my hand slid over my erection. And then
Willow stopped typing and I realized that I had been rubbing myself for over
a minute.
I watched her as she paused, wondering frantically if she had seen me, if
she
had known that I was pleasuring myself with the image of her writhing beneath
me in my head. She turned to look at me and I sat up straight, the almost
painful hardness of my erection softening instantly.
A confused smile warmed her face and she tilted her head to the side,
examining me. "Are you okay, Giles? You look kind of... funny."
And, as if the previous minute had only been a preview of what was to come,
I
nodded, giving her an almost lascivious smile. I widened my grin when she
blushed prettily under my gaze and I stood, walking over to her. My hands
rested on her shoulders, and her breath caught as I stood behind her and
looked calmly at the computer.
"Yes. Everything is quite fine," I murmured in a voice that I nearly didn't
recognize. She nodded, breathing faster, and her hands began flying over
the
keys again as my fingers slid through her hair. She didn't question my
caress, and I don't care to know why because I'm merely grateful for it now.
To make matters even worse, my erection was back and straining against my
pants. I moved my hips forward an inch or two and gave a low, guttural groan
when I brushed her shoulder.
Her fingers stilled again and her head snapped up. I noticed that she was
blushing scarlet and I felt like the worst man alive, a pervert who molested
young girls who just happened to be friends with him. Something in her eyes
glittered, and though I saw it right away, I backed away from her anyway,
trembling, wanting her so badly that I could barely breathe. I knew that
if
I didn't get away from her firm, warm body soon, I would do something that
I
would badly regret.
Imagine my surprise when she caught my wrist and pulled me to her for a
moment. Our bodies contacted and she pressed her softness to my hardness.
I
was confused but so lust-ridden that I couldn't think straight, and then
she
kissed me.
When my sensible side is in control, I imagine her kisses as something soft,
something tender and sweet and warm. Even shy, probably because under normal
circumstances, that's how I would describe myself with romance. But this
wasn't romance. It was passion.
And, alternately, when my darkened mind was holding the rest of me hostage,
I
would imagine Willow differently; Hot, hard kisses, wet with hunger and fire.
Which was what was happening to me right now.
After a moment of shock, I gathered her tightly in my arms, my hand sliding
down to the curve of her buttocks, and her small fingers gripped handfuls
of
my hair, dragging my face closer to her. Her breasts were crushed against
my
chest as I half lifted her from the ground and she gasped, her lips on mine.
Our mouths meshed hungrily, wildly, her tongue slipping between my lips and
eagerly exploring the recesses of my mouth. In turn, I fought her tongue
with mine, almost angrily. My fingers started pulling her skirt up slowly
and then dipping down her panties.
As soon as my hand touched the heat of her skin, I froze. Awkward, not
knowing what to do, Rupert was back in full control, left to clean up the
unimaginable mess that his counterpart had created. Willow froze at the same
time, and then after a long pause, gently extracted herself from my
embrace.
My face was flaming-- What could I say to her? She simply took my hand and
kissed the knuckles with a maturity far above her eighteen years. Her eyes
were still somewhat glazed and I had to stifle a chuckle of pleasure that
it
was me, a part of me, that had made her look that way.
Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed me softly and then turned away.
As she neared the door, I suddenly found my voice.
"What does all of this mean?" I asked huskily, licking my lips.
She turned to me and winked, and for a moment I was startled, though it was
she who had started the kiss even though I had begun the seduction. Her
voice was feathery.
"That we don't know you as well as we think we do. And that might be a good
thing," she finished whispered, before disappearing.
I disagree. While she's in my thoughts all of the time now, so is the fact
that I am indeed two separate, very different souls. One who loves mayhem,
destruction, wildness, and heat and the other who longs for order and quiet
and tenderness and warmth. Such needs, so equally appealing to me.
Maybe there is a third person residing in me as well. The one who has to
decide who I should be, the one with the responsibility of choosing on his
shoulders.
I am him, too.
And the dreams are getting worse each night. I know because I've become
increasingly violent, ripping at my sheets, scratching at my own skin. Time
for you to decide who you're going to be, Rupert. Time for you to pick one
and leave the other behind you in the dust forever as a vague memory of how
things once were.
But who can I pick when I need them both to truly be myself? The candle is
dwindling down, and the children, my friends are going to realize it soon,
realize that it's all been an illusion, a fucking illusion that I created
because I was frightened by all of me. I can almost imagine the wax dripping
onto my fingers as my chance to pick slowly comes to a stop.
And, in the end, I choose who I need to be.
Which calms me some, because it is both of them. I realize that my past and
my future *are* each other, that my life has led me to who I am now.
Sometime in the future I might wonder where I would be if I had never left
my
days of darkness, or where I would be if Jenny had not died, or where I would
be if I hadn't kissed Willow. But I'll tell myself that it doesn't matter.
That who I am is who I am, no matter how different I can be from myself.
I can imagine the candle burning itself out, leaving me in darkness, and
I
wonder who I'll be tomorrow.
Whoever it is, I'll accept him.
The End