__Just Passing__
By Anita Dapperens

Looking at the ring he is twirling around in his fingers, Rupert tries to figure out what the markings on it mean. He is about to open another book, when the doorbell rings. Wondering who could be calling at such a late hour, he carefully puts the ring back in its casing, gets up and walks to the door, trying not to trip over the books lying scattered around.

Hiding the stake he picked up from the hall table behind his back, he opens the door just enough to see who rang the bell.

"Wesley?"

"Hello, Rupert."

Rupert stares at the man standing in front of him. He looks nothing like the ‘wet behind the ears’ Watcher he met more than three years ago.

Realising he is being rude, he motions Wesley to come in.

"What brings you here?"

"I had a family matter to attend to."

"I’m sorry about your father."

Wesley shrugs his shoulders, but Rupert still notices the glint of pain in his eyes.

"My plane doesn’t leave until tomorrow, and when Travers told me you were here ..."

"Quentin Travers?"

Another shrug.

"He and father were rather close friends."

Rupert bites back the ‘rather him than me’ comment, instead he shows Wesley into his sitting room, apologising for the mess.

"You were busy," Wesley states, halting in the doorway, "I should have called first. This is obviously not a convenient time."

Shaking his head, Rupert starts putting some of the books back in his bookcase.

"Not at all ... In fact, I could use your opinion."

Wesley looks uncertain, but sits down nevertheless.

"What were you researching?"

"Can I offer you a drink first?" Rupert asks, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf, "This is a first class whisky, but if you prefer tea, I could brew us some."

"Whisky sounds fine, thank you."

Grabbing two whisky tumblers from the sideboard, Rupert sits down opposite Wesley, pouring them both a drink. There are a lot of questions running around in his mind, wanting to know why Wesley ended up on his door step being one of them, but instead he hands Wesley his glass, leans back, takes a sip, and swirls it around in his mouth, savouring the flavour. A smile forms on his lips when he notices Wesley doing the same, and again it strikes him that there is nothing left of the bumbling brat he once knew. Working alongside Angel has done him good.



* * * * * *



When both of them downed the last of their drinks, Wesley repeats the question about his research.

"Right, research."

Rupert puts his glass on the table and takes the ring out of its casing again.

"I’ve been trying to figure out the markings all day. I promised the owner I’d have the translation before tomorrow evening, but I can’t seem to find any information regarding its origin."

As he hands it to Wesley, a sudden bright flash emanates from the ring, while electrical sparks prickle his skin. Blinking against the momentary blindness, Rupert quickly withdraws his hand, but the sparks are already flowing through his body, raising his heartbeat, making him feel light-headed. It is intoxicating, and he is glad he is sitting down, knowing he probably would have fallen down if he wasn’t. Leaning back, he lets the sensations sweep over him, until, finally, his heartbeat has slowed down again and the annoying black spots in front of his eyes have disappeared.

"That was ... incredible," he says, looking at Wesley, whose eyes are still somewhat glazed over, confirming he experienced the same sensations.

"Yes ... quite."

For a second, green meets blue. A flicker, a smile, and then both men look down at the ring in Wesley’s now open hand.

Rupert immediately notices the opaline glow of the markings.

"Strange ... That has never happened before. I am certain that Mister Swindon, the owner, would have mentioned it, sparks and all."

"There could be a trigger," Wesley remarks, turning the ring around in his hand, studying the markings, "Have you tried consulting the Kreshuan Journal?"

The Kreshuan Journal. Yes, of course he had thought about that, unfortunately he left his copy at the Magic Box, and since it was destroyed he had no doubt the book was as well. He wasn’t going to discuss that whole situation with Wesley though.

"I appear to have lost my copy."

"Do you have a computer?"

"Computer?" Rupert asks, wondering what that has to do with the Kreshuan Journal, "Err ... yes. Why?"

"I stumbled on an unabridged online copy of the book a couple of months ago. It shouldn’t be hard to find."

Pointing to the back of the room, Rupert, for once, is almost thankful for Willow insisting he should buy one. Even if it was so she could contact him at any time. He considers staying in his chair and letting Wesley quarrel with the machine, but realising it will probably be wise for him to pay attention in case he needs the book again, he pours them both another whisky and gets up to follow Wesley.





* * * * *



The search is not as easy as Wesley said it would be. Rupert is getting quite weary watching him trying to access internet again and again, to no avail. He can think of much more interesting activities he would like to watch Wesley do. Stupid internet. He does recall having trouble getting his mail this morning, and he tries to remember what Willow told him about that.

"Maybe the ... err ... server is down?"

"Yes, it would appear that way," Wesley says, frustration seeping through in his voice, "I’m sorry, Rupert."

"Never mind," Rupert says, waving his hand to dismiss any protest. Somehow he haslost interest in researching the ring. He would like another whisky though. Without asking Wesley if he even wants one, he grabs both glasses and walks back to his chair. As he pours the whisky it occurs to him that Wesley is still sitting behind the computer and he looks up, only to find him leaning against the desk, watching him.

"You look different, without the glasses," is the quiet comment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rupert wonders where that came from, but he quickly pushes that thought down, taking his time admiring the view as Wesley slowly moves closer.

"I’ve tried lenses myself, but I found that losing one while battling demons tends to cost a lot of money. So I’m back to glasses, cheaper to repair, or to replace."

Wesley takes his specs off when he sits down, folding the arms before putting them on the table.

"So, how about a game of truth and dare?"

Rupert almost chokes on his whisky.

"What?"

"Truth and dare, Rupert, a game kids like to play. You ask a question, and the person you’re asking either answers in truth, or chooses a dare. How about it?"

Rupert lost the plot somewhere around Wesley mentioning his name. Deep down he knows Wesley doesn’t normally sound like that, knows that something isn’t quite as it should be. He also knows that he rather enjoys the way Wesley is looking at him. It has been way too long since anyone looked at him like that.

"I’m game."

And when did he start playing games?

"So, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"What was the most dangerous spell you ever performed?"

"Raising Eyghon."

"You raised Eyghon?"

"Yes, we were young, stupid and craving power. It’s an if I knew then what I know now thing."

Wesley looks curious, and Rupert braces himself for more questions, but the only thing Wesley says is: "Your turn."

"Truth or dare then?"

"Truth."

"What were you doing, before you landed on Angel’s doorstep?"

"Hunting demons ...."

Rupert can’t help but grin at the hesitation in Wesley’s voice. Oohh, this is a lovely game.

"Truth, Wesley!"

"Alright! I rode around on a motorbike, dressed in chafing leather, pretending to be this big Rogue Demon hunter, but I only ever caught one."

Wesley on a motorbike, dressed in leather, now there’s a sight. He lets his eyes roam freely over Wesley’s lean body, letting them linger on the more interesting spots before looking up again.

"Your turn."

"Truth or dare?"

Not trusting the dangerous look in Wesley’s eyes, Rupert goes for the dare. Wesley seems disappointed by that, but the look is back before Rupert can blink.

"I dare you to show me Ripper’s favourite pastime."



* * * * * *



How the hell did he find that out? He couldn’t really know anything, could he?

Favourite pastime? Everything he did then was pastime. The hangin’ out, the drinking, playing guitar, the spells and the sex after highly intense magick. Everything. His eyes catch Wesley’s. There is anticipation in them. Of course, he could just grab his guitar and play a tune, but if he wants to make any progress ...

Slowly he rises out of his chair, his eyes never leaving Wesley’s. Making a few moves to imaginary music, he takes his sweater off, quickly followed by his shirt, not bothering to undo the buttons. His belt is next, but he slows down deliberately, waiting for Wesley’s eyes to trace his moves. When he is sure Wesley is concentrating on his hands only, he strikes. In one supple move he loses the belt, undoes the zipper and lets his trousers drop to the floor. Quickly stepping out of them, he pulls Wesley to his feet and dives in for the kill. He had expected Wesley to tense up, protest, but nothing of the sort happens. Wesley’s mouth eagerly opens under his ministrations, his hands roaming as freely as his own. Not that he minds, expecting it or not, it feels too good to stop now. And boy, what a taste. A mix of whisky and mint, and something sweet he can’t identify, stubble scratching his chin, and a tongue as impatient as his. It has definitely been too long.

Working his hands in between them he unbuttons Wesley’s shirt, tugging at his T-shirt, rolling it up, unwilling to break the kiss just yet. As he moves his hands down Wesley’s naked chest, he feels Wesley’s hands trailing down his back, stopping just above the elastic of his underpants. He helps Wesley out of his trousers and pulls him flush against him, quivering as their erections touch through the fabric.

Remembering the game, he suddenly breaks their kiss, pushing Wesley back in his chair, leaving them both panting.

"Truth or dare?" He asks a startled Wesley.

"Truth."

What? No dare? No problem, he’ll get them back on track.

"What was the most memorable sex you ever had?"

Wesley just stares at him, eyes wide, before finally opening his mouth.

"Ethan Rayne."

"What?"

Wesley slept with Ethan? When the hell did that happen?

As if reading his mind Wesley answers his questions.

"I was barely 18, spending a couple of days at my aunt’s place. She gave me money to go see a film, but I went to a bar instead. This man came up to me, telling me his name is Ethan and offering me a drink. I told him I wasn’t old enough to drink yet, but he just shrugged and ordered me one anyway. We started chatting ... Next thing I remember, I’m lying in this huge bed, and Ethan is sucking me off. And that was only the beginning. Never met him again after that."

Still the same old charming sneak.

"He the one who told you my nickname then?"

"Erm ... No. We didn’t do much talking," Wesley says, truly surprised by the question, "You knew Ethan?"

Right. Good way to dig your own grave, mate. Well, what the heck.

"Up close and personal. Memorable barely even comes close."

He lies sprawled in his chair before he even notices Wesley getting up, feeling hands on his hips and a tongue trailing a path around his belly button.

"Care to make some new memories?"

"What about the game?" Rupert asks, grabbing a handful of Wesley’s hair, gently guiding him up, ridding him of the rolled up T-shirt, gasping as Wesley’s teeth graze one of his nipples.

"Sod the game," Wesley mumbles, running his tongue across Rupert’s lips, increasing pressure with every lick, until Rupert parts them, giving Wesley the access he is asking for.

Rupert pushes his hips forward, causing a welcoming friction between their erections, even with the layers of fabric in between. Their arousal reaches its peak, and their kisses become headier, their tongues more forceful, their hands more insistent, their movements more frantic. As Wesley screams his release into their kiss, Rupert has to tighten his grip on him to keep him from sliding off the chair. Struggling to keep Wesley in this position, he thrusts harder, once, twice ... and when his own orgasm knocks him back, he produces sounds he had long forgotten.



* * * * *



Rupert doesn’t feel the need to move. If he is honest to himself, he has to admit that he could get quite used to Wesley’s weight on him. They will have to move soon though, before they are stuck together permanently.

"Wes?" He whispers in Wesley’s ear

Wes sounds good, more grown up, it just fits him.

Apart from an undecipherable groan, Wes doesn’t react. Unable to resist the urge, Rupert plants a soft kiss on Wes’ forehead, before whispering his name in his ear once more.

A very sleepy "Yes?" is the result.

"We have to get up, unless you want to spend the rest of your life being stuck to me."

"Squeezing a grapefruit does wonders."

"Excuse me?"

Rupert isn’t quite sure he heard that correctly.

Finally, Wes lifts his head up, looking straight into Rupert’s eyes and repeats what he said.

"Someone once told me that it would unstick a sticky situation. Have never tried it though."

"Well, I’m not eager to find out. Come on sleepy head. Get up," Rupert says, relieved when Wes indeed makes an effort to get up, only to stumble and fall face down on the floor.

"Oh, to have a young man’s stamina," Rupert quips, rising out of his chair, struggling for balance as he stumbles back into it, realising he is just as unsteady on his legs as Wes is. He hoists himself up to help Wes up, but stops for a moment when something strange registers in his brain.

The ring. The markings. They’re not glowing anymore.

Maybe Wes was right and there is a trigger. But what would that be?

His attention is drawn back to Wes when a muffled groan reaches his ears.

Tomorrow, he thinks, I’ll solve it tomorrow. Now there are other things to explore.

He bends down, grabbing Wes’ hands and pulls him to his feet again, holding him tight before he has a chance to topple over again.

"How does a quick shower sound?"



* * * * *



Drying himself, Rupert watches Wes’ gaunt figure as the water cascades down on him. Someone should feed him properly. The shower is doing him good though, he doesn’t seem as sleepy as he was before. That is, judging by the looks Wes is giving him. Good thing too, a sleepy Wes is of no use for the things Rupert has in mind.

He wraps the towel around his hips and grabs a clean one, sitting down on the small stool, waiting for Wes to turn the tap off, thoroughly enjoying the view.

When Wes finally steps out from underneath the shower, Rupert hands him the towel, frowning at Wes’ grin.

"What?"

"Suddenly feeling modest, are you?" Wes says, pointing down.

"What, this?" he asks, grabbing the towel, "Just habit."

With that he pulls it off and throws it in the laundry basket.

"I’ve nothing to hide. Now, dry yourself off, before I catch a cold."

"Don’t tell me you sleep with an electric blanket," Wes says, making a show of rubbing the towel over his backside.

"Very funny. May I remind you that you were the one nodding off, not me?"

"And a lovely pillow you were."

Using the towel, Wes pulls him closer, kissing him rough and deep, preventing any further comments. When he snakes his hand between their bodies though, Rupert grabs it, and breaks off the kiss.

"Don’t you think we should take this somewhere else?" he says, dragging Wes out of the bathroom, across the hall into his bedroom, where he backs him into the wall for a reprise kiss. Tongues dual, hands roam, but suddenly that isn’t enough. Still kissing they move away from the wall, stumbling onto the bed, ignoring the dangerous creaking. Rupert rolls them over so he lies on top, but Wes obviously isn’t having it, since the roles are quickly reversed again.

"Guests are always served first," Wes whispers as he slowly starts kissing his way down Rupert’s throat, lingering on his collarbone, gently sucking on it before trailing further down.

Rupert can’t argue with that, even if he wanted to, not when Wes is setting his body on fire. He hisses when teeth and tongue are alternately teasing his nipples, willing Wes to go lower, grabbing the bedhead with both hands to keep himself from pushing him down. Wes seems to sense his impatience, because his nipples are suddenly not being touched anymore. But instead of going down, Wes’ tongue is trailing up again, over his Adams apple along his jawline to his ear. Both of them moaning when their erections touch.

"Patience, old man. It’s not like we’re in a hurry, are we?"

No ... yes ... no ... maybe ...

Rupert gasps as Wes pushes his hips down, intensifying the contact between their erections, and he involuntarily arches his back. But then the feeling is gone again, and Wes’ tongue finally but slowly resumes its path downwards. Hot tongue, blunt teeth and feather light fingertips trail further and further down, titillating, arousing, driving him absolutely crazy. Panting, Rupert grips the bedhead even tighter in anticipation as Wes softly urges his legs apart, hissing at the tickling fingertips touching his perineum. At the same time that hot tongue runs along the length of his erection, and Rupert moans loudly when Wes repeats the motion again ... and again.

He reaches into the top drawer of his bed stand, grabbing a tube, holding it out for Wes, almost able to feel Wes grin as he takes it. Another hiss when the coldness of the lube slides down his crack, quickly followed by a gentle but insistent finger, rubbing circles around his anus. With each circle the pressure increases and Rupert writhes, closing his eyes when the first finger slips in.

More! More! His mind screams immediately. He tries to push down, taking more of the finger in, hoping Wes takes the hint. Again he can almost feel Wes grinning against his skin, but he must have taken the hint, as a second finger joins the first. The stretching feels just a little uncomfortable, but soon Rupert tries to push down again, still wanting more. Suddenly a wave of pleasure surges through his body, quickly followed by another, causing him to tremble all over.

Oh yesss! More! More!

But when Wes starts introducing a third finger to the game, Rupert shakes his head.

"Enough."

Even though he doubts he makes sense, Wes stops, slowly retracting his fingers.

Rupert waits, his already painfully hard erection straining in anticipation ... but nothing happens. He blinks, trying to focus, finding Wes watching him. His eyes devoid of the pain they held earlier, instead a silent question lies in them.

‘Are you ready?’

As ready as he’ll ever be. He unwraps his hands from the bedhead and reaches for Wes, pulling his face down in a kiss, pushing down at the same time, leaving not doubt of what he wants.

Leaning back, Wes squeezes some lube on his erection, quickly slicking it, wiping his hand on Rupert’s chest, smearing it over his nipples. Rupert gasps as Wes lightly blows over them, making his nipples hard and making him shiver. The sensations distract him, but not enough not to feel Wes enter him ... carefully, but steady. Then all motion stops, but Rupert doesn’t want that, and once again he pushes down ... or rather, tries to. Wes’ hands are on his hips, holding him down. He reaches for Wes, pulling him closer until his face is barely an inch above his.

"Fuck me!" he whispers in his ear, feeling him shudder when he sucks his earlobe, "Now!"

A smile, and then Wes kisses him, hard and demanding, as he starts moving.

The slow pace is agonising, but highly arousing at the same time. Part of Rupert expected hard and quick, part of him probably craved it, but that part is completely overruled by the ecstasy building in him right now.

Oh ... Yessssss.

He never knew slow could be this ... sensual, this entrancing. It just seems to go on forever.

Hearing Wes’ ragged breathing through his own panting, he knows he is getting close, and he almost wishes they could hold on a little longer.

A sudden shift of Wes’ weight makes him look up, his eyes locking with Wes’ just as new waves of pleasure rip through his body. The play of emotions in those eyes keep him from closing his, and he sees his pleasure mirrored there as wave after wave wracks his body. Finally the pace is moved up a notch ... or two, and Rupert brings one of his hands in between their bodies, running his fingers up and down his erection before closing his hand around the base, timing his strokes with Wes’ thrusts.

Suddenly Wes tenses up and plunges deeper, more forcefully into him, sending him over the edge. As his orgasm crashes through him, he seeks Wes’ mouth, their kiss desperate as Wes screams his own release into it.



* * * * *



Stretching, Rupert leans his head on Wes’ shoulder, draping a leg over his, and drops the wet sticky towel to the floor.

"Ethan never taught you that. He likes his rough."

Wes wraps an arm around him, drawing him closer.

"He said he has no use for the language of love."

Rupert snorts.

"Language of love. I know you speak more languages than I can dream up, but don’t overdo it, Wes."

"I’ve not had any complaints ... yet."

Rupert lifts his head, caressing Wes’ cheek before planting a soft kiss on his swollen lips.

"Not complaining ... but love is so much more, Wes."

"I know."

Wes suddenly looks a lot more serious, and Rupert feels a little uncomfortable at the change.

"What was the most loving relationship you ever had?"

He certainly didn’t see that one coming. Memories flood his mind, and he closes his eyes for a moment.

"Jenny." he answers, opening his eyes again. "She ... I ... I loved her so much. When she died ... I will never forget her."

He is not ready to say more. He is not sure he ever will be.

For a moment Wes just stares at him, eyes thoughtful, full of compassion. Sorry probably on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it, and Rupert is thankful for that. Thankful for not being pitied. He wants to be able to remember how beautiful she was lying on his bed ... before he realised she was dead. Wants to remember it uncorrupted by other peoples reactions.

But not now ... not now.

Closing his eyes he lays back down, taking in the scent of Wes and sex, slowly feeling himself drifting off.

"Virginia knew exactly what Angel Investigations was about, what I was about. She knew all about vampires, magic, the dangers, she accepted that ... until I got shot. Strange phenomena she could cope with, but an almost deadly bullet wound, she could not. I knew she was going to leave me ... and I just let her ..."

Even though almost asleep, Rupert can still hear the hurt in Wes’ voice, and his hand snakes over Wes’ chest in search for his. Finding it, he clasps it in his, squeezing just a little to let Wes know he understands, before sleep catches up with him.



* * * * *



It is dark, his vision blurred, more blurred than normal, and Rupert instantly realises he is still wearing his lenses. Not good.

He will have to get up.

Reluctantly he untangles himself from Wes’ embrace, immediately missing the warmth. Getting out of bed, he drags himself towards the bathroom, almost stumbling over the stool. His eyes are dry and irritated, and he has trouble taking the lenses out properly. By the time he finally has them out, his eyes are even more irritated and rather red, and he has to suppress the urge to rub them, knowing they will only get worse that way.

Back in the bedroom his eyes catch Wes’ body in the pale moonlight shining through the window, and he stops, leaning back against the doorframe, just looking at him. For a moment he wonders what exactly happened tonight, and how it happened. Not that he regrets it. God no!

It is just strange how they were just talking one minute, and then openly seducing each other the next.

"Rupert?"

Blinking his eyes, he notices Wes watching him.

"Come back to bed."

How can he refuse such a request?

He walks towards the bed, getting down on hands and knees on it. He licks the inside of Wes’ knee, slowly working his way up, crawling over him, until their lips meet for a searing kiss.

Oh, yes. To have a young man’s stamina.



* * * * *



Before he is completely awake, Rupert knows Wes is gone. He vaguely remembers Wes telling him he had to leave early to catch his plane, but he had rather hoped he would wake him up. Although ...

Maybe it is better this way.

Opening his eyes, he realises they are still a little dry, his vision still blurry, and he blinks a couple of times to dampen them. He reaches out, searching the night stand, but his specs are not there. Now, where has he left them this time?

Getting up, he grabs his robe from the nearby chair, putting it on as he walks down the stairs, trying not to trip over anything. He shuffles into the sitting room, making his way to the fire place where they sat last night, remembering seeing a pair of specs there. They are still there, and he quickly puts them on as he sits down. His vision is still fuzzy though. Not as bad as before, but something isn’t quite right. Taking the specs off again, he inspects them ... these are not his. Suddenly he remembers Wes taking his off right here and putting them on the table. These are Wes’ specs, but ...

"Oh, Dear. I’d better ring him," he mutters, suddenly noticing the ring when he grabs the phone. A pity they didn’t have time to solve its mystery.

Looking more closely he realises a folded piece of paper leans against the back of the ring’s casing. He picks it up, unfolds it and reads it. The words are not clear enough though, and lacking a better idea, Rupert puts Wes’ specs back on.



|| Rupert,

||

|| I apologise for not waking you, but I’m not very good at saying goodbye.

|| After checking your computer again, it turned out that the cable of your

|| modem was not connected properly. Your internet connection is fine now.

|| It barely took a couple of minutes to find the Kreshuan Journal

|| ( I took the liberty of book marking the site for you).

|| There was a picture of the ring in the Journal. I’ll write the information

|| down for you.

||

|| The ring of Graoull

|| Made by an Indian mage around the 16^th century. The spells used while

|| making the ring are triggered when two entwined souls touch it simultaneously.

|| It will glow in many colours, and only then will their inhibitions be lifted, their

|| desires awakened. Only time will tell if their passion is strong enough to last.



Of course ... the glowing ... they triggered it. But entwined souls? He and Wes? Rupert shakes his head and reads on.

 



|| Yes, it sounds quite sappy doesn’t it?

|| I do hope you don’t think that is the only reason I slept with you.

|| Erm ... at least not after the first ... erm ... well, you know what I mean.

|| The ring stopped glowing before we went upstairs. I am sure of it.

 



Rupert frowns, thinking back to last night. He did see it. He vaguely remembers looking at the ring, noticing the glow gone. That must have been before they left the room.



|| Thank you for your hospitality, Rupert.

|| You made me feel welcome, something I have not felt for a long time. Thank you.

|| I hope you will accept my invitation and visit me, some day, when you are in the

|| neighbourhood.

||

|| Yours truly,

|| love,

||

||

|| Wesley.

||

|| PS: I seem to have misplaced my glasses. I hope you don’t mind

|| I borrowed yours. It seems our prescriptions are not that different.



Thursday, May 29, 2003



Misplaced his specs? But they were right next to ...

He smiles when it dawns on him that Wes knew exactly where they were.

Sneaky bastard!

He could just call him of course, telling him to send them ...

No.

Realising he is still holding the phone, he starts dialling a number.

"Yes, good morning .. I would like to book a flight to L.A. ... the earliest flight available ... yes, I’ll hold."

Waiting to hear how soon he can get a flight, Rupert’s mind wanders back to the events of the night before. Suddenly a thought enters his mind, and he grins.

Maybe he should send Quentin a thank-you note.



* * *