If Wishes Were Handjobs
written by Lostgirl

Rating: FRM
Spoilers: None indicated.
Summary: Wesley knows he shouldn't.
Thanks: Big, huge thanks to psychoadept for the beta magic!
Dedication: For Taffimai's birthday!
Feedback Author: Lostgirl
Author's Website: Just Slightly Fixated Author's LJ: Ink Stained Fingers

Wesley knew he shouldn't, not after all Giles had done for him. The hospital had been hell and he'd quite thought he'd come out of it without any place to stay, since the Council had been paying for his flat. Giles, however, had done more than simply visit him, he'd invited Wesley to stay with him until he recovered and figured out where he wanted his life to go now.

Which was why Wesley really shouldn't even be contemplating... Giles had been nothing but friendly toward him, had opened his home and put up gracefully with Wesley's sullen mood. Wes thought his current activity might well be a breech of etiquette.

That didn't stop him, however. He let his eyes flutter closed, finding it hard to remain quiet as he stroked his erection beneath his borrowed blanket, his sweats pushed down around his calves as he touched himself. Giles was just upstairs. Had Wesley stood up and looked, he might have been able to catch a vague glimpse of Giles' form, well shaped and solid. So solid, in fact, that the man seemed to have a gravity all his own. It pulled Wesley in, made him want to get closer until he was stuck, caught in an orbit and held there.

He swiped his thumb up and over the head of his cock, biting his lip to hold back a groan. Any noise was sure to wake Giles, which would lead to Wesley's immolating from the heat of his own blush, if nothing else. So, he bit his lip harder, imagining it was Giles' hand on him, stroking him, squeezing in just the right way to make Wes arch and strain for more.

He could see it so easily in his mind, the way Giles would look at him, the way Giles' hand would look fisting his cock, the way Giles would lean in with parted lips and--

Some sound must have alerted him. Wesley eyes flew open, his entire body freezing, his heart thudding in his chest with a fear more potent then even Balthazar had coaxed from him. Giles stood just at the end of the sofa, dressed in flannel sleep pants and nothing else. Even mortified, Wesley couldn't keep his eyes from running over Giles' bare chest and arms, sticking on the thick black lines of a tattoo he'd only read about before finally, fearfully, moving to Giles' face.

"Don't stop on my account," Giles said softly, his eyes were focused on the blanket, on the spot under which Wesley's hand curled around his cock, still hard, growing embarrassingly harder under that intense gaze. "Keep going."

Wesley heard the own hitch in his breathing, his eyes going even wider as he stared at Giles. His shaft pulsed hard in his hand, drawing a half-stifled moan out of him before he could bite down on it. Giles' lips parted, his tongue darting out to lick across them. Wesley's fist tightened of its own accord, the sensation combining with that look from Giles made him arch, pant.

The breath that hitched then wasn't his own. Giles took a step closer and Wesley wanted to freeze again, but his body wouldn't let him. His hand stroked along his cock, even as Giles sat down beside him on the very edge of the couch, eyes still focused on his' hand moving under the blanket.

"Don't stop," Giles said softly. Wesley found himself unable to look away as Giles pulled back the blanket, exposing him. "You make such lovely sounds. Soft little whimpers. I don't think you're aware of them."

Wesley groaned then, unable to hold the sound inside as his cock twitched hard, his balls tightening. Giles was staring at him, staring at his cock, at his hand as he touched himself. Wesley found himself panting hard, body alive and tingling under Giles' gaze. Wes licked his dry lips, swallowing hard.

"May I?" Giles met his gaze, his hand gestured toward Wesley's cock as if he were asking if he could borrow a pen. Wesley whimpered, arching up as if his body had already made the decision for him.

He couldn't speak, wasn't sure he remembered how. Instead he nodded and his hand kept stroking, as if this were one of his fantasies and he'd have to play both parts. Giles' hand settled over his own, the angle slightly awkward. Wes strained into their combined grip, moaning something that sounded suspiciously like 'Giles' as he worked himself.

God, he was close, which was both wonderful and horrible. He didn't want this to be over, didn't want his one encounter with Giles to consist of the man barely touching his cock and him coming like an overeager virgin.

Giles' hand slipped down to the base of his cock, squeezing tight enough to draw a gasp from Wesley. "Not yet," Giles said in a tone of voice that was both soft and firm. Wesley felt his impending orgasm recede a bit and let his eyes close briefly. Not for long, though. He had to see this, had to soak in every bit of it and store it away.

Wesley swallowed hard, opening his eyes and nodding to tell Giles he was in control again. Giles' hand slid up his cock, slicked with pre-cum and the sweat of exertion. Giles brushed Wesley's hand aside easily, his eyes moving up to Wesley's face. Wes just watched him, panting at the feel, his mind boggling as the hand he'd watched gracefully smooth book pages, the fingers he'd watched curl around the handle of teacups, wrapped around his aching prick.

"God," he gasped, his head falling back, though he couldn't take his eyes off those hands, Giles' hands, stroking confidently along his shaft, exploring him with light touches that had Wes pushing up for more.

"Lovely," Giles said, his voice so soft that, were it not for the look in his eyes, Wesley might have thought he'd imagined it. Giles' free hand brushed up along his thigh and Wesley groaned. It pressed against his hip, not so much restraining him as making him work harder for the friction. Wesley didn't even try to stop arching, couldn't, not with the things Giles' hand was doing to him. "What were you thinking about?"

Wesley blinked, shaking his head and then groaning as Giles swept a thumb over the head of his cock. "W-what?"

"When I came downstairs. What were you thinking about?"

Wesley gasped, trying to think of something to say to that, anything but the embarrassing truth. "N-nothing."

"Nothing?" Giles' grip tightened just a little, his other hand brushing down from Wesley's hip to rub over his balls. Giles was giving him a devious look, a slightly smug smile. "I don't think that's true."

"You," Wesley gasped, his eyes still trained on Giles' face. He saw the smile that got him and groaned, arching up into the hand that once against settled on his hip. Wesley lost himself for a little while. The way Giles was looking at him, the heat in the man's eyes, it made him want to stay that way for as long as possible. He loved the feel of Giles' hand, so much better than he'd imagined. The touches built, one on top of the other until Wes was panting hard, straining, his balls drawing up.

Then it stopped. Giles' fingers circled the base of his cock, squeezing harder this time, hard enough that, had Wesley not already been so excited he thought he might pop, it might have hurt. Just then, however, with Giles watching him and those hands on him, it rode the fine line between pain and pleasure, made him whimper.

Giles met his eyes, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "Do you want me to taste you?"

Wesley thought he might have come then and there had Giles' hold not been as firm as it was. Giles apparently got his answer from Wesley's face because he leaned in, so slowly Wesley had plenty of time to watch his lips part, his tongue dart out before he felt it flick against the head of his cock. He hissed, eyes fixed on Giles' mouth as it slid over his aching cock.

"P-please," he finally found the breath to say. His cock pulsed against those soft lips, sliding into that hot, wet mouth. He thought he might die from this, thought he might not mind, either.

Giles hummed around the head of his prick and Wesley gasped, glad when Giles' hand pressed hard on his hip, reminding him not to buck. He wasn't sure he'd have remembered to stop himself, otherwise. Giles' fingers loosened, moving up and down his shaft in hard, quick strokes as he sucked on the head. Wesley didn't have time to be upset that it was over, didn't have time for anything. His orgasm hit him hard, tensing every muscle in his body, forcing his eyes closed as it slammed through him, setting his nerves on fire. Giles milked him, drawing it out.

When his softened cock slipped from Giles mouth, Wesley could only stare. He had no idea what to say, what to do. A small groan slipped out as Giles licked his lips and Wesley found himself needing to taste them, to kiss Giles and taste himself. He surged forward, letting his eyes close as his tongue followed the path Giles' had taken just a moment earlier. Giles' lips parted beneath his own and Wesley groaned into the kiss as their tongues twined. He swept his own through Giles mouth, desperate to find a hint of himself there.

Giles hands moved up his arms, one cupping the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his bare chest was pressed firmly against Giles'. Wesley whimpered a bit when Giles pulled away, but found himself quite in need of air. He still had no idea what to say.

"Come upstairs," Giles said, nodding toward the loft. His free hand slid back down Wesley's arm, pulling Wes' hand into his lap and pushing it against his own erection. Wesley swallowed hard, his eyes flicking down to his hand. Reflexively, he curled his fingers around Giles' shaft, his eyes moving to Giles' when the man groaned.

"You... want me upstairs with you?" Wesley squeezed gently at the cock in his hand, reveling in the warmth and weight of it in his palm, in the sounds Giles made. He gasped a little at the way Giles bucked against his hand, the way Giles' eyes flutter closed for a moment.

"I want you in general," Giles replied with a heated smile, "But it's more comfortable in the bed."

When Giles stood, still holding onto Wesley's hand, Wes followed without hesitation.