Title: Reflections of Pain (Part 1 of the Indiscretion Series)
Author: heathervamped
Rating: PG-13
Email: heathervamped@yahoo.com
Pairing: Willow/Giles - yeah, I didn't see that coming either.
Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters and all the rights and gets all the money.
Summary: Two days after Lover's Walk, Willow is desperately heartbroken and turns to Giles for... advice, sort of.
Feedback is most welcome on this and everything I post.
Seeing his face in the bathroom mirror, Rupert Giles could scarcely believe himself to be the same man who had just committed such an unspeakable crime in the next room. Yet, even turned away from the open door, he could see the evidence of his actions in the reflection of what lay behind him. Just the end of his bed was visible through the door, and on top of it, tangled in the sheets, the pretty little white feet of the girl he'd horribly betrayed.
So innocently had she sought his advice and comfort as she suffered the pains of a youthful indiscretion with a lifelong friend. Her beau's anger was understandable and just, yet to his now-sleeping companion, it seemed the end of the world. Tearfully, she had confided in him, heartbreakingly certain that she would never earn her love's forgiveness and that their happiness was forever lost. Privately, Rupert considered the boy undeserving of such a girl, and he was not unrelieved to imagine that the relationship might truly be over.
Whether or not Willow and Oz were destined to patch things up, her present state of despair was quite difficult to behold. As she lamented the lost of her first mutual love, Rupert inquired whether she was glad to have finally won the affection of her oldest friend, on whom she had set her sights so long ago. She had replied in the negative, stating that there could be nothing between them now that each had fallen in love with others.
Attempting to reassure her that all chance of happiness was not lost, he asked if there were not any other young men she might like, to which she had so blushingly responded that he was the only other on whom she had ever had the slightest of crushes.
Only hours ago had he heard this pronouncement, and now he damned himself most severely for abusing that piece of knowledge for his own perverse ends.
Though his heart had leapt to his throat at her confession, and other of his body parts responded in their own ways, he had managed a gentlemanly chuckle for her benefit, and had patted her knee with all the fatherly affection he could muster for a girl who secretly drove him to distraction.
In all his years, he had never met her equal, most certainly not during his youth in England when he might have appropriately courted a young lady. But no, as fate would have it, he did not come across such a delightful creature until he was far too old in body and spirit to even hope to capture her interest. Or so he'd thought until the previous night.
Willow had everything a man like him could want. Her intelligence would go under-appreciated by many, but to him, it was like a breath of fresh air after spending so many hours in a high school full to bursting with gaggles of silly shopping-obsessed bleached-blonde bimbos. Her beauty was understated and would not turn the heads of the jocks she passed in the hall, but it was there if one cared to look, which he did. Her kindness could be felt by any who bothered to ask for it, or even appeared as if they needed it. She was selfless to a fault and could not bear to think of herself before anyone else. He couldn't remember when he'd realized he wanted her, as he had tried so hard to forget and put every idea of it out of his head.
Yet, then she had come to him in her grief, and when he patted her knee, she had put her hand over his and held it there. Gazing into her eyes, he saw a purpose there that he couldn't guess. She could just as easily desire revenge against Xander for trying to win back Cordelia instead of committing to her, as against Oz for not immediately forgiving her. He did not let himself think for a moment that her purpose had anything to do with him. Was he any sort of honorable man, he would have removed his hand and made his excuses to leave her company as soon as possible.
Instead, overriding all of his good sense and all of his feelings of protectiveness towards Willow, came unbidden thoughts of what it would be like to have his way with her, to take her innocence and leave her debauched and degraded in ways she couldn't fathom. He would have liked to suppose himself above such dark imaginings these days, and yet, somewhere inside, he was still the man his friends had called Ripper. Even as he was distressed to find that this newly accessible Willow had such a strange affect on him, his hand seemed to move up her leg of its own accord and before he'd had the opportunity to really think over the situation, he found himself lightly stroking her thigh.
She made no attempt to stop him, and when he leaned down to kiss her, she tipped her head back and met his lips with an eagerness that left him wondering if he shouldn't pinch himself and disperse this inappropriate dream, though the heat of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her tights could hardly be an illusion. Soon his only thought was that her mouth was softer than he could have even imagined. When he pulled her into his lap and her skirt rose even more, she did not pull it back down. When he lifted her in his arms and rose from the couch to carry her upstairs to his bedroom, she spoke not a word of protest.
He had not been as gentle with her as he would have liked. Of course, he should never have been with her at all, yet in spite of should-have-beens, he had been her first, and she had deserved better. His careful restraint had lasted long enough to allow him to undress her slowly, quietly appreciating just what he was doing, each article of clothing removed representing untold late night fantasies that he refused to entertain during the light of day.
Then, as she lay naked on the bed before him, some hormonal teenage boy seemed to take possession of his body and, instead of making sweet, gentle love to her, he had been awkward and harsh, unable to help taking his pleasure from her even as she winced in obvious pain. No amount of tender attentions after the fact could bring her anywhere near an orgasm, and after not too many minutes, she gently rebuffed his attempts, claiming herself perfectly satisfied.
She excused herself to shower, during which time Rupert discreetly exchanged the bloodied sheets on the bed for an identical set. When she emerged, she began to gather her clothes, murmuring something about getting out of his way. Alarmed, he instantly invited her to stay the night. Willow slumped back on the bed, wordlessly accepting, and began to cry.
Her tears had as many probable causes as her acceptance of the preceding events, and though he questioned her gently and allowed himself to hold her shaking body against his chest, he received no answers. After a short time, she slept. Guilt competed with heady satisfaction in keeping Rupert awake for much of the night. He alternately berated himself for bedding a 17 year old girl who looked up to him as a mentor, and recalled with lusty glee the heat and tightness she had surrounded him with. At last, even these warring emotions could not overcome physical exhaustion, and he too, fell into an uneasy slumber.
Only a few hours later, the morning sunshine woke Rupert to face the new day. When he turned his head and saw the red hair streaming across the pillow next to him, his stomach lurched in renewed horror at what he'd done. Getting out of bed as carefully as he could, he moved into the bathroom to shower and work out what he should do next. Rather than demand that she keep quiet about the incident, he would simply suggest to her that it would be in both their best interests if they didn't speak of it. He felt she would be receptive to the idea, if for no other reason than it would otherwise be impossible for her to have the slightest chance for a reconciliation with Oz.
In another time or another place, he would have begged her to stay with him and be his lover in every sense of the word. Or he would simply propose. As it was, their situation made these ideas absurd, not to mention that Willow clearly had no interest in any such thing. His bed had been a convenience, no more. Some might say she had used him, though he wouldn't even let himself fully form the mere thought. Certainly, he had used her to make himself feel young again, if only for a little while. He had enjoyed pretending that he was attractive and virile enough to be of interest to someone like Willow. But now, in the bright light of day, he had to live in reality. In reality, Willow would be regretting her night with him, not asking for a repeat performance, much less running off to pick out china patterns. In reality, no one could know of his conquest of her, no matter how much his inner teenage boy wanted to shout it from the rooftops. In reality, he would have to look at her every day, and not only know that he could not have her, as it had always been, but now he would know exactly what he was denied. He would remember soft lips against his and warm thighs beneath his hands, or wrapped around his waist. He would envision small breasts and white shoulders that would never again be exposed in his presence. And he would smile, and play the kindly librarian, and no one would ever be the wiser.
But there would be plenty of time to feel sorry for himself. For now, as he looked at her feet in his bathroom mirror, he could only think of her pain, both that inflicted by him and by others, and when he looked again at his own face, he saw tears.