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Title: Saber
Author: Te
Pairing: Angel/Giles UST
Rating: R
 Setting: Post- 'To Shanshu In L.A.'



It started as a game, or seemed to.

Angel had delivered the careful copies of the prophecies to Giles, justin 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.

-End


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