AUTHOR: Helena K.
DEDICATION: To Showcase in Canada for giving us Kink (V last season) every Friday night (and Ryan, a delightful masochist from Halifax and, not co-incidentally, a yummy Wesley lookalike!).
WARNING: M/M slash, leather fetish, BDSM implied
SUMMARY: What could have happened if Giles and Wesley had met again after Sunnydale under unusual circumstances.
TIMELINE: Timeline, what timeline?
Emphasis in thought or speech
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Joss and a whole bunch of alphabetical entities. I know the Polish alphabet. Not the same thing. Not for profit, just fun.
FEEDBACK: Lay it on me, but without any games!
DISTRIBUTION: Posted to summer_of_giles and my LJ; anybody else, please ask.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce shivered. Even standing beneath the hot lights at the edge of the stage, he wondered – for the countless time – what in blazes he was doing here. Here being a disreputable gay leather club where he was about to participate in his first leather competition.
Gay. Leather. Competition. All normal words with adequate definitions. But, put together, they raised the terrifying spectre that he was about to reveal more than just the hard planes of his body. To the audience, to himself, he would be exposed, stripped of all decorum that had been beaten into him at the hands of his father. He snorted and allowed himself a moment's reflection. //Father? I'd have been better off living in a Victorian orphanage.//
He shook off his pre-performance jitters and nodded as the MC strode by. Randy had been immensely helpful, making sure that Wesley's gear was complete and introducing him to many of the other competitors, some of whom had been doing this for a number of years. Wesley marveled at their confidence and camaraderie. Many of these men would never win any competition, certainly would never qualify for any official title, yet they continued to enter, just for the experience or for the hope of something ... else. He shivered again, knowing that his own unfulfilled desires leaned in the same direction.
* * * * *
Near the back of the club, Rupert Giles shook his head. Why had he felt compelled to visit, tonight of all nights? It was crowded and stiflingly hot, courtesy of the popularity of the leather competition, and the smell of so much leather left him feeling nauseous. His own, he'd decided, fitted in very well. His battered jacket was slung over the back of his chair. He wore a leather vest over faded jeans and had, at the last moment, snapped a short flogger onto his left belt loop. He had enough experience and carried himself with authority, so that the bouncer hadn't dared refuse him entry on account of the denim. //Strict dress code, my arse!// Ripper would have been proud of him. He'd picked up the coded key ring holding three matching snaps with a disdainful air.
Yes, he risked revealing so much. Not only his still muscled body, but also his desire for something ... else. Not that he thought he'd find it here – but he wasn't about to waste any opportunity, not at his age. None of this had anything to do with the children, he reminded himself for the countless time.
* * * * *
Wesley rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to will away the goose-flesh. Even though a certain amount of naivete was a welcome and charming touch in a novice – especially for a predominantly submissive entrant, he didn't want to make an utter fool of himself. He smiled tentatively at one of the oldest contestants, amazed that someone possibly three decades older would have entered as a novice. He supposed that, for some men, the desire remained buried longer.
* * * * *
Giles returned to his seat with another shot of acrid whiskey. He hadn't expected any refined liquor at this club and he wasn't disappointed as the amber liquid seared his throat. Still, there was something appropriate ... satisfying, knowing that he wasn't here to improve his social standing. He was more aware of the mounting buzz around him, the other spectators becoming impatient for the competition to begin.
Giles didn't expect much from the novices: he anticipated these young pups (with the occasional exception of an older bear) would seem so eager to please that he did not expect to be aroused. He didn't have the energy ... time ... or inclination to take on a neophyte, despite the enticement of being the boy's first Master or Daddy. Still, he mused, it didn't hurt to keep his eyes open. //So much pretty, tender flesh. Such potential.//
* * * * *
Suddenly, it was Wesley's turn. He tried to muster a confident attitude as he strode out onto the stage, in full leather regalia. He couldn't see them clearly, but he could feel the penetrating stares of every single man there.
Did he have what they wanted? There was only one way to find out.
He walked out blinded by a sea of bright lights. He faltered, disoriented for a moment. Then he remembered the route and strode across the stage and back before descending the steps to walk through the audience.
This was the part that terrified him. For, at this bar, even if he wasn't a winner, he could be claimed by anybody in the audience. He'd shivered violently when Randy had explained the rules to him. All patrons were given three coded snaps. When the contestants walked among the tables or by the bar, anyone could press one, two or all three snaps onto their belt loop.
The trick was that any contestant with all three snaps from a single person would then belong to that person ... well, at least for the evening. Randy explained that anything beyond then was a matter of negotiation. Though he'd tried to sound serious, he couldn't help but smirk. It was the goal of so many to belong. Wesley had just nodded his head, in silent agreement. Still, his breath had caught at the thought of finally belonging.
The catch, though, was that if anybody wanted to be sure of securing a contestant with all three snaps would be doing so while the contestant was still fully clothed. As these men entertained a variety of fetishes, it was risky using all three snaps before the contestants had stripped to more revealing gear.
Giles had sat, idly clinking the ring with the snaps. Did he dare claim anyone? This was utter foolishness. How could he expect to introduce someone into his life – even on a casual basis? It was a ridiculous notion; yet he stayed and played with the all-important bits of steel, wishing for once that he could take a young body and ... and he didn't know what. But that didn't stop him from thinking and wishing for the impossible.
Wesley continued to walk through the audience, trying for that impressive combination of confidence and shyness. In fact, he was warring internally between wanting to throw himself on the nearest spectator, begging to be claimed, and running out the back door to vomit in the alley.
Still, he kept his head high and continued to wend his way between the tables. It was so stiflingly hot that the sweat was running down his back. But he didn't care. He needed to do this for himself, for his own peace of mind. Everything else could go to the devil.
Wesley's head was brought back to the present by the persistent clanging of snaps nearby. He turned his head, curious to see why this particular spectator was making the noise and ....
Giles was brought up abruptly and let all the snaps fall from his fingers. He'd just caught a glimpse of the latest contestant. The man turned to look at him and ....
A flare of recognition surged between them.
Wesley's mind was in turmoil. //No, surely he wouldn't. Would he?// If he could have voiced his desires aloud, there would have been a wistful quality to his question.
Giles was thinking quickly. If he was to do it, it had to be now.
Wesley's head jerked as he heard that familiar voice call out his number. His feet were moving forward even before his brain had given the command.
Giles could feel Wesley standing next to his chair, but didn't glance up. He uttered one word only. "Down."
Wesley dropped to his knees and waited. He could feel the attention of others around him. They were all watching ... watching him. The irony didn't escape him. But they were irrelevant. He waited for only one man's attention, one man's word, one man's claim. Until this moment, he had not even thought of Giles as a potential lover ... master ... daddy. And, yet, Giles was here, intending to at least gift Wesley with one snap. Wesley hoped it wasn't just a cruel joke.
Giles's voice was a silken caress. "Look at me, boy."
Wesley shivered despite the pools of sweat under his leather. He'd longed to hear someone say just that ... it seemed forever.
Wesley barely lifted his head, gazing at Giles with half-lidded eyes. Obviously not what Giles had demanded because he grasped Wesley's chin and pulled it up sharply.
"I expect my orders to be obeyed correctly. Do you understand, boy?"
Wesley gulped under the hand that rested against his throat. "Yes. Yes, Sir."
"Good," Giles murmured, moving his hand so that his thumb pressed against Wesley's lips which opened obediently to accept the digit which thrust in and out lazily before painting Wesley's parted lips with his own saliva. Then, he wiped his thumb against Wesley's cheek before turning to pick up one snap. He held it in front of Wesley's eyes. "Do you accept my first claim on you, boy?"
Wesley nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes, Sir."
Giles picked up the second snap. Wesley was confused because Giles had not awarded him the first one.
Giles asked again, "Do you accept my second claim on you, boy, to provide you with a role model of appropriate behaviour and discipline meted out for any infractions at all times?"
Wesley shivered again when he heard the words behaviour and discipline but nodded, wanting everything. "Yes. Yes, Sir."
Giles added the third snap to the others. "Do you accept that I shall cherish you and your submission to me at all times?"
Wesley nearly sobbed when he heard those words. That he and his submission would ... could ever be cherished was more than he'd hoped for. Just to have been accepted would have sufficed. He whispered in a cracked voice, "Yes. Oh, yes, please, Sir."
There was only one more word from Giles. "Up!"
As Wesley stumbled to his feet, Giles rose as well. Everyone could see them now. Giles attached each snap individually, making sure that the sound of each of the three snaps being added to his belt loop was separate and distinct. When all had been affixed, Giles gathered Wesley up in a hug. When he released him, he sent him off with a challenge. "Go and make me proud, boy. I'll see you when the competition is over."
Wesley was in a daze as he made his way through the remainder of the room. Even though he'd been claimed //And who would have thought that would happen to me?// it was considered good manners to complete the circuit. Still, he walked more proudly until he ended up backstage.
As Wesley emerged into the dim, much cooler communal waiting area, he was surrounded by the other contestants who were admiring his snaps. Randy shooed them away, telling them to get ready for their own introductions, before turning back to Wesley. "Must feel good to be claimed on your first go round."
Wesley was flushed from the excitement. "I hadn't expected to receive even one. But three ...?"
"You earned them, boy. And I think he appreciates you." There was no misunderstanding as to who he was. "Now, back to the dressing area; get changed for the next part."
Wesley grinned, eager to display more of his body, now that he'd been claimed. He had about 15 minutes to strip off, dry himself and change into the leather g-string and harness. He hoped that Giles would approve of his choices.
As the competition continued, Giles sat nursing his drink. He didn't need another one. He'd already tasted something much more persuasive than alcohol. He was now the proud owner of a boy. For tonight at least, but he held out hope that this could become something more permanent. He didn't want to consider that both he and Wesley were utterly mad. That was a given. But he hoped that they could create a working relationship outside of the separate jurisdictions of their professional lives. He needed this distraction and felt Wesley needed it as well.
He twirled the empty key ring around his thumb and recalled how he'd felt when he'd penetrated Wesley's lips with it. He closed his eyes, imagining opening Wesley with the same thumb. //No, too much.// He couldn't lose control. Not here. He would take the time to break Wesley in properly. He hoped he'd be a good cocksucker as well. If not, well ... he could teach that to his boy. Anything was possible.
Some of the other customers came by his table, while on the way to the bar, offering their congratulations on his acquisition. Giles didn't encourage them to linger, but thanked them politely. He waited until the next portion of the competition was announced, leaning forward to indicate his interest in seeing Wesley in a more undressed state.
He barely paid any attention to the others on stage, now that Wesley was his. And he wasn't disappointed when Wesley appeared, the black leather straps gleaming against his pale body. The snaps – attached to the lowest ring on the harness - made a pleasant, jingling sound as Wesley made his way around. Although he was under no obligation, Wesley wanted everyone to recognize his claimed status so came over to kneel briefly in front of Giles, hoping that Giles would not be angry at this independent action.
But Giles was in a decidedly good mood and merely laid his fingers briefly against Wesley's neck. "Go on, finish your routine. I'll see you here at the end."
Without even a glance, Wesley rose and continued, ending up backstage again. His entire body was on fire from the fingers that had been pressed against the back of his neck. If Giles could affect him so with such a simple touch, how much farther would more intimate acts take him? But he couldn't lose sight of his goal – to finish the competition. Anything ... no, everything else would be up to Giles.
Wesley did his best to cool off, drinking two bottles of water in a row. It was all but over for him. He'd go out again for the claiming portion – and pitied the poor blokes who had several individual snaps from different customers – and, finally, the presentation of awards. He didn't even care about the prizes: he'd already won the best prize he could have imagined, except that he hadn't, not really. It would take a while to sink in. He didn't know how much Rupert //or should I start to think of him as Mr. Giles, again?// would want to talk tonight.
The finale of the competition was a blur. Wesley returned to stand next to his owner and watched the others who'd also been adorned with snaps reunite with their new owners. And – after too many hours – the winners were announced. Wesley couldn't believe it: he'd won third place. In the back of his mind, he knew that the claiming had increased his value. He'd been seen as someone to be desired ... to be owned. He returned to the stage amid applause to accept his prize ... a mere token, but the look on Giles's face was priceless. When he returned to the table, Giles pushed out a chair and gestured for him to sit.
"How'd you get here tonight?"
"Oh ... ah, I took a cab. As I didn't know what I'd be doing after ...." Wesley was embarrassed to acknowledge that he'd entertained the possibility that he would not have to return home ... alone.
Giles nodded. "That was a presumptuous but logical decision. In any case, I've booked a room in the guest house upstairs owned by the bar." At Wesley's look of confusion, he continued, "Really, Wesley, you're going to have to become more perceptive."
Wesley's head dropped. Was he being a disappointment already?
Giles clicked his tongue. Wesley looked up. "Wesley, that was not criticism, merely instruction."
"Alright, then. Go backstage and gather your belongings and bring them to Room 217. Wear what you've got on. It suits you." As he rose, Giles cupped Wesley's leather covered package and squeezed.
It felt good to be an owner.
Wesley flushed, then walked backstage with a purpose, doing his best to ignore his painful erection compressed within the confining, yet oddly comfortable, leather.
It felt incredible to be owned.