by Te
September 2000

Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, I would give them Legos to play
with. And Lincoln Logs.

Spoilers: Some mention of To Shanshu In L.A. Buffy/Angel

Ratings Note: R.

Summary: Giles and Angel spar.

Author's Note: This idea has been bouncing around my head for a

Acknowledgements: To my brain, with loooove.

Feedback: Please.


Te: Give me an improv, mami?
     spike: okeydokely:  angel, cock, stubble

It started as a game, or seemed to.

Angel had delivered the careful copies of the prophecies to Giles, just
in case there was anything relevant to the Hellmouth, only to find
Giles cleaning... swords.

Giles had dressed down from his usual, jeans and a t-shirt, lightly
stubbled, brown and grey. There were swords all over the apartment,
from blunted fencing tools, to broad swords, to short swords. Rapiers
and scimitars. To his question Giles had responded:

"Joyce is having a rather... martial showing at the gallery. I agreed to
help. You can set those copies in the kitchen -- I think that's the
safest place at the moment."

And Angel had done so and moved to leave when Giles had spoken again.

"Is it only your demon who fences?"

Which was... something between a blow and a tease, but Giles' voice had
been gently amused, and there was no visible tension beyond the slow
flex and release of the cloth on the blade -- a saber -- and Angel
couldn't quite see Giles' eyes.

And it made him want to run because... there was no way in hell either of
them were going to forget the sound of Giles' fingers snapping like twigs.
The look on Giles' face when he -- the *demon* had made him watch while
Spike ate the one that had come off entirely.

Beautiful child, always ready to shock.

Shook it off.

But, "there is... sensory memory."

And Giles looked up at that, an expression of curiosity that might have
even been pure on his face, wide-eyed and inward focused, if only for a
moment. And then silence, as Giles continued to wipe at the gleaming
blade and Angel... stood.

Another moment to realize he was basically waiting to be dismissed, and
he had his mouth open to say his goodbyes when --

"Care for a spar? The courtyard would do nicely."

"I don't --"

But Giles had tossed him the saber and it had been perfectly natural to
catch it, hold it, arrange his grip properly. The callouses he didn't
quite have, missed from the demon's other humans over time. There had
been warriors, and now they were his, courtesy of the demon.

Eater of souls.

And Giles moved past him, saber that might have been the other's twin
cradled in his own arms. Into the courtyard.

And there he is, there they both are now, and Giles is... holding him in a
fine line. Angel had had warriors, but Giles is an artist, moving
effortlessly. Angel has the power and speed.

And the demon, urging him to use both.

Giles has fenced him around the courtyard a dozen times, and Angel's
shirt is torn. There has been no blood only because Giles has pulled his
slashes just short of wounding him and that is control.

Purest control and Giles' eyes are everywhere over him, and Angel knows
he must be telegraphing somehow and suddenly, unexpectedly, his back
hits the wall.

Wedged into a corner and for a moment, just a moment, his own control
is gone because the threat is too great, the threat that isn't *is* and
he feels his face go and he's watching now, watching himself force Giles
back but still gaining no more ground in the fight itself. Too much skill
and if he tosses the sword away now he can take Giles easily.

Perhaps slashed, perhaps stabbed, but the end result would be forcing.
Forcing Giles back, bones cracking and he *would* scream again and the
taste. The taste. Oh he remembers taking, remembers it all and Giles
has begun to sweat and it snaps him free, somehow.

Because there's no fear.

And the lack hasn't got a goddamned thing to do with trust.

And it's suddenly very real that one of them could die, here, on the
flagstones, under the half-moon and dimmed stars and indigo sky.

And Giles fights harder, faster, and Angel can smell the pain now, Giles'
pain, but it isn't stopping him and Angel manages to get a touch to
Giles' ribs but it only makes the other man smile.

When it comes, it's still a surprise, a sudden change of tactic from close
and speed to wide open and the blade descends, air whistling and stops,
quivering slightly, just short of beheading him.

With his free hand, Giles reaches for Angel's own sword, and he gives it
freely, and they walk back into the apartment, and the smell of Giles'
blood is fresh and heady and goes straight to his cock. Not enough
control to stop from cutting him.

Giles' wraps the swords, turns to face him, and smiles.

"I think it's time for you to go, Angel."

And he does.