The fact that he agreed with hardly any protests to her suggestion that she stay with him that night only proved to Willow how off-balance he was. Even now, walking into his apartment, he looked tired and pale and older than his years. He was walking with a bit of a weave, and took two tries to get his coat properly hung on the rack. It wasn’t late, by their standards, only just past ten-thirty, but even she was feeling like it was more like three-thirty in the morning. She could only imagine how Giles was feeling.
He’d stopped somewhere around his desk, and was looking around the apartment as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Willow hung up her jacket and set aside the overnight bag she’d packed and walked over to him.
No point in asking if he was ok, and she doubted he’d want to talk about it, so, instead, she said, “I was just planning on doing the newspaper crossword puzzle tonight. You wanna help, maybe?”
He looked down at the desk, furrowed his brow and picked up one of the books there, glanced at the spine and set it back down before he really acknowledged her.
“Uh. Thank you, Willow, but... I think I’d really rather just lie down, maybe do a little light reading before bed.”
“Ok. I understand. Oh, but, hey! Could I at least give you that back rub I was thinking of offering a few days ago before we got sidetracked by arguing?”
He looked a bit doubtful.
“Aww, come on, it’s just a back rub. You said your back was hurting. You know you want to.”
She grinned at him and waggled her eyebrows, and he slowly smiled back. It was just a small smile, but it was a victory.
“Actually, that would be wonderful. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not a bit.”
It wasn’t until she had him upstairs, face down and shirtless on his bed that the first twinge of doubt really hit her. She hadn’t anticipated doubt. Doubt had not even been on the radar. Or... on the gaydar, possibly. But then, as she’d scooted onto the bed and curled her legs up under herself to sit beside him, and really looked at him for the first time, that was when it all began to get a little complicated.
Because, ok, downstairs it had all been about helping a friend who was in a weird place and had a sore back. Up here, it was suddenly about... Giles. Half-naked. Lying on a bed. All relaxed with his head pillowed on his crossed arms and the lamp beside the bed casting this soft warm light over his really *nice* back and making him look like... Like something *way* too touchable. Because, hey, not that she was meaning to be repetitive, but she was totally gay now. In love with a girl. And very fond of breasts, which Giles, in spite of his current state, definitely did *not* have.
In spite of her new misgivings, she leaned forward and laid her hands on the back of his neck. His skin was warm. And soft. He grunted very softly as she began to rub his neck. She bit her lip, and tried to concentrate on just working the knots out of his tense muscles.
Everything was quiet in the apartment, and even outside, like the whole world was holding its breath. Or maybe like she was too distracted to notice anything else. Because all she could hear were the sounds Giles was making: soft moans and sighs and grunts. It very much didn’t slip her notice that those were the exact kind of sounds Giles might make if they were in a far more... intimate sort of situation. Ok, they were also kind of like the sounds he occasionally made while fencing. But now they were in a bed and she was touching his bare skin, and the context was way, way, way different.
And it was kinda turning her on.
She’d once heard someone say that 95 percent of all back rubs lead to sex. It didn’t seem like a very logical statistic, probably one that would fall under that joking category of 57.8 percent of all statistics being made up on the spot, but still, when his hips shifted and bumped her knee after she’d dug into a particularly bad spot along his spine, she had some distinctly not-gay kinda feelings.
So she’d had a crush on him in high school. And he was really sexy when he sang. And he looked *good* in those nice Magic-Box-owner suits. And his eyes were such a pretty color. And he was smart. And he’s always treated her like an equal, right from the start. She really loved that about him.
He was practically purring under her hands now, pressing up into her knuckles as she leaned forward to put her weight into kneading the small of her back.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said, his voice kind of shaky and dripping with pure, sensual pleasure, and ok, he *never* said *that* while he was fencing, at least not in anything *like* that tone of voice.
She pulled her hands away and sat back on her heels.
He hitched himself up on one elbow and looked back over his shoulder at her. His eyes were shuttered, half-closed, rings of jade around pools of darkness, and she knew that waxing poetical about eyes was one of the leading signs that she was really in a whole lotta trouble.
“Willow?” he said.
Apparently he had as much faith in her gayness as she’d had up until just a while ago. Except, here he was, living proof that maybe things weren’t always so clear-cut, what with Ethan and Jenny and Olivia.
When she didn’t answer, he sat up, facing her, with one knee drawn up and hugged in his bare arms. He somehow managed to look relaxed and content and ruffled and concerned all at the same time. It was endearing. And adorable. And sexy.
Damn it.
“Everything all right?”
And of course everything was not all right. Everything was very bad. And she was beginning to wonder if maybe this would always happen to her. Things would get good, and then she’d sabotage everything by falling for someone else. Because, things were good with Tara right now. Amazingly good. Better than anything.
But Giles had felt so good under her hands. And she’d just realized that the reason he was sitting in that awkward position was probably because he was hoping she wouldn’t notice that he had an erection.
Ok, and now, in addition to coming up with some sort of coherent reply to his inquiry before he decided she’d lost her mind, she also had to find some way to pretend she wasn’t staring at his bare chest.
“Uh,” she said.
That really wouldn’t do it. She mentally gave herself a good hard kick upside the head.
“Nothing,” she said, looking up. “So... uh. Is that any better?”
He continued to look doubtful for a moment, and she cringed inside, waiting to be questioned again, but then, he just let it go, and his expression broke into a small smile.
“Yes, thank you. I feel like a new man.”
“Well good. Not that I didn’t like the old man. He was just a little, you know, cranky and pained-looking.”
Giles laughed gently at that, and when he looked back up, their eyes met, and then, instead of flicking off somewhere else, it was like their gazes got tangled up somewhere between them, and they couldn’t quite pull them away.
This was bad. This was dangerous. It had been bad enough when it had been just her, having naughty wrong thoughts. Now there was this intense, unbreakable gazing thing. The kind of thing that takes two people. Oh, this was very bad. She was having more flashbacks to senior year and Xander, but they weren’t helping to clarify anything. They were just making her feel guilty and confused and kind of helpless.
Giles got himself untangled first, looking away sharply and reaching for his glasses.
“Ah, well, I- I believe I should, um, get some sleep.”
“Oh. Yeah. Ok. I’ll. I’ll be down on the couch. You know. If you need anything. Not that you’re, you know, incapable or anything, but-”
“Yes,” he said, mercifully cutting her rambling short, “Thank you, Willow.”
But he touched her hand as he said it, and it made her shiver.
She slunk back downstairs to the couch they’d made up with sheets and a pillow. She slept restlessly that night, and dreamed of green eyes and male hands.
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